by Shae Ford
Dark red blood spurted out from the mage’s wound. He collapsed on the ground and clutched the arrow with a shaking hand. The stench coming from his blood was incredible. It burned Kael’s nose and made anger pulse at the backs of his eyes. Rage billowed up from the soles of his feet, climbing higher and higher until it consumed him.
He forgot about his friends, forgot about the Witch and all the danger they were in. He must stop that blood. He must rip the mage’s heart out of his chest and hurl it into the deepest part of the sea!
“Stop it!” Kyleigh’s voice was in his head, warring with his anger. He hardly felt it when she pinned him on the ground. “Stop hitting him! Can’t you see the man’s begging for his life?”
It was the shock behind her words that brought him back. The second he stopped fighting, the full weight of Kyleigh’s body nearly crushed him. She had to roll away to keep from breaking his every bone.
“Were you trying to kill me?” he shouted when he had air in his lungs again. “Why would you do that?”
“I’m sorry, but it was the only way I could get you to stop.”
“Stop what?”
She pointed behind him, and he couldn’t help but notice the slight tremble in her hand. “That.”
He wrenched his head around and saw the mage lying in the dirt, spread-eagle and unmoving. His face was covered in blood. He coughed, and red drops went spraying everywhere. “Couldn’t help … couldn’t stop,” he moaned, his head lolling from side to side.
Kael looked up and saw Thelred, still hunched over and bound by his sword, staring at him in shock. Across the rift, Lysander and Aerilyn sat safely in the middle of the road. Their eyes were on him and their mouths hung open.
That’s when he looked down and saw the blood on his knuckles … and he realized what he’d done.
“They say the whisperers hunt mages like the shark hunts blood,” Thelred said, his eyes still wide. “But I never believed it … until now.”
“It’s in your nature,” Kyleigh said to Kael, placing a steady hand on his shoulder. “Whisperers hate magic, and the blood of a mage is magic in its rawest form.” Her grip on his shoulder tightened. “You controlled your anger well.”
Kael heard himself make a sound that was halfway between scorn and disgust. “I pummeled a man for no reason.”
She smiled softly. “I’ve seen full-grown whisperers, men much older who should know better, fly into a rage and tear mages limb from bloody limb. For as young and powerful as you are, believe me when I say that you controlled yourself well.”
He still didn’t think she was right. But then the mage groaned again, and he forgot about arguing with her. He crawled over and tried not to breathe as he inspected the damage. The arrow needed to come out, that much was certain. The rest of his wounds were mainly on his face: a busted lip, broken nose and an eyebrow split neatly down the middle.
He grabbed onto the arrow and was preparing to break it in half when the mage’s hand clamped down on his. “Please,” he said thickly. He held his arm up to Kael’s face and he saw a rusty iron shackle clasped around his wrist. “I know our people are enemies, whisperer. But I beg you — free me.”
Kael was going to ask him what he was talking about when he noticed something odd: a thin, milky white film covered the shackle’s surface. He touched it, and it felt sticky.
“A spell?” he asked, and the mage nodded. “If I release you, how do I know you won’t just attack us again?”
The mage turned his wrist in reply, so that Kael could see the symbol stamped into the metal. It was a sea serpent being pierced in the tail by a harpoon — the symbol of the High Seas.
“I’ve never been my own man. The Duke captured me when I was a child and had his court wizard bind me by this spell. You might say I was raised in captivity.” He tried to take a breath and coughed as blood ran into his mouth. “Gah … I served unwillingly as a battlemage on one of the Duke’s trade ships until we ran aground here. Then the Witch, she’s kept me in that stone prison for three years.” He brushed an impatient sleeve across his mouth and gripped Kael’s arm. “Please, the pain clears my head for a moment, but I can already feel the madness creeping back in. The voices are trying to take me. Break the spell, whisperer, and I’ll be forever in your debt.”
Kael didn’t want that, not at all. He already had a halfdragon following him around because he’d saved her life. But when he met the mage’s eyes, he saw the cold edge was gone from them. They were clear blue and intelligent, even kind. Though he still smelled horrible, it was obvious the mage meant them no harm.
Kael turned his head to the side to get another breath of fresh air before he went to work. He dug his fingernail into the white film, and it broke. After that, it was simply a matter of peeling the spell off — one milky strip at a time. When the film was gone, he put his fingers between the shackle and the mage’s skin and thought:
It isn’t iron — it’s only a piece of parchment. The iron changed to paper in his hands. He tore the shackle clean in two and tossed it aside.
The mage gasped in relief. “Thank you —”
“Yeah, all right,” Kael said quickly. “Just hold still while I patch you up.”
The mage picked up his now slightly-bent spectacles and placed them gingerly on the end of his long nose. “Do you mind if I watch? I’ve never seen a whisperer at work before, but I hear from the older mages that it’s quite a sight.”
“Sure,” Kael said. “Just as long as you hold still.”
It didn’t take him long to close the mage’s wounds or set his nose straight. After everything Morris made him do, healing came back to him easily. The worst part about it was how horribly his blood itched: Kael had to rub dirt on his hands to keep from scratching his palms off. The mage went on about how amazing it was to see a whisperer heal until Thelred very grumpily said:
“Yes, we’re all excited for you. But if I have to stay bent over like this for another second, I might rip my own arm off — and then I’m coming after you with the other one, mage.”
“Ah, yes. Sorry about that,” he said, getting quickly to his feet. He picked his staff up and cleared his throat. “I know what you’re thinking: it’s embarrassing for a full-grown mage to still be carrying around a child’s impetus. But I was never allowed to make my own.”
Kael didn’t understand three words of that. But Kyleigh explained. “An impetus is the object a mage uses to channel his magic. And I’m no expert, but I think a smaller impetus is a sign of a more powerful mage.”
“Yes, because it takes a great deal of skill to link spells tight enough to fit into something as small as, say, a ring,” the mage said. He touched his staff to Thelred — who went toppling backwards as the spell suddenly released them. “A long time ago, a wizard made the mistake of toying with Fate. So great was her ire that she separated our souls from our magic. Now we must be content with scribbling them onto things and casting like that.”
Kael had never heard that story before, but he wouldn’t let the mage think he was interested in it. He moved behind Kyleigh — just incase. If the anger took him again, she was the only one who could stop him.
Lysander and Aerilyn were making their way over the rift, edging across the narrow ledge left by the mage’s spell. Lysander kept trying to take her hand, and she kept batting him away. “I’m quite capable of walking on my own,” she snapped.
“I’m only trying to help, my dear. Let me be a steady hand to you.”
“I’m not your dear. And you’d do well to keep your steady hand away from my rump,” she said, smacking him away again.
“Don’t be preposterous.” Lysander sounded hurt. But when he looked up, Kael saw he was trying to hide a grin.
The mage offered his staff to Aerilyn, and pulled her over the last bit. Then he helped Lysander. “Thank you,” Aerilyn said to him. She pushed by Lysander, tossing her hair rather primly as she went.
He ignored her, and held out his hand to the mage. “T
hank you … uh?”
“Jacob,” the mage supplied.
“Well I thank you, Battlemage Jake,” Lysander said with a toothy smile, and shook his hand so hard that the poor man’s spectacles nearly slid off his nose. “We’d love to stay and chat, but I’m afraid we’ve got some Witch-slaying to do.” He stepped to the side and clapped his hands together sharply. “Come along, lords and ladies. We don’t have time to waste —”
“Wait a moment,” Jake said.
Lysander stopped. He turned around, eyebrows raised. “Yes?”
Jake pushed his spectacles back up his nose and clutched his staff nervously. “I was just — I was wondering if I might come with you, seeing as how it was the Witch who held me prisoner for so long. I’d like to help.”
“You want revenge?”
“Yes,” Jake said firmly. The knuckles clamped around his staff went white.
Lysander sauntered over to him, tapping his chin. “Interesting … but I’m afraid I run a tight ship. I can’t let just anyone join.”
“But I’m a mage,” Jake said. “I’ll bet you don’t have one like me in your crew.”
Lysander looked surprised, like he hadn’t thought of it before. “True. I suppose you could be useful. But you should also know that we’re all pirates.”
“Not all of us,” Aerilyn interjected.
“Right. Some of us are stubborn-arsed merchants,” Lysander said, and grinned when she gasped indignantly. “The point is that we aren’t exactly on good terms with the Kingdom. Sail with us, and you might never see decent society again.”
Jake didn’t seem at all put off. In fact, he stood a little straighter. “That’s well with me, Captain. I’ve got no love for the Kingdom.”
Lysander held out his hand again, and this time when Jake took it, he said: “Welcome to the crew, dog.”
Chapter 28
The Witch of Wendelgrimm
At long last, they reached the top of the cliff. Up close, Wendelgrimm castle looked like little more than a crumbling pile of rocks. Three of its towers reeled like they’d been hit by a strong wind and never quite recovered. The fourth tower stood tall, but had a hole in its roof large enough for a dragon to land in. Vines took over what was left of it.
Blood-red flowers sprouted up from their stems and nearly covered the outer walls. The sharp tang of magic seeping off their petals was enough to make Kael take a step back.
“Don’t let those vines touch you,” Jake warned. “If you get too close, they’ll reach out and strangle you.”
“How enchanting,” Aerilyn muttered.
The only part of the castle that wasn’t covered in vines was the entrance. A pair of wooden doors filled the archway of the castle’s outer wall, and they didn’t look particularly sturdy: large patches were simply rotted through.
“Well, this shouldn’t be difficult,” Lysander said. Then, with a glance at Aerilyn, he marched straight for the doors. “There’s not a plank on this whole thing that could withstand a blow from my boot.”
He was preparing to kick it in when Jake said: “I wouldn’t —”
Lysander’s boot struck the wall and his whole leg bounced off of it. His knee snapped back and hit him squarely in the chin, knocking him onto his rump. It was easily the most ridiculous injury Kael had ever witnessed.
“You could’ve warned us sooner, mage,” Thelred snapped as he bent over his cousin.
“Am I missing a tooth?” Lysander said, pulling his lip down in a panic.
“No, they’re all there,” Thelred assured him.
“It’s nothing dangerous, just a simple warding spell — one designed to keep would-be intruders out,” Jake said. He walked up to the doors and studied them for a moment. “All right, maybe it isn’t a simple one.”
“How are we going to get through?” Aerilyn said. She glanced over her shoulder in the direction of the falling sun. “Kyleigh, can’t you fly back and tell the others to wait?”
She snorted. “And leave you lot here to fend for yourselves? I think not. Besides, most of the crew isn’t exactly aware of my, ah, less attractive half. I wouldn’t want to start a panic by soaring around in broad daylight.”
Jake looked at them curiously, but seemed to think better of asking Kyleigh to explain. Instead, he turned back to the doors. “I could try to figure out a counterspell. I’m sure it would be quite simple … if only I knew the language it was written in.”
“Perfect. I’ve found the Kingdom’s one illiterate mage,” Lysander grumbled as he got to his feet. “Can’t you read your own language?”
Jake smiled wryly. “It’s more complicated than that. There are several dialects, depending on what material you use for your impetus. Wood,” he held up his staff, “is the most basic. Silver is the most temperamental but gold, by far, gives you the most power. Unfortunately, few have discovered how to make spells stick to gold — and of course they guard the secret jealously.” He frowned, and his lip curled slightly. “Only the slimiest mages use leather … they’re naught but common warlocks, if you want my opinion. Iron and steel are the choice of necromancers and rogue practitioners: people like the Witch of Wendelgrimm.”
“Yes, I see … so what you’re saying is you can’t get through it,” Lysander said.
Aerilyn made a frustrated sound. “No, that isn’t what he said at all — he could figure it out, but because the Witch uses steel instead of wood, he’s having a hard time reading it. Honestly, don’t you listen?”
“Ah … wait a moment.” Lysander’s eyes went suddenly wide. “What sort of steel does she use? Have you seen it?”
Jake shrugged. “Sure, but it just looked like a rusty old cutlass to me.”
Lysander hung his head. “That’s it, then. We’re done. We might as well head back the way we came —”
“Why?” Kael said. He wasn’t about to come this far just to turn around and march back empty-handed.
“Because, my dear boy,” he said with over-exaggerated patience, “the Witch is in possession of Gravy’s Lass, which means she can’t be beaten. If we face her now, we might as well just slit our own throats —”
“No, she can definitely be beaten,” Kael insisted, which made Lysander stop.
“Oh? And how do you figure that?”
He thought quickly. “Because Sam Gravy was the father of all pirates, wasn’t he?”
Lysander put a reverent hand over his heart. “Aye, he was.”
“And you wouldn’t want anybody but a pirate to use your ship, would you?”
“I daresay I wouldn’t. And he better be a blasted good pirate, at that.”
“Well, I don’t think the Lass would work for anyone who wasn’t a pirate.”
Lysander was beginning to realize, slowly, where all this was headed. Understanding crept across his face. “Go on.”
Kael sighed and tried to keep the impatience out of his voice. “Sam Gravy wouldn’t want his Lass falling into the hands of just anyone — he’d want a pirate to inherit it, a blasted good one. And he’d have been powerful enough to make sure of it.”
It was an outright lie, but a necessary one. He didn’t believe there was any sword that could grant its wielder the ability to win every battle, and he wasn’t going to let a myth scare Lysander off. The people of Copperdock deserved to be fought for … even if it was a losing battle.
“You’re right, of course. You’re absolutely right,” Lysander said, now thoroughly convinced. “The Witch doesn’t deserve Gravy’s sword — the Lass will be on our side! We can’t possibly lose. Now all we have to do is find a way into the castle.”
“I have an idea,” Kael said. He stepped up to the doors, and this time he knew what he was looking for. Yes, if he squinted a bit, he could see the milky white spell that covered them. He dug into it with the nails of both hands and wrenched a large, slimy chunk of it off, just enough for them to get through.
“Well done,” Kyleigh said. And with one powerful kick, she broke through the planks.
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They walked into a courtyard that looked as if it had been the stage for many battles. The ground was beaten and craggy, the grass was brown and dry. Huge boulders jutted out of the yard in odd places. Kael realized it was because they’d been flung over by catapults. In fact, he could match the chinks in the wall to the shapes of some of the boulders.
“We aren’t the only ones to try and defeat the Witch,” Thelred murmured. “Whole armies have marched on Wendelgrimm … never to be seen or heard from again.”
Oddly enough, his story didn’t do much to steady Kael’s nerves. Though it did convince him to get an arrow drawn and ready.
They were in the precise middle of the courtyard when the castle doors flung open. They slammed against the wall, and a wrinkly old crone hobbled out from between them. “What’s the meaning of this?” she shrieked. “I’ll not have a ragtag bunch of travelers tromping through me courtyard — you!” She stabbed a boney finger at Jake. “Why ain’t you where I left you?”
“Because he’s been freed, Witch,” Lysander said.
Kael groaned aloud. This was the dreaded Witch of Wendelgrimm? This hag with more wrinkles than the backside of his trousers? He wanted to kick Lysander for dragging him through the tempest to fight an old woman. It was a waste of a perfectly good arrow.
The Witch’s dark eyes locked onto Lysander. Then her mouth cracked open and she bared all three of her yellow teeth in a snarling grin. “Why hello, Captain. Come to keep an old witch company?”
He made a face. “Not hardly. My friends and I are here to kill you — to free the good people of Copperdock and reclaim stolen property!”
“Stolen property?” Her snarl widened. “You wouldn’t mean this, now would you?” She drew a cutlass from the folds of her tattered robes. The blade was plain steel with chinks all along the edge of it. The hilt looked as if it had been whittled by a child and set by a blind man.
