Witch Bane (6 page)

Sebastian heard the muted voice of his
father's crossbow once again and darted around the side of the hut.
A Red Guard soldier met him halfway, the orange-red trail of a
torch streaking toward him. He grasped his sheath and used both
hands to parry the blow, turning his face so the resultant spray of
ash and sparks didn’t blind him. The instant he felt the
connection, the side of his head awash in swirling heat, he tore
his sword loose of its scabbard and rammed the open end of the
sheath into the stomach of the torch-wielder. The man grunted and
doubled over, pulling the sheath from his hand. Before the soldier
could straighten, Sebastian thrust the point of his mercurial blade
into the man’s ear.

The Red Guard twitched as the sword pierced
his skull and slid serpentine into his brain. The veins at his
temple flared up, squirming with fury. His eyes bubbled and burst
like over-ripe fruit, spewing the last of the man’s life onto the
sand. Sebastian kicked the soldier away and moved on, rounding the
corner to the back of the tiny home.

A soldier staggered toward him, clutching
high at his chest. Dark fluid gushed from between his fingers, the
last few inches of a crossbow bolt protruding from his armpit. The
back of another Red Guard could be seen beyond, as he fled. The
brightness of his armor was a beacon that betrayed his path even in
the shadowed depths of the narrow alleys. One more soldier lay
motionless on the ground, one of Darius’ bolts sunk into the center
of his face, its rounded end a poor substitute for the nose it had
usurped.

Sebastian grabbed the wounded soldier as he
stumbled by, but let him loose the moment he saw his eyes. They
were filled with a deeper blackness than the blood that poured from
his wound. Death had already claimed the man’s mind, his body too
stubborn to realize. Sebastian moved to chase after the one who’d
gotten away, but his father’s voice called out to him.

“
Let him go.”

Sebastian turned to rail against his
father’s hypocrisy but saw him holding up the limp arm of the first
soldier to fall, shot dead from inside the hut. Through his
excitement, he noticed what caught his father’s attention, and why
he’d called the chase off: the bright red armor hung loose upon the
man’s arm despite the inner clasps cinched tight. Sebastian spun
about and went back to the men he’d killed, kneeling beside the
first to examine him. The dead man’s armor fit too snugly, gaps
running down the sides where the leather didn’t meet, the same at
his sleeves. There was dried blood caked about the neck and a few
places where the reddened leather had been rubbed free of its dye,
as though it had been hastily cleaned.

The other corpse was similar to the one
Darius had slain, the straps tightened to the extreme but there was
far too much space between the flesh and leather to provide
meaningful protection. Sebastian grasped ahold of the corpse’s hand
and felt soft, supple skin at the palm and fingertips. He tossed
the lifeless limb away and stood with a huff, returning to his
father’s side. He examined the bodies there, in turn.

“
What do you see?” his father
asked.

“
An illusion, it would seem.” He
glanced about, peering into the night’s darkness but seeing
nothing. The only sound was the constant stirring of the pyre,
which echoed in the pre-dawn silence. Gingerly, so as not to hurt
his naked foot, he kicked at a mace that lay in the sand. He
dropped his voice to a whisper. “These men are not Red
Guard.”

His father nodded and drew closer, his gaze
dancing about the shadows: seeking. “What else?”

“
I doubt they’re even warriors. If
they had truly intended to burn us out, why leave the door
unbarred? Why use no oil or not light the hut from a distance?” He
nudged the mace once more. “And since when does the Red Guard wield
maces?”

“
They don’t,” his father answered
plainly.

A stone of realization settled in
Sebastian’s stomach. He looked back to the tiny hut they’d been
offered so graciously, its location nearest the edge of the
village, and then off to the pyre. No one stood about it, the biers
burning lonely in the fire’s midst. He turned back and met his
father’s cold gaze.

“
It would seem we are no longer
welcome here.” Sebastian’s shoulders drooped. He had been looking
forward to at least a few hours of sleep before his father roused
him and dragged him from the warm comfort of his borrowed bed.
Darius looked no more pleased than he imagined he did.

“
Stay alert. I’ll retrieve our
gear.”

His father slipped inside the hut as
Sebastian kept watch. The night remained quiet with the stillness
of complicity. While the battle lasted no more than a few moments,
no one had stirred from their beds or even peeked from their huts
to see what had transpired. Though little noise was made beyond the
quick cries of dying men, most covered by the fire’s voice, the
release of a crossbow was as distinct a sound as could be made. It
left no room for misinterpretation as to its use. It was a weapon
made for combat alone.

So soon after the Red Guard had laid the
village low, the people of Deliton should be at their most wary,
but Sebastian saw no sign of concern; no sign of anything, for that
matter. There could be no doubt the villagers had been involved, or
willfully ignorant, not to have noticed. The furthest of the
neighboring huts was no more than twenty feet away.

He shook his head in disgust as his father
returned, passing him his boots. He slipped them on quickly,
shouldered his meager pack, and went to retrieve his sheath. He put
his sword away and set it back at his hip, motioning to his father
that he was ready. Darius headed off without looking back, forcing
Sebastian to hurry to keep up. As they made their way from the
village, he felt a spike of fury fill his stomach with churning
warmth.

Though they hadn’t asked for his help,
Sebastian had rid them of the Red Guard that had enslaved them, had
slain their sons and fathers, likely raped their wives and
daughters, yet they had betrayed him, in turn, as though he was no
better than the witches’ pets. Their cowardice sickened him.

He glanced at his father as he walked ahead,
his gait hurried and tight-legged, his back stiff with his anger.
There was a lesson here, and Sebastian couldn’t help but see it. He
muttered a curse as they strode through the gloom, understanding
now more than ever why his father had made the wilderness their
home, hiding them deep within the barren wastes.

Regardless of Sebastian’s deeds, he would
forever be deemed an abomination.

Six

Hours after nightfall, Emerald lay beneath
the cloth tarp that fluttered gently in the light breeze. Exhausted
from the day’s travel and excitement, she tossed and turned,
fitful, her mind frustratingly sharp despite her weariness. She
could hear the deep rumble of Fulrik’s snores. She envied his peace
of mind, the mercenary asleep within minutes after determining his
companion would take first watch.

Fearful of alerting the passing patrols of
Red Guard, which had been flying overhead with alarming frequency,
they’d foregone the fire. In its absence, the night was alive with
the chittered voices of insects and the rustling of the trees,
either by the breeze or by creatures she could not see nor chose to
imagine. The night was bold without the fear of flames to hold it
back.

Earlier, Emerald could pick out the sound of
Donlen’s heavy steps as he strode about the perimeter of the camp,
but she hadn’t heard him in a while. She presumed he too had fallen
asleep somewhere in the dark, the gentle lull of the crickets a
siren’s song whose drone was compelling. Even the horses were
still. Sadly immune to the song, Emerald grunted as she rolled to
her side, trying to find a relaxing spot on the unforgiving ground.
Though still a ways from her time, the swell of her belly made
every position uncomfortable.

The snap of a twig stopped her squirming
cold. She held her breath and listened. Fulrik’s snores continued
without interruption, but all else had gone silent, the insects and
trees as still as the air in her lungs. Her mind told her it was
Donlen, but a fluttering ache in her belly screamed otherwise. She
heard another gentle footfall as a deeper shade of darkness
enveloped the tarp above. Afraid to make a sound, she bit back a
shout when she spied furtive movement just beyond her makeshift
tent. She felt her will gathering, her magic coming to her defense
against her wishes. Terrified of what her power might do to her
unborn child, Emerald forced her magic to abate just as a pair of
dark leather boots appeared before the opening to her shelter. She
went to scream but a blackened shadow slipped beneath the tarp and
a calloused, rough hand clasped tight against her lips, her eyes
squeezing shut of their own accord.

“
Be still, Emerald, it’s only
me.”

She recognized the graveled voice instantly
and opened her eyes to be certain. The frantic dash of her heart
sputtered and lost its drive as she loosed a warm breath against
his hand. A smile showed bright from within his thick beard.

“
Victor,” she whispered as he slid his
hand from her lips to her cheek. She dove to embrace
him.

His quiet chuckle tickled her ear. “It’s
good to be missed.”

She clutched to his chest, her arms unable
to touch at his back for the mass of him. The metal plates of his
armor dug into her tender breasts and arms, but she didn’t care.
The musky scent she so fondly remembered wafted to her nose and she
drew it in, reveling in his closeness. No words were spoken as she
clung to him as though fearing she might be swept away from his
embrace, the sounds of the night returning to serenade them
softly.

After a long moment, Victor shifted and
pulled away, the brightness of his gaze settling on her. His smile
was gone. She missed it immediately.

“
I’m sorry if I scared you.” His voice
was a reedy whisper. He gestured to the skies above. “Your mother’s
army scours the wilderness in search of a warlock who dared to
attack the Red Guard. You must be even more cautious
now.”

Emerald grasped one of his hands and pulled
it to her, setting its palm against her belly. “We are safe with
you here.”

He sighed, letting his hand linger a moment
in a gentle caress before easing it away. “I cannot stay, my love.”
He ran his fingers across her cheek to wipe away a tear she hadn’t
noticed had fallen. “The Council doubts my loyalty; your mother
most of all. If I were to stay, she would find us. I have no doubt
she tracks me somehow through the accursed sigils she set within my
skin.” He held his arms out so she could see the dark swirls that
discolored his arms. “I will not put you further at risk, nor will
I endanger our child.” A soft smile broke against his lips. “You
must trust that Donlen and Fulrik will see you safely to your
destination, where you will find the help you need.”

“
I can’t do this alone, Victor.” She
entwined her fingers about his, bringing his hand to her breast.
She had never felt so lonely. The only home she’d ever known was
miles away and unwelcoming, the forest no less so. “Stay with me,
please.”

He shook his head with somber conviction. “I
cannot.” He disengaged his hand from hers. “You know full well what
would happen to our child—our son—should Deborah find you. They
will take him from you…from us. He can be nothing but an
abomination in their eyes. They will slaughter him, Emerald, as
though he were no better than a beast.” She could feel the heat of
his words.

Emerald drew back, her tears flowing
free in warm trails across her cheeks. She knew he spoke the truth
but hated it, knowing her own mother would gladly tear the baby
from her womb to bathe in its blood;
his
blood. It would make the woman happy to see
Emerald suffer, believing it would make her stronger, more fit to
rule. So unlike her mother, Emerald wanted none of that. If
kindness was a weakness, she would rather suffer its pall than
become like her mother: hard and cruel. She would never let that
woman take her child.

Her stomach churned at the thought, and she
turned away from Victor and scrambled to the edge of the shelter to
purge the vile truth. She hunched just inches above the ground, her
sides wracked with spasms as her meager dinner spilled onto the
earth. She fought to remain quiet, uncertain of her success.
Through the haze she felt a strong hand at her back, its stroking
touch soft, yet insistent. After a few moments, she drew herself up
and wiped the spittle from her lips with her sleeve.

“
I’m sorry,” Victor told
her.

She waved his words away, swallowing to find
her voice. “It is for the best, my love.” She drew in a deep
breath, the air sour from her sickness. “You speak only the words I
need to hear. It is my fear that speaks for me, my thoughts twisted
by it. I know what we do is right. We cannot be caught.”

Victor crept closer. “You need not fear,
Emerald. While I cannot remain with you, I am always close.” He
reached behind his back and retrieved a leather-bound package,
which he held out to her. “And with this, I am assured of your
safety.”

The package settled lightly into her hands.
She plucked at the tie and pulled the leather apart to reveal what
lay inside. Nestled within was a short dagger. The golden hilt
curled delicately to end in a pommel carved to resemble a griffon.
Red rubies stood out as its eyes, glistening even in the night’s
darkness. She set her hand upon the chilled hilt and tugged the
dagger free of its simple, unadorned sheath and gasped when she saw
the blade.