The Witch's Reward (9 page)

“Is there trouble?” he asked, his voice little more than a whisper. Despite his body’s protest at being disrupted from a deep sleep, Christoff’s mind was instantly alert.

“Sire, look to the girl,” Griffen said, pointing at the shadowy figure alone in the wagon.

Christoff immediately lifted his head. Even in the dead of night, he could see the girl’s body shivering with a tremendous frenzy. Such shivering meant that either she was uncommonly cold, or there was something wrong. Either way, it was unnatural. Lifting himself quietly to his feet, Christoff grasped the second blanket he had used to cover himself and made his way to the girl. 

She was still asleep. He could see her eyes squeezed tightly together, her breath coming and going in a slow, steady rhythm at odds with the erratic, forceful shaking of her body. He reached through the bars and felt her arm. It was hot and swollen. In the edges of the firelight, he saw that her skin was darker than normal, not unlike someone with bad circulation. He followed her arms down and was shocked to see that her fingers were a deep purple. He hurriedly set the blanket down and, keeping as quiet as possible, opened the door to the cage. Anger, like heavy rolling of thunder, stirred deep within him.

That stupid soldier—didn’t he know how to follow directions? Careless, stupid, disobedient oaf! The man was a recruit, a soldier in training for knighthood. This was the second time in as many days that he had disproved himself worthy to join that exalted rank. 

Christoff quickly drew out his knife and reached forward, carefully cutting through the bonds. Even as the rope fell away and her hands separated, he could see the purple begin to fade. Clenching his teeth, he picked up the blanket and gently placed it over the sleeping girl, then shut the door. The girl hadn’t even stirred.

If it was the last thing he did, he would see that the soldier was never promoted. First thing in the morning, he would make sure Smithen understood what would happen if he violated any more of the standards that knights were required to uphold, honor and duty the highest of them all. If he caused any more problems during the journey, he would be stripped of the privilege of fighting for the king altogether.

Christoff stalked back to the fire, thanking his friend as he passed, and flung himself down on his bedroll. Why hadn’t she said anything? She should have called for help when she felt that the bonds were too tight, but she hadn’t. Except for that bit about not being an animal, she never complained, never fell into hysterics, never acted up or even tried to antagonize her jailors. She was an enigma. A strong, courageous enigma who was nothing less than dangerous because of her magic.

With a final pounding of his fist to the ground, Christoff forced himself to fall back asleep. Tomorrow would be another long day.

Chapter 9

“Your morning tea, your majesty.”

Steffan looked up from the documents he was reading as a tea cup filled with steaming, golden-colored liquid was placed in front of him. He dropped the parchments on his office desk and took off the lenses covering his eyes. 

“Thank you, Lucien.” Setting the lenses on the already forgotten documents, he reached for the cup. “You know how much I enjoy these few, sparse moments when my stomach pains go away. This Signon tea is really remarkable.” He took a careful sip of the hot drink, leaning back in his chair to enjoy the slow numbing of the pain in his gut.

“The local healers have examined me and don’t know what is causing this. Each day I find myself getting weaker and weaker, as though whatever ailment that is within me is slowly draining me of energy.” He looked up at his longtime friend. “Lissa suggests I send for a healer from her homeland, though I don’t know if we should bother going to so much trouble just yet. What do you think? You’ve studied medicine in those books of yours; have you come across anything that the healers might have missed?”

Steel-colored eyes stared down into the king’s face. “I couldn’t say for sure. I imagine it is just a passing bug of some sort and will eventually wear itself out. Most sicknesses do get worse before they get better, you know. Not unlike that rash we got when we were kids. It started with just a few red spots and a little itching, and then spread over the entire body, do you remember?”

“Ah, yes! My mother had the maids smother us in toastweed lotion and wrap our fingers so that we wouldn’t itch our skin off. I’d almost forgotten.”

“And remember what happened after just a few days of suffering?” Lucien urged.

“Of course. Gone as quickly as it had begun. What an oddity, though my mother said it was a common enough ailment in children.” Steffan sat back, pensive for a moment. “I suppose you are right. Maybe this pain will begin to recede soon. If it keeps on much longer, I shall turn into a complete invalid. I was barely able to get out of bed today, as it was.”

“That is indeed troublesome. But I’m certain it will be over soon. And the drink does help, does it not?”

“You know that it does. And many thanks to you, my friend, for discovering it.”

“Perhaps you should drink it more regularly, at least for the next couple of days. It would help you relax so that your body can fight this sickness.”

“Aye,” agreed Steffan. “I don’t like taking medicine often, but I think that an exception could be made. I’m certain you are right. The sickness can’t go on much longer, and I am king, after all. I must be available to my subjects. For the next few days let me take the tea at more frequent intervals, perhaps every couple of hours. But just until I can get back on my feet.”

“A wise decision, as usual, Steffan,” agreed Lucien. “Though such wisdom is not surprising, given that it’s been part of your nature since we were children.” He smiled at his friend, the smile not quite reaching his eyes.

Was there a hint of jealousy there? the king wondered. No, not from his friend. He knew Lucien had always understood their differences. Steffan had been born to royalty, whereas Lucien had not. It was simply the way of things, and hadn’t been a factor in their friendship, which had only strengthened since childhood. No, not jealousy. He’d probably had a rough night and was just tired.

“And you? How are you sleeping, my friend?” he asked. “Your eyes look a bit tired, almost as tired as my own have been these last few days.”

“I admit I’ve been somewhat worried for your son.”

“Oh?” inquired Steffan, perplexed.

“Only because I’ve been studying more on the subject of witches and have learned several disturbing new things. I hope this witch doesn’t know her own power and won’t give your son and his men any problems during their journey. They should have reached Farr by now, and have the woman contained.” Lucien turned to look out the window, worry gracing his lean features.

Steffan appreciated his counselor’s concern for his son. As the tea slowly worked its numbing magic and he was able to think more clearly without the restrictions caused by his illness, he remembered his wife’s suggestions regarding the matter of the witch.

“About that witch,” he began, “Have you found anything in the books? Former judgments, a loophole, anything?”

“Not yet, sire.”

“Have we found an official record of the law sentencing all witches to death? If it wasn’t recorded, then technically—”

“I hadn’t thought of that. I just assumed that it was written down, but perhaps not. I will look into it immediately.”

“Thank you, Lucien. I do not believe that men and women accused of having certain characteristics through no fault of their own should be held accountable unto death. I’ve reviewed the explanations, the reasons why these people should not be permitted to live, but I just cannot understand the logic of it. Now killing carnies, that I understand. But citizens of Aggadorn?” He rubbed a tense hand over his brow. It was difficult to keep a steady rule when he was in disagreement of the very laws he had sworn to uphold.

“Steffan,” Lucien began, “At the risk of repeating what I said a week ago, I must remind you that your people look to you firstly to keep them safe, and secondly, to uphold the laws. The second being essential for the first. Your subjects look to you as their stalwart leader, their wise and powerful king. If they see you weaken in your resolve to uphold your own kingdom’s laws, how can you possibly retain their trust? And as we all know, a kingdom that does not trust its leader will eventually becomes divided and consequently destroyed.

“Magic was not meant for humankind. Humans are not inherently good or bad, like fairies and carnies. They can choose for themselves. To have magic in the hands of humans is to be faced with a dangerous weapon, never knowing when or how or whom it will strike. We are human, Steffan. And that unpredictability is the most dangerous thing in this world.

“You are doing the right thing, bringing the woman to the palace to be tried. And if needs be, I am certain you will do the right thing in executing the law—no matter how displeasing it is to watch a person burn alive.”

Steffan considered his counselor’s words. Lucien was right, he knew. He had a duty, an obligation to his people. It was his highest priority to uphold the law and maintain the peace that the kingdom had enjoyed for the last several years. Yet despite this, the king was left with a cold feeling in his gut, much different than the sickness that had plagued him for so many days. Whereas that sickness was purely physical, this sickness seemed to sear through to his very soul. But he was king, and he knew what he had to do.

Lucien entered his dark study in a rush, slamming the heavy door shut behind him. Telling Steffan all the reasons the witch should be brought to the palace was straining his patience to the limits. Of course he didn’t want the blasted woman to make it to the palace! But saying otherwise would attract curiosity, and maybe even suspicion. Steffan wasn’t a fool; he would suspect if Lucien suddenly counseled that it was okay to forsake the law.

Standing in the middle of the room, he closed his eyes, feet wide apart, hands fisted tightly at his sides. Focusing on his breathing, he took several deep breaths through his nose until he felt the rage begin to pass. Slowly, he unclenched his fists and relaxed his muscles one by one until at last he dropped his head, rolling it from left to right and back again. Shrugging his shoulders back, he opened his eyes and raised his chin. A little calmer now, he walked forward to his desk, taking a moment to light a candle and cast a faint glow into the room. 

Lucien preferred the dark. He enjoyed the deep whispers of the shadows as they covered everything in a cloak of uniformity. All things were the same in the dark. All things were equal. And it was where Lucien did his best work.

He sat down, leaning forward so that his arms rested upon the old desk, his hands stretched forward to tenderly grasp the crystal. Pulling it toward him, he stared deep into the foggy depths. He didn’t have much time.

Placing the onyx stone atop the sphere, he quietly chanted a few simple, silken words. The cloud cleared, and the image of a beautiful maiden was shown, her eyes the color of a tropical sea, her dark hair scraped back in a thick, messy braid. She sat looking confused, trapped, as though imprisoned by something other than the gleaming iron bars surrounding her. So quietly she sat. So disturbed, yet so quiet. And Lucien would make sure she remained quiet.

A few more whispered words and the image changed. A burly, hulk of a man coated in armor and sitting atop a bay gelding came into view. 

“What are you doing?” Lucien asked out loud into the dark, empty room. He didn’t have use for idle servants. “You haven’t completed your task, you fool. Perhaps I should remind you of our agreement?” His threats were unheard.

Suddenly, he grabbed the onyx stone and yanked it from the crystal. The image instantly disappeared. Lucien tossed the stone down on the desktop and reached for a small piece of parchment, writing a message on the delicate paper. Finished, he pushed himself away from his desk, his actions those of a man on a mission.

He strode impatiently to a large wooden box located in the far corner of the room. Reaching atop the box, he pulled back the rusty bolt on a small trap door, no more than a hands width across. Lowering his hand slowly, ever so slowly, he waited. Soon, he felt a small clawing at his skin. Immediately, he grabbed at the woolly body and pulled out an adult bat. It was brown and hairy, except for the wings, which were like bits of black leather patched across long, thin bones. Claws pulled and tugged at his skin, leaving scratch marks and beads of blood as the bat struggled. Lucien closed the cage door with his free hand and walked back to the desk with his captive. Sitting, he held the bat still as he wrapped the message around its leg, heedless of the pain the small creature was causing him in its attempts to escape. When he finished, he stood.

              “Go my child and do not fail

              Deliver this message come sun or hail

              Faster than light, more powerful than dark

              My soldier in the forest shall be your mark.”

He walked to a window covered with heavy shutters. Swinging them open, Lucien winced as the bright sun shone into his face like a bolt of lightening hitting too close to home. Thrusting his arm out, he opened his fingers and released the bat. It hesitated at first, flapping its wings in the air just beyond Lucien’s extended hand. Then, acclimating to the sudden change in atmosphere, it took off, wings flapping ferociously, and headed straight into the Rockwood Forest.

There wasn’t much time left. The witch had to die before it was too late.