Witch Bane (13 page)

Before he could convince himself not to,
Sebastian willed his shield to bear and leapt toward the beast as
it neared, swinging low to tear the girl from the saddle. Sebastian
caught it unaware.

He ignored the rider and stepped up under
the great wing of the griffin as it blurred by. His quicksilver
blade lashed out and cut into the joint connecting the wing to the
torso. The creature shrieked as the sword cleaved through.
Sebastian felt his shoulder twinge as the griffin veered off
suddenly, showering him in a mist of warm blood. The beast crashed
into a tree at full speed. The snap of its neck was like the crack
of thunder. Its pained screech ended instantly. Strapped to the
griffin, the rider slammed forward at the impact, then whiplashed
back at an unnatural angle, the dead bulk of the beast carrying
them down until both crashed in a heap at the base of the tree.

The man groaned, a deep, wet sound that
trailed on and on, but Sebastian didn’t have time to finish him
off; he’d die on his own, soon enough. A second griffin winged
through the canopy, turning Donlen and girl back in Sebastian’s
direction. The twang of his father’s crossbow echoed through the
trees and the griffin’s rider fell to hang dead from the straps.
The beast went into a sudden, sharp climb and disappeared through
the canopy, leaves and broken branches raining down in the
creature’s wake.

His eyes on the trees above, Sebastian
barely heard the screech that exploded behind him. He dove to the
ground and rolled as another of the griffins whipped past. Just a
foot above him, the stench of it washed over him as though it were
a physical blow. He gasped for breath as scrambled to his feet,
realizing its path. The bald warrior who’d only just begun to get
his horse under control wasn’t as lucky.

Sword-like talons ripped through his cuirass
as though it were paper, a crimson cloud erupting from beneath. His
scream was cut short as a second, sharpened paw closed about his
face and lifted him into the air by his head. His mount jerked as
it was yanked upward by the warrior still caught in the saddle. The
horse was free a heartbeat later as the man’s feet were torn from
his legs, the bloody remnants still entangled in the stirrups.

The griffin arced upward as red poured down
in a steaming torrent. The warrior’s entrails spilled from his
disemboweled guts and uncoiled like a meaty rope, which trailed
behind the beast as it returned to the skies. Torn loose by the
jagged branches of the canopy, his intestines dropped back to the
earth with a wet splash.

Sebastian turned away, his own guts intent
on revolt. As he spun, he saw the remaining warrior and the girl
barreling down on him. Before he could move, yet another griffin
burst through the greenery. The beast came in too fast, too steep,
striking the ground beside the warhorse like a rock tossed from a
height, its forelegs buckling beneath it with a sickening snap. Its
razor-edged beak sunk its point through the thigh of the
long-haired warrior, severing it clean as it opened its mouth to
shriek its pain. Donlen tumbled from his horse without a sound, his
mount stumbling over him as it fled the thrashing griffin.

The reins to the girl’s horse still in
Donlen’s hands, his weight yanked her mount sideways, and she
barely managed to remain in the saddle. Her eyes were wide as she
clutched to the pommel and watched the man go down beneath the
hooves.

Sebastian saw the Red Guard rider loose
himself from the downed griffin and leap aside to be away from its
winging claws. He had barely settled his feet when Sebastian ran
him through from behind. The soldier was dead before his body
struck the ground. A bolt from Darius’ crossbow pierced the eye of
the griffin but an instant later, and it collapsed to join its
rider. The echo of its screams still rang in Sebastian’s ears.

“
Get the girl,” his father growled as
he loaded another bolt, his eyes on the canopy.

Sebastian sheathed his blade and ran to her
side just as the young girl slid from her horse. Her eyes were
glazed as she stared down at Donlen, who lay nearby. His head had
been caved in by his horse’s panicked hooves. Sebastian turned her
from the sight and scooped the girl into his arms. She moaned but
said nothing, appearing to not even notice Sebastian, looking as
though she were in shock. As gently as he could, he carried her at
a run back to his father’s side. The guttural cries of griffins
roared at them from above, and Sebastian knew the Red Guard foot
soldiers would be on them any moment.

“
What do we do with her?”

“
She’s our responsibility now,” his
father answered without hesitation. He looked off through the trees
and Sebastian saw his shoulders slump. “For as long as we all live,
that is.” He pointed. There between the green of the branches,
Sebastian spied the obvious wave of red moving toward them. “Give
her to me,” Darius demanded as he slung his crossbow across his
back. “We need to flee.”

Sebastian did as he was told and yanked his
sword from its sheath as soon as his hands were free. The bitter
scent of brimstone washed over them, thick in the air. Darius
stiffened and Sebastian knew exactly what the smell heralded: the
Red Witch had found them first.

“
Run,” he told his father, his voice
like steel. Darius hesitated. “You’ve trained me to fight the
witches; trust in what you’ve raised me to be. It’s the girl who
needs your protection now. Take her to the resistance camp. I’ll
lead them off and find you there later.”

The girl’s head lolled and his father
growled. The truth of Sebastian’s words glowed red on his cheeks.
“Don’t be reckless, boy. This is not the time to make a stand. Draw
them away, and then follow after us.” He gave Sebastian a fiery
glare. “None of your heroics this time, you hear me, boy?”

Sebastian nodded and shoved at his father.
“Go.”

Darius did. Belying his age and the girl in
his arms, his father dashed into the trees with a quickness that
would have surprised Sebastian had he time to consider it. The
shouts of the approaching soldiers left him no room for anything
beyond survival.

He drew in a deep breath, tasting the stench
of magic, and pressed his will to strengthen his shield. He waited
just a moment longer for the Red Guard soldiers to close and spy
him through the trees. When their voices rose up in a barked
chorus, Sebastian dashed off, making sure he went the opposite
direction that his father had gone.

If he could accomplish nothing else before
he was run down and killed, he hoped to keep his father safe.

Thirteen

The White Witch prowled the dais, her hands
clasped into fists so tight they ached. Her thoughts were a storm,
held back at the dam of her tongue while she fought to keep her
anger contained. She spun to glare at the door as it creaked open.
Shade slipped inside with her head down. Deborah stopped her pacing
and moved to the edge of the stairs, her heart fast in her
chest.

The assassin came to stand before the dais,
and Deborah spied the crusted red of blood that stained her
shoulder. Pale and puckered flesh peeked out from beneath the torn
cloth. She removed her mask gingerly, the ice of her eyes settling
upon Deborah. The White Witch glared down at her.

“
You failed me,” she said, her voice a
frigid counterpoint to the fury inside.

Shade nodded. “It was not Elizabeth Bourne I
found when I came across our informant, but instead a warlock.”

“
He bested you?”

A menacing laugh slipped from Shade’s mouth.
“He did not, but he had an unseen accomplice who struck me a blow,
which would have changed the favor had I remained.”

Deborah began to pace once more. “The
warlock: was he wounded as well?”

“
He was, though not seriously.” She
seemed to anticipate the next question, answering before it could
be asked. “This warlock is young, but he is skilled, his powers
trained much like mine, to augment the blade rather than as an
offensive weapon. Despite being little more than a child, he
is
a threat.”

The White Witch growled. “Do you know if he
is in league with Elizabeth?”

Shade shook her head. “I didn’t have the
opportunity to interrogate him, but if he is, our problems have
grown a magnitude greater.”

“
What do you mean?” Deborah stomped
down the stairs to stand before Shade, their faces inches
apart.

Shade smirked. “His companion was the
mastermind who nearly toppled the witch rule thirty years back, the
general from the Outlands.”

The White Witch’s eyes narrowed as she
thought back. “Darius?”

“
General Darius Crane,
yes.”

The name was like a physical blow to
Deborah. She turned quick to keep Shade from seeing her reaction,
and returned up the stairs to the dais, forcing each step to be
calm, measured. A mask of impassivity set in place to guard her
emotions, she dropped down atop the throne and looked again to
Shade. “Perhaps he is where Elizabeth’s new boldness comes from.
The general was always so sure of himself.”

“
Perhaps,” Shade agreed. “That would
be my belief, as well.”

Before Deborah could say anything else, the
doors to the throne room burst open with a crash. She looked up to
see Gracelin rushing in, her green robes flailing out behind her.
Her normally composed hair trailed wild in her wake as she hurried
to the dais.

“
Carrance and her men have come across
Emerald.”

Deborah jumped to her feet. “Where? Do they
have her?”

The Green Witch frowned. “The nearly did,
but a warlock—” She cast a glance at the assassin. “—likely the
same one Shade encountered, stole her away, killing a number of our
griffins.”

Her hands curling into fists, Deborah howled
through clenched teeth. “Shade, go to Carrance and help her bring
this upstart warlock to his knees. I want him dead so I can burn
his body as a warning to the rest of the resistance.” She waved the
assassin away. “Go now.”

Shade turned and strode off. Once she was
gone, Deborah turned to Gracelin. “We cannot leave this in
Carrance’s hands. We must assist her in bringing this warlock
down.”

Gracelin stared at her through the slits of
her eyes. “Shade nearly laid him low alone. Surely she and Carrance
can handle him without too much difficulty.”

The White Witch walked down the stairs and
grasped Gracelin’s hand in hers. “We must be certain.” She drew in
a lungful of air and let it out slow, hoping to settle her pulse so
she could speak without her voice betraying her. “Shade recognized
General Darius as the man who aids the warlock.”

Gracelin gasped. “He lives?”

Deborah nodded shallow. “He does, and though
I have no proof he’s allied with Elizabeth, it can only be a matter
of time until he does, for they both share a common enemy.”

“
No matter the general’s tactical
prowess, Elizabeth does not have the forces to cause us any true
harm. What could he possibly do for her?”

Deborah squeezed her hand. “He has something
far greater than military might, woman. He has Alise’s son, and the
truth to stand behind.”

Gracelin pulled her hand away, covering her
mouth. She spoke in a hoarse whisper, “If the rest of the Council
were to learn—”

“
Which is why they cannot.” She gave
Gracelin a gentle push toward the doors. “Go and make ready. We
must be sure that Darius and his whelp find their end before word
of the abomination’s origin can surface.”

The Green Witch spun away and raced from the
room, leaving Deborah alone with her thoughts. Once more they were
dark, though it was not anger that fueled them, but fear. Long had
she believed the spawn of her nemesis to be dead, only now to find
him alive and trained in the arts of war. It was not his sword she
feared, but the lineage he shared with the former White Witch. Were
people to learn of him, it would put the lie to story of Alise’s
death and would point the finger of guilt directly at Deborah.

Damn you,
Darius
!

She paced before the stairs, wondering how
long it would take before the other members of the Council learned
of the war she fought beyond the limits of their eyes and ears.
With Carrance a party to the crime of Alise’s death, they’d kept
the Red Guard movements a secret from the rest of the Council,
assuring the others that peace was fast approaching and the land
had come to accept the new order. Happily content to hide away
within their towers and bask in the newfound longevity Deborah had
brought them, they so rarely left the comfort of Corilea. Were they
to wander too far, they would quickly see that all was not as
Deborah had claimed; their precious immortality bought through
oppression and the slaughter of children.

No matter her status as the White Witch, the
title earned through murder, Deborah had no illusions the Council
would turn upon her were they to learn the truth of what she’d
orchestrated. Alise had been greatly loved. Her rule had been a
peaceful and happy one, a prosperous one, many of the witches’
enemies broken during her reign. If the other witches were to
realize it was not Elizabeth who killed the former White Witch but
Deborah herself, there would be hell to pay. Deborah knew she would
not survive such a revelation.

Her stomach in knots, she strode toward her
quarters. It had come to this: it was the warlock’s life or hers.
It wasn’t even a decision to be made. Before all the threads of her
rule could be unraveled, she would end the line of Alise, once and
for all. What had begun in blood would end in it.