The Witch's Reward

by Liz McCraine

  The beast that had run into her gelding had been another horse, but one badly scarred and beaten, with patches of puckered, hairless skin marring its body so that it resembled a monster. The abused animal was struggling to rise to its feet, but couldn’t manage the task with its legs caught up in the branches of a fallen tree. It was making sharp, shrill shrieks of pain and distress. Her own gelding stood still and silent except for the heavy breathing that came from its nostrils. Its head and neck hung low, and its brown coat was soaked with sweat and white flecks of lather from its hard run. It stood favoring its left hind leg, the injury having occurred as a result of the impact with the other horse.

  Above the distressed thrashing of the scarred horse, Larra heard the sound of metal upon metal and the deep grunts and groans of men engaged in armed battle, a sound she was now familiar with. She turned toward the conflict and saw Christoff and Griffen defending themselves against a single, wild-looking man.

  Their attacker was almost naked, his darkly tanned skin covered only at the loins by a tattered garment that appeared to be several long strips of skin roughly sewn together and wrapped around the hips to hang in long flaps about his thighs. He was tall and very muscular, but he had a wild look to his face and his long, dark hair hung in dreadlocks. All over his body were tattoos of foreign shapes and writings that Larra couldn’t discern from her distance several feet away. His eyes held madness; there was no fear of death at the hands of two fierce knights, despite the fact that he was fighting with only two short daggers against their long swords.

  Tied around his neck and wrists were several strands of what looked like the bones of fingers and toes. They clacked together like chimes in the wind, giving an almost musical beat to his crazed movements. His ears had been mutilated, with splinters of bones pushed through the cartilage in every direction. There was dried blood staining his skin from his fingers all the way to his forearms, running in splatters down his legs, and painted over his mouth, chin, and neck. He was an ugly, muscular, vicious madman, intent on destroying those before him.

  The three men fought in a frenzy of rapid movements. Arms, legs, and bodies swooped and leaned, jabbed and retracted as though participating in some animalistic dance. Just as Larra thought her defenders were beginning to advance on the attacker, she suddenly saw the wild man disarm Griffen with one lethal blade and raise the other to block and hold Christoff’s descending sword. Larra thought that Griffen would step back and retrieve his sword while Christoff kept the wild man occupied, but Griffen was not moving. Another glance showed that the wild man seemed to have entranced Griffen into immobility. With a single palm held upward toward Griffen’s body, the man had complete control. He kept his palm out, holding Griffen motionless even he used his free hand to combat Christoff’s sword.

  Desperate to save the two knights, Larra thought quickly for a solution to what was looking like a lost fight. Ignoring the pain in her hip, she stumbled around the white, scarred horse and grasped the flask of water hanging from her gelding’s saddle. The tired animal didn’t move a muscle when she jerked the flask from its ties and ran back to the men.

  She had to save Christoff and Griffen. The two had come to mean so much to her, the one because of her attraction to him, the other because he had become the closest thing she had ever had to a father. If this wild man was a carnie, there was only one thing she could think of to do that would help.

  Ignoring the danger she was putting herself in, she opened the flask and stepped up to the fight. Without pausing to consider if it would work, she drew back her arm and, grasping the opening of the flask, launched water onto the back of the carnie.

  The hiss and sputter that erupted from the carnie’s skin where it had been splattered by water was similar to the sounds made when water was poured over an open fire. The carnie arched his back, trying to avoid being burned by the liquid, and threw back his head in a piercing yell of pain.

  In the same moment that the carnie’s head was thrown back in agony, his eyes tightly shut, Christoff lunged forward and drove his sword through the wild man’s heart. Tanned, tattooed arms reached up to feebly pluck at the weapon penetrating his body, but to no avail. He fell backwards, Larra just barely jumping out of the way of his heavy body.

  “Turn away, Larra. You don’t want to see this,” Christoff ordered roughly, ripping off his helmet. His breathing was heavy and sweat dripped from his dark hair down his temples.

  She didn’t listen. Blood had never bothered her, and she watched, fascinated, as he slid the blade of his sword along the creature’s chest, slicing it through the skin. She didn’t look away, even when he pulled out its heart and buried it in the ground—a safeguard, she’d heard once, against the carnie coming back to life. When he was done, he flipped the body over, and used a moss-covered log to wipe his sword clean of the blood.

  “They’re just men,” she stated quietly, her eyes never leaving the dead body. And really, they were. She didn’t know what she had been expecting. Horns? Extra legs and arms? Wings? A living and breathing person had never crossed her mind. What had happened to them to turn them into carnies, creatures that fed on human flesh and terrorized innocent people? What had caused them to become living nightmares?

  “Not anymore,” he sheathed his sword and came to stand beside her.

  He was right. Whatever had happened to this dead man had changed him from human to wild animal. She remembered the crazed look in his eyes and the way he’d fought Griffen and Christoff, as if death didn’t matter.

  “Griffen!” she exclaimed suddenly, whirling away from the corpse as she recalled the older knight. He was still kneeling on the ground in the same spot as before, still frozen from the carnie’s power. She ran to him, Christoff following on her heels.

  “Griffen,” she called, kneeling beside the older man. He was breathing heavily, his eyes glazed over. He didn’t seem to recognize them.

  “What happened to him?” she asked Christoff, who knelt beside her and brought his arm comfortingly around her shoulders. He rubbed the side of her arm with gentle strokes.

  “He’s stunned. But don’t worry; he’ll come out of it in just a moment. Carnie magic controls blood. They can move any living thing with blood running through it, including people; which is what happened to Sir Griffen. If it had only been Griffen fighting the carnie, he would have easily been killed. Luckily for us, a carnie can’t control more than one body at a time, so I was able to continue fighting him until you came and saved us both. That was quick thinking on your part.”

  He leaned down, the arm around her pulling her close as his lips lowered to hers. The kiss was quick and rough, one of relief and overwhelming emotion. He knew how close to death they had all been.

  A throat cleared and both Christoff and Larra jerked back, ending the connection. As one, they turned their heads and saw Griffen, freed from his daze, struggling to contain a grin. Larra felt her face bloom red in embarrassment and she glanced away, a small smile lifting the corners of her mouth. Christoff’s arm remained around her as he returned Griffen’s stare without a speck of chagrin.

  “What are you staring at, old man?” he asked.

  “Who, me?” Griffen played innocent. “I didn’t see anything. Nothing at all.”

  “Are you all right?” asked Larra. “You weren’t moving, and I was worried. But Christoff, I mean, the captain, said you would come out of it.”

  Griffen’s eyes twinkled. “I’m fine, thanks. We’ve fought these carnies before, and the effects don’t last long.” His demeanor changed and he asked Christoff if he’d taken care of the carnie’s heart.

  “Yes.”

  “Are there more?” she asked.

  “As far as I know, this was the only one that got away. But many of the men were injured in the attack and they’ll be waiting for us by the river,” his voice was grim. “We were lucky there were only a handful of the creatures, else we wouldn’t be alive to talk about it. As it is, we will have to make camp early
and use the rest of the daylight to tend to wounds.”

  “I could help with the wounded,” offered Larra.

  “Thank you. Your help will be appreciated.”

  Christoff and Griffen’s horses were standing to the side, both still breathing hard from their runs. Griffen collected the animals while Christoff led Larra to her gelding. As they passed the white, scarred horse, which had given up fighting against the heavy branches that held it immobile, Larra felt an overwhelming surge of pity. It must have endured such pain living with carnies. The scars and marks on its body alone testified of its suffering.

  “What will happen to it?” she asked.

  “We’ll get you and your gelding taken care of and then I’ll put it out of its misery.”

  Larra’s eyes filled with tears. She could tell the horse was gravely injured and the killing would be merciful, but she couldn’t help but feel for the poor animal. It was as if the beast cried out to her, begging her to help it. It’s black, defeated eyes seemed to look straight into hers and she felt the beating of the magic within her, yearning to act. The animal’s wounds were beyond even her experienced healing, and she knew that only magic could help it now. If Christoff really trusted her, as he now seemed to, he might let her help this poor, broken horse. At the very least, she had to try.

  “I can heal it,” she took Christoff’s hand in both of hers and pulled him to a stop. “I have the power. I can make it better, give it another chance to live,” she pleaded, her heart in her throat.

  She watched as he struggled with an answer, his jaw tight. When he finally spoke, it was with resolve. “I can’t let you do that,” he said. “I can’t let you use your magic, or I will be forced to carry out the consequences for your actions. Do you understand?”

  His answer stunned her. It was not what she’d expected.

  The man who answered her was not the same man who had held her tightly by the river, who had kissed her, slept beside her, showed her that he cared for her. In his place was the man she’d met that first day in the cottage—distant, determined to do his job.

  She knew what he meant. He meant that regardless of their relationship—whatever it was—he would have to execute her if she used her magic. That upset her because she could easily heal the horse without anyone the wiser. Sir Griffen was far enough away with the other animals that he wouldn’t see, leaving Christoff the only one who could speak of the incident to the king.

  Which meant he didn’t really trust her, after all.

  It made her angry. It made her suspect that he was playing games with her heart, one moment telling her he trusted her and the next telling her he didn’t. She wondered if he’d ever really meant those words he’d told her yesterday by the river, or if he had just been taking advantage of the opportunity to kiss a pretty girl. Maybe he was amusing himself with her on this lengthy journey. It was certainly something to consider, that his motives weren’t as honest as she’d assumed.

  She swallowed her anger and released his hand, spinning away to get to her gelding. “Fine,” she bit out.

  He didn’t comment.

  They reached her gelding and Christoff felt down its haunch to its hock, checking for swelling and heat that would signify a serious injury.

  “It appears to be just bruised, but he’s still not putting much weight on it,” he said after he’d walked the horse forward a few steps. “It would be better for you to ride with me and let him have a break. We’ll have Griffen lead him behind his horse.”

  Larra remained silent as they led the gelding to Sir Griffen, before moving to Christoff’s large warhorse. She spared a last glance for the poor, defeated white animal that had given up trying to get free. Christoff had no sooner lifted her into his saddle then he returned to the broken horse. She looked away as he put it out of its misery, the combination of empathy for the horse’s suffering and regret for not being able to save its life churning within her like debris in a whirlpool. And added to those feelings was the slowly stewing anger at the sudden change in Christoff’s treatment of her.

  He mounted and sat behind her, wrapping his arms loosely around her as he picked up the reins. She held herself stiffly away from him as much as possible during the ride to the river, but if he noticed, he didn’t say. Despite being upset, she still couldn’t help but feel tingles where his arms touched hers and at the warmth of his chest against her back. She was perturbed to find herself physically attracted to him even in her anger.

  It took only minutes to reach the river, despite the lame gelding. After riding downstream for several minutes more, Larra finally made out the group of knights clustered together on the bank. They looked, Larra thought ironically, like they had been at war. Their horses were quiet and still, with heads drooping. Some sported gashes along their shoulders and flanks, but nothing appeared too serious. The men looked just as tired as their animals. Some of them were unharmed, while others were having arms and legs wrapped. A couple of knights were being steadied by their associates as they stood waist deep in the river. Letting the river cleanse the wounds. Not ideal, but definitely smart, given the circumstances. She silently counted the men, noting that they were one short.

  Smithen!

  She twisted in the saddle.

  “What about Smithen?” she asked Christoff. They wouldn’t just leave him out on the road. Even if he was a monster, the drafts didn’t deserve to be stranded with the wagon.

  “Once we set up camp, I’ll send two of the men to retrieve the drafts,” he said, his tone grim.

  Larra could tell that he didn’t want to talk, and she wondered if he was distracted because of the attack, or if it had something to do with her. She turned back around, holding herself every bit as rigid as she had before.

  Christoff wasn’t a fool; he’d noticed right away that Larra was upset. He longed to pull her back, closer against his chest, and wrap his arms tightly around her. But that wasn’t a good idea—and not only because they were nearing his men. When Larra had requested permission to heal the horse, he had been reminded that as much as he had come to care for this beautiful young woman, he had perhaps been getting too close to her. He had been overcome with emotion when she had drowned, and again when he had revived her. He had been so relieved, so happy that she was alive, that all he’d wanted to do was hold her close and never let her go. But now that the quiet journey home to the city had been interrupted by the battle with the carnies, his head had cleared and he was reminded again of who he was and what he was supposed to be doing.

  He was a prince, the heir to the throne. His heart might be falling for the girl seated in front of him, but there were two very large problems with forming a serious relationship with her. The first was the matter of her birth. She was from a family of unknown origins, a simple subject in his father’s kingdom. She had been raised to work for her living and knew nothing of social graces or political diplomacy. She was a commoner, and he was a prince. Every match made in the history Aggadorn’s rulers had been between people of royalty or diplomatic importance. His own mother had been very popular at court in her home country of Trigden, since her father had been one of Trigden’s royal ambassadors. His grandfather, great grandfather, and those before them had all married respectable, wealthy, or otherwise well-bred women in the effort to continue an intelligent and respectable line of leaders. Christoff seriously doubted his parents would allow him to unite with a commoner, especially since his future wife would be expected to rule beside him.

  The other problem was the magic. As much as he hoped he could convince his father to let her go, to not have her executed, in truth Christoff could not guarantee Larra’s safety. Keeping the laws were paramount above all else. And if the law stated that a witch must be burned, there would be little he could do. For a short while, Christoff had almost forgotten that Larra was a witch. She ate beside him, slept beside him, rode next to him and conversed with him. He had kissed her and felt things for her that he had never felt for the ladies who attended
the palace courts. But the moment she had asked to use her magic, he was reminded. He was reminded that when all was said and done, she was a witch with magical powers, he was her captor, and it was his duty to bring her to the king for judgment.

  A black cloud was raining on his heart, and he would have drowned in the sorrow were it not for the logic of his mind. His head told him to stay away. He knew he needed to back off from building their relationship any stronger than it had already become. He couldn’t kiss her again, and must not give her false hopes of a future that would never be. He must think logically. He would think logically. And he would keep his distance from her.

  As soon as they reached the others, Christoff flung himself off his tired horse. He barely glanced at Larra as he helped her dismount, handing her to a startled Griffen and turning away immediately so as not to see the anger and hurt in her eyes. He knew she could tell that he was distancing himself from her, and her anger at his denial to let her use her magic had been evident in the flash of her eyes and the stiffness of her body. Leaving her with Griffen, he tried to ignore the regret he felt and got to work helping his men. Griffen would aid the girl in finding whatever supplies she needed to treat the wounded.

  Even though it was still daylight by the time things settled down, the horses and men were too weary to do anything more than rest. They set up camp along the riverside to prevent any more carnie attacks, though two such bizarre events in one day was more than unlikely.

  Larra rested against a tree, trying not to think of the fight she had seen that day and the carnie body left in the woods. She had worked hard to stitch up the men, using the knowledge she had gained from years of study and experience to help them. More than one had been surprised at her willingness to help, and more than one had remarked at how skilled she was as a healer. If they thought she was good without magic, they should see how good she was with her magic, she had thought with some amusement.