Through the chaos unfolding before her, Abigail loosed her arrow. It flew true, but Peti saw it coming and turned aside just enough to avoid a killing blow, instead taking the shaft through the outside of her shoulder. She snarled, then began barking the words of a spell in some ancient and unclean language. Abigail’s next arrow was deflected by the witch’s many-paned shield.
Magda sent five shards of blue force at her, one after the next, but none could defeat her shield, each striking with a loud crack.
“I’m sorry,” Abigail whispered before releasing her next arrow, driving the shaft into the throat of Torin’s horse. The animal squealed in shock and pain, bucking and throwing Torin before toppling over and thrashing around on the ground, desperately trying to flee death’s inevitable grasp.
One of the men from the castle had regained his feet and was charging toward them with his sword drawn. Abigail had just nocked an arrow meant for Peti’s horse, but she knew the charging man would be on them before she could nock another, so she sent it into his leg. He crashed into the dirt, screaming and writhing in pain.
Torin gained his feet and Peti began casting another spell. Her words were laced with anger and filled with malice as she spat them into the world. She reached out with her clawed hands and swirling blackness gushed forth, splattering onto the ground before her and taking shape as rats with coarse black fur, red beady eyes, and long sharp fangs. Dozens, then scores, swarmed toward them, racing across the ground.
“Run!” Magda shouted, pointing toward the river.
Abigail hesitated just long enough to send another arrow into the fray, the shaft plunging into Peti’s horse, driving into its right eye and killing the beast instantly.
When the rats reached the man that Abigail had felled in the middle of the road, they swarmed over him, devouring his flesh. He screamed in terror and agony … and then fell silent.
Abigail ran for the water, not daring to look back. The sounds behind her filled her with a kind of fear she didn’t know she could feel, yet she retained mastery over her will, focusing on putting one foot before the other. She heard a roar behind her, like fire consuming a great pile of dry tinder, followed by snapping and squealing, but she didn’t look back until she reached the river bank.
Magda was standing her ground, a gout of flames jetting from her hands, scorching the plague of rats swarming toward her, the dangerous little vermin vaporizing in sooty black smoke when the fire washed over them, but it wasn’t enough. A dozen got past her fire, swarming around her feet, climbing up her legs, biting and clawing, bringing her to the ground with a defiant battle cry. In the distance, Peti laughed with maleficent glee.
Abigail turned as quickly as she could, scrambling in the loose dirt, nearly falling but regaining her footing and sprinting back toward Magda, drawing an arrow as she ran.
The rats swarmed over Magda, biting and clawing while she tried to roll away from them, killing several with her body, but leaving others scurrying after her with single-minded viciousness. She staggered to her feet before unleashing her quickest spell, a force-push, into the midst of the few remaining rats, blasting them away, killing the last of them before she collapsed.
Abigail loosed an arrow at Peti, but it bounced harmlessly off her shield. Dropping her priceless bow, she drew the Thinblade and ran toward the witch with all the speed she could muster. Peti’s dark eyes widened, realization of what she faced ghosting across her face. Abigail was closing fast, gaining speed with each stride.
Peti didn’t cast a spell, but instead withdrew a jar from her bag and tossed into Abigail’s path. It tumbled through the air, shattering on the road and releasing a dark and squirming mass of something unnatural. In that same moment, a ballista bolt drove into the ground not three feet from Peti, sending her scrambling away and snarling at the ramparts above.
Before Abigail could react, the squirming mass of darkness that Peti had cast before her grew into a patch of black tentacles rising up out of the ground, flailing about in search of a victim. Several tentacles wrapped around her legs, then her waist, all of them trying to pull her to the ground. She struggled against them, slashing this way and that, desperately trying to cut her way free, but with each severed tentacle, another grew to take its place.
A second ballista bolt nearly impaled Peti, disrupting the spell she was attempting to cast. She growled, barking in fury before grabbing Torin by the collar and pulling him toward the river.
“I’m going to kill you, witch!” Abigail shouted, still hacking at the tentacles, freeing herself just as Peti and Torin reached the riverbank.
She cast about looking for her bow, racing around the flailing tentacles to retrieve it, but when she looked back, Peti and Torin were both on the opposite riverbank … how they’d gotten there she didn’t know. She took careful aim, loosing her arrow into that moment of stillness that always accompanied a perfect shot, but the arrow was turned aside by Peti’s shield. They fled on foot into the farm fields along the other side of the river.
Abigail froze, caught in a moment of indecision. Rage compelled her to give chase, but the river was moving too swiftly with early spring runoff to hope to cross safely. And more importantly, Magda was still down.
She went to her friend’s side, rolling her over and catching her breath at the sight. The High Witch, Triumvir of the Reishi Coven, was stricken with some magical ailment beyond Abigail’s understanding.
At each bite mark, her skin was black with tiny veins of darkness spreading from the wound.
“Oh Magda, what am I going to do?”
Several men approached, surrounding her on all sides; she ignored them, focusing on her worry for Magda.
“Stand away and answer for your crimes,” one man said.
Abigail felt ice-cold rage spread from her spine out to her hands and feet, calm settling over her and filling her with resolve. She stood, drawing the Thinblade in one fluid motion, leveling it at the man who had spoken.
“Attack and I will kill you all,” she said with deadly calm.
The man looked at her sword, a frown furrowing his brow.
“A Thinblade-how?” he said.
Before she could answer, another ballista bolt struck near the road, startling the men, drawing all eyes up toward the ramparts of the castle.
“Are you the lord of that keep?” Abigail asked.
“I am,” he said, still filled with confusion.
“My name is Abigail Ruatha. The creature you saw as a beautiful woman, the one you fought for, is actually a half-breed demon witch. She charmed you-took your free will and used it as her own. She put your life in jeopardy and discarded you when it suited her. I, on the other hand, am offering you choices: You can help me, you can get out of my way, or you can be my enemy. Choose!”
“Ruatha? You’re Lady Abigail, Commander of the Reishi Legions, those who saved our homeland from Zuhl’s horde?”
“Yes, I am. Now make your choice … I’m pressed for time.”
His confusion and the Sin’Rath’s charm seemed to break at once.
“I’m Sir Raban, at your service, My Lady.”
“Outstanding. Have your men carry her to the castle,” Abigail said, pointing to Magda. He nodded and several men gathered around and carefully picked her up.
“Do you have a wizard?”
“No, My Lady, but there is a shaman who lives in the wilds. He practices the arcane arts.”
“Send for him immediately,” Abigail said. “Do you have any women who know how to fight?”
“None. But why would you need women? I have many strong men who would serve you.”
“Never mind. Gather your men and send a rider ahead for a wagon to carry Magda.”
“Lady Abigail, if I knew more, perhaps I could be of greater help.”
“Do you know anything of magic?”
“No.”
“Then you can help me best by getting my friend to your castle so your healers can attend to her and by sending for thi
s shaman you speak of.”
Raban seemed to struggle with his curiosity for a moment before he turned to his men and started shouting orders.
***
“How are you feeling?” Abigail asked.
Magda worked her tongue in her mouth before shaking her head, struggling to open her eyes, then clenching them shut.
“Here’s some water.”
Abigail trickled a few drops into her mouth, letting her work it around before offering more. Magda rubbed the crusted tears from her eyelashes and tried to sit up.
“Easy … here, let me get you another pillow,” Abigail said, helping her sit up against the headboard.
“How long?” Magda asked, her voice breaking.
“Five days,” Abigail said, offering a cup of water.
“You should have gone on without me,” she said before gingerly taking a sip.
“Nonsense, you almost died. I wasn’t about to leave you in this condition.”
“Peti?”
“She escaped with Torin.”
Magda closed her eyes and shook her head. “We failed.”
“Not yet,” Abigail said. “I sent riders north with a letter for Anatoly. Help should be on its way soon.”
Magda took another drink, draining the cup slowly.
“What else has transpired?”
“Sir Raban, the lord of the keep, has taken us in. He summoned a shaman from the nearby mountains, a strange little man … I think he’s been on his own for a very long time, but he knew enough to make a poultice that drew out the poison. I used the last of my healing salve on your wounds and we’ve been waiting for you to wake ever since.
“Aside from that, I’ve had a few conversations with the people who live here. They’re starved for information about the war and afraid for their children. I can’t say I blame them.”
Lady Raban entered quietly, smiling brightly when she saw that Magda was awake.
“Oh, thank the Maker, we’ve been so worried about you. You must be hungry, let me get you something to eat,” she said without taking a breath and then she was gone.
“They seem eager to please,” Magda said.
“Yes … it took a few days for the truth to sink in for the men, but once it did, they became very repentant. Many have expressed shame and guilt for succumbing to Peti’s charms. I tried to explain but I don’t think my words did much good. Since then, just about every man in the castle has come to me and offered to help when we resume our pursuit. And the women were so grateful to have their men back that they’ve been almost annoyingly helpful.”
Magda chuckled, lapsing into a fit of coughing, clearing her throat several times before she could speak again, nodding her thanks to Abigail when she offered another cup of water.
Lady Raban returned with a tray of food. “The castle is abuzz with your waking,” she said, carefully setting the tray over Magda’s lap. “If it weren’t for Myron standing watch over your door, I fear you’d have a roomful by now.”
“Myron?”
“The man who killed his own wife,” Abigail said. “He’s been guarding the door since we brought you in.”
“I don’t know if the poor man will ever forgive himself,” Lady Raban said. “I fear something inside him has broken.”
“He wants to come with us when we go after Peti,” Abigail said.
Magda sighed. “So much tragedy.”
Lady Raban offered her a spoonful of broth.
“Oh, that’s good,” Magda said with a warm smile. “I’m suddenly very hungry.”
By evening two days later, Magda was almost fully recovered and the entire keep was brimming with anticipation. Abigail and Magda shared a smile when the warning horn blew and they saw four wyverns floating overhead. Everyone came outside to watch them land as they carefully set down on the towers and the gatehouse, folding their wings and settling in for a rest while their riders conferred with Abigail and Magda. The children squealed and laughed with delight, while the adults were a bit more dubious about the new arrivals.
Amelia strode up to Abigail and Magda, bowing respectfully. “Mistress Magda, Lady Abigail, Master Grace dispatched us within an hour of receiving your letter. We had just returned to the city and I’m happy to report that Kallistos is healing nicely. He should be back in the air within the month.”
“Thank you, Amelia,” Abigail said. “I’ve been worried about him.”
“Mistress Magda, has Taharial fallen?”
“In a manner of speaking,” Magda said, withdrawing the figurine of her wyvern. “The witch transformed him into this. I’m hoping that I can reverse the effect, but I suspect it will take some time and study.”
The other three wyvern riders arrived a moment later, lining up behind Amelia. “Per your instructions, Master Grace has sent four witches: Bree, Dalia, Kat, and me. In addition, he sent message riders to Ruatha via the fortress island to pass word of this new threat and to seek assistance or advice from Mage Gamaliel and the Wizards Guild.”
“Good,” Abigail said. “The Guild Mage might be able to send something that could even the odds.”
“Also, Master Grace wished me to deliver a report on the battle for Irondale,” Amelia said. “Prince Conner has taken the city with minimal casualties. The few enemy soldiers who survived have fled into the forest.”
“That’s welcome news,” Abigail said. “How did he manage such a decisive victory with so few losses?”
“As I understand it, an elderly woman living in one of the nearby villages that had been pillaged by Zuhl’s horde came to him with knowledge of a nonlethal, yet highly debilitating toxin made from a locally available type of moss. Prince Conner led a small team into the keep and poisoned the cistern. Within a day, most of the entire population was too sick to fight. Mage Dax breached the wall and our soldiers flooded into the city, killing the barbarians without mercy or quarter.”
Abigail sighed, nodding to herself. “Well done, Conner,” she whispered sadly.
“Unfortunately, the Ithilian Navy didn’t fare as well,” Amelia said. “Zuhl’s five ships engaged them along the northern coast and sank half the fleet before they scattered. Some that survived reached Irondale and we presume more fled to Elsmere. We have scouts looking for them.”
“I see,” Abigail said. “Did they sink any of Zuhl’s ships?”
“No, their weapons were no use against his shields.”
“Thank you, Amelia,” Abigail said, falling silent and nodding to Magda.
“Ladies, we face a most dangerous adversary. This Sin’Rath witch has bested us three times, killing one wyvern, injuring another, transforming a third, and nearly killing me with one of her dark spells. Abigail put an arrow through her eye and out the back of her head, yet she lives. We must find her, we must kill her, and we must preserve Prince Torin’s life in the process. I’ve placed a tracker spell on the prince. When last I checked, he and Peti were already on the water, many leagues from shore. When we overtake them, we will disable the ship without sinking it, board the vessel, and kill her. The men aboard will resist us-use what force is necessary without killing them, if at all possible.”
All four of the witches nodded.
“Excellent,” Magda said. “Abigail will ride with Amelia and I’ll be riding with Bree.”
Abigail turned to their hosts. “Sir Raban, Lady Raban, your assistance and hospitality has been invaluable. We are in your debt.”
“If you are ever in need of safe haven, our home is always open to you, Lady Abigail,” Sir Raban said.
“Thank you.”
Myron pushed through the crowd. “I would ride with you. I have a score to settle with this demon-witch.”
“I know you do. And if it were any other enemy, I would welcome your help, but this is beyond you … she would just use you against us. Stay here and protect these people.”
He swallowed his emotions with a visible effort, then bowed formally.
A few minutes later, four wyverns launched into
the evening sky, gaining altitude for the journey to Sochi.
Chapter 18
At first Wren had been timid about venturing out into the city without Isabel, but after several afternoons of cautious exploring, she came to understand that the soldiers would ignore her … at least most of the time. The first day a few gave her challenging looks, but she just kept her head down and tried to stay out of their way.
One soldier did bother her though. She caught him staring at her in the market. He looked familiar, though she couldn’t place where she’d seen him. The thing that really bothered her was the look of recognition on his face when she looked directly at him. He was gone a moment later.
On her third day of exploring, she decided to be bold and tried to enter the black tower. The big, armored man guarding the door just shook his head when he saw her coming. She didn’t press the issue.
Isabel had sent her to the market nearly every day with lists of things to buy. Phane had told the merchants that Isabel was to be given anything she wanted, with the exception of weapons or armor, and by extension, Wren was given nearly anything she asked for.
Mixed in with several new dresses for them both, Wren had obtained everything on Isabel’s list: packs, bedrolls, waterskins, belts, pouches, boots, cloaks, and two changes of sturdy clothes for each of them, along with cooking utensils and a bag of dried food.
She’d explored a portion of the city between their manor and the nearest wall. Most of the buildings were barracks, some were residential buildings with floor after floor of identical living quarters for workers, while others were warehouses and businesses.
She’d found a few places to hide and even a couple of abandoned passages, both leading to unused basement rooms under barracks buildings. From the decaying weapon racks lining the walls, it looked like the basements had once been used as armories. She had chosen a broken old cabinet within one of these rooms to hide the equipment that she’d gathered, adding to it a bit at a time to avoid suspicion.
She’d managed to steal a knife from the house kitchen, and although it was small and ill-suited to fighting, the blade was sharp and it fit neatly inside her boot.
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