Witch Bane

Tim Marquitz

Copyright 2012 Tim Marquitz

Cover design by
Carter Reid

(Check out his amazing art at:
www.carterillustration.com/)

~

Created in the United States of America

Worldwide Rights

~

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Notes
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All rights reserved. No part of this book may
be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any form, including
digital, electronic, or mechanical, to include photocopying,
recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system,
without the prior written consent of the author, except for brief
quotes used in reviews.

~

This book is a work of fiction. All
characters, names, places, and incidents are products of the
author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to
any actual persons, living or dead, events or locales, is entirely
coincidental.

It’s been an amazing year, and I can’t thank
everyone enough for the support. With every story I move a step
closer to my goal of writing for a living, and it’s you, the
reader, who makes this dream possible. I’ll never be able to fully
express my gratitude, but thank you all so much.

To my family and friends, I love y’all more
than you know.

Thanks to Bastard, Ryan Lawler, Mihir
Wanchoo, and Lincoln Crisler for the constant support, handholding,
ass kicking, and general, all-around kindness and advice that helps
me to maneuver through the daily minefields of publishing. And to
all the wonderful reviewers who take time out of their lives to
read and critique my words, you are an indispensable and well-loved
part of the machine that is my world, and I thank you for that.

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chance

One

Sebastian watched as the Red Guard rained
down upon the trundling caravan. Griffins screeched above as
streamers of rope dangled from a wooden transport bed held aloft by
the great beasts. Glints of silver flickered in the sunlight while
the naked steel in the soldiers’ hands set the tone.

There would be blood.

“
Leave it be, son,” Darius said. “Our
fight is elsewhere.”

Crouched behind a growth of thick foliage,
Sebastian glanced at his father and saw the red blotches that
marred his cheeks. The color highlighted the fury he somehow
managed to keep from his voice. The sounds of battle still called
to the old warrior despite his many years away from the
battlefield.

Sebastian’s narrowed eyes returned to the
unfolding horror, his breath cold in his lungs. He heard the
crackle of his father’s knuckles behind him as he clasped the
pommel of his sword. Darius spoke of restraint but his body readied
for war. Like father, like son.

The Red Guard, the witches’ military,
dropped to the earth, kicking up clouds of gray dust in their wake.
They charged forward the moment their boots hit the ground, their
mouths drawn in grim lines. They called out no warnings, nor
offered any mercy, as they set upon the wagons. Their purpose was
clear.

In sharp contrast to the taciturn approach
of the Guard, panicked whinnies filled the air as malnourished
horses fought their tack to be free. The shrieks of frightened
children rose above the animals and the frantic shouts of the
caravan men readying to meet their foe. The sound of fear grated
against Sebastian’s sense of honor, instilled by his father, and
he, too, found his hand at his hilt.

He held his ground as the first of the
defenders fell, watering the thirsty dirt of the waste lands with
his blood. The second and third were no different; these ragtag
caravan men were not soldiers. The Red Guard cut through them with
little resistance, silver blades turned crimson.

The women and children spilled from the
wagons and darted between the carts and the flailing hooves of the
terrified horses. They scattered and ran as their husbands and
fathers died to defend them, but there was no compassion wielded by
the Red Guard; only steel. Sebastian’s pulse thrummed as he watched
a child cleaved in half, from stem to sternum, the young boy flung
into the air. Mercifully dead in an instant, the boy’s body flopped
lifeless to the ground, two pieces of sagging meat folded over on
one another.

Sebastian heard his own voice rumble deep
inside his throat, as though it belonged to some other. The line of
his patience had been crossed. He bolted from the woods, fury
driving him forward before he’d even realized it. His father’s
growled complaint sounded at his back, but it was too late.
Sebastian had already broken past the sheltering trees and had been
seen by the soldiers that lingered in the transport above. As they
called out to warn their comrades, Sebastian swept the hood from
his head and loosed his cloak to flutter away while he freed his
sword. The glistening silver-gray of its mercurial blade swam
before his eyes as he charged toward the closest of the Red
Guard.

The survivors of the caravan took advantage
of Sebastian’s arrival and fled as the soldiers turned to face him,
surprise at his boldness painted plain across their faces.
Sebastian grinned without humor behind the mask he wore, the lower
half of his face swallowed in its blackness. He could do nothing to
bring the child back from the dead, but it was bitter satisfaction
to know the boy would not go un-avenged.

He swallowed his anger and let its spark
ignite the power he held in check inside. His thoughts cleared as
his pulse slowed, his breath shallow in his chest. A gray pallor
settled over his emotions, their energies withering away to be
replaced by calm, cold reason. His fury faded and his magic roared
to life.

A glimmer of green exploded around him,
sheathing his body in a glistening cocoon, which clung to him like
a second skin. The soldier before him stumbled to a halt at the
sight of it, the blurred reflection in his wide eyes giving face to
the terror he must have felt. Sebastian drew a line across the
soldier’s fearful gaze, his eyes rupturing with a wet pop at the
touch of the quicksilver blade. The man shrieked and crumpled to
the ground, his hands clasped to his face. Blood and yellow pus
gushed volcanic from between his fingers. His veins squirmed to
life, bulbous serpents that danced chaotic beneath the skin,
swelling until they threatened to burst. His scream was strangled
into a wet gurgle as his throat constricted. Sebastian stepped away
to face the next in line.

Despite the dead man at Sebastian’s heels,
the second soldier came at him fast. He fell away even quicker. A
rippled line of red split his face from forehead to chin. He
dropped to his knees in shock, his arms falling limp at his side.
Wet tendrils of flesh stretched and snapped as the left side of the
soldier’s face peeled away from his skull and oozed down over his
shoulder. The soldier collapsed an instant later, his last breath
loud in the awed silence. Sebastian glanced to the rest of the
soldiers. He had their full attention.

The Red Guard captain broke the still,
screaming for her men to advance as they faltered near the wagons.
Sebastian met her glare and waved a challenge with his blade. If
there was a fight to be had here, it would be with her. Unlike the
men under her command, she would be possessed of some rudimentary
magical skills, a requirement of her position. As the witches’ High
Council only trusted women to lead their soldiers, and only other
witches, Sebastian knew the Red Guard morale would collapse upon
her demise. The rest were just men.

Her soldiers were slow to follow her order,
their gaze drifting over and over to their fallen comrades. They
advanced without conviction as the captain snarled and met their
torpid pace. Even she appeared unwilling to rush ahead. Sebastian
laughed at their hesitance.

“
Should I drop to my knees and cry for
mercy? Would that embolden you to come for me quicker?”

Flickers of red sparked across the fingers
of the captain’s right hand, her sword gripped in the other. “I
declare you abomination, warlock. By decree of the High Council,
and the crown edict of the White Witch of Corilea, seat of
Mynistiria, you are to be executed, your flesh cast to the pyre for
purification.”

“
Judge, jury,
and
executioner? My, how honored you must feel
to bear such great responsibility. The Council holds you in high
regard, it would seem.” Sebastian smirked and lowered his sword.
“How many children have you condemned, captain? How many of my kind
have fallen to your sword so your masters might live to see yet
another stolen day?”

“
More than you wish to hear of, and
yet one more still.” The captain poked her blade toward him,
sweeping her cloak from her shoulders. A crooked smile marred her
lips, but it bore little confidence.

Sebastian stood his ground. “Then step
from behind your brave words and pass judgment, witch. You’ll not
find
me
asleep in a
crib.”

The captain snarled and inched toward him,
turning so her free hand was hidden behind the swell of her cloak.
Sebastian remained still as she drew closer. He could smell the
acrid stench of her building power and knew her plans as though
she’d announced them. At the subtle shift of her shoulder, he
darted left just as she whipped her arm about, loosing a bolt of
fiery energy. She was faster than he expected.

Flames rippled bright against the green
shimmer of his shield. He could feel the heat of her attack warming
his cheeks, but its fury was dispersed across his defenses,
becoming little more than smoke as he lunged toward her. He lashed
out with his sword and the captain barely managed to bring hers to
bear. Though she parried the blow, the tip of Sebastian’s sword
etched its intent in a shallow groove across the reddened leather
of her cuirass. Her eyes widened as she stepped away to reset.
Sebastian let her go with a laugh. He had the measure of her
arm.

She seemed to know it as well. “Kill him,”
she shouted to the Guard, “He can’t defend against us all.” Her men
appeared to disagree. They moved forward but had yet to shed their
reluctance.

For all his skill, he knew better than to
engage them all at once. Though his father might disagree,
Sebastian was no fool. He feinted toward the captain and set her on
her heels before circling off. He thrust his blade into the chest
of an advancing soldier, and then ripped it free in a wide arc,
flinging blood into the eyes of his closest companions. Sebastian
stepped in low, slashing at each of the men as they flung their
hands up to clear their sight.

A trinity of shrieks rose up in a strident
chorus as the soldiers crumpled, each clutching desperate to their
wounded manhood. Crimson bubbled down their thighs as they thrashed
about in the dirt. Their pitiful wails rang in Sebastian’s
ears.

Though the injuries delivered were little
more than scratches, the remaining soldiers froze in place when
they saw their placement and the frenzied boil of the quicksilver
that festered in the wounds. Sebastian could see the sickened
contemplation in their eyes as he prowled before them. None gave
him any cause to fear. As he had expected, the fight had gone out
of them; all but the captain.

He cursed as he scented the brimstone stink
of witchery and heard the whispered sizzle of its release. He
hadn’t thought she could summon more energy so soon, his own
ability so limited it had biased his understanding of her skill.
Furious at himself for having turned his back on her, Sebastian
ducked and spun away as the mystical bolt flew over his head. It
crashed headlong into the line of soldiers that stood rigid in its
path. The man struck by the brunt of the bolt burst into flames.
Reddish-orange tongues of fire licked away the flesh in an instant,
stealing the breath from his lungs before he could even scream. He
fell away in a flutter of blackened ash, the breeze swirling his
remains about.