Witch Bane (29 page)

Sebastian sat silent, thinking of the
opportunity the Lord was offering; the chance to end their quarrel
here and now, far from the prying eyes of Corilea and Emerald; her
child.

He thought back to the day he’d claimed his
father’s body, his sadness having stolen the taste of revenge from
his mouth. As he thought now of striking down the Lord, he realized
he had yet to regain the desire for it. If his father was with his
mother, as he had dreamed, then Darius was in a better place, no
matter how he’d come to be there. Sebastian could see no cause to
resume hostilities.

He waved his hand dismissively. “Though
doubtful I would win against you, I would not risk depriving your
son of his father, as you have me.” He got to his feet slowly and
turned to face the Lord, an unexpected calmness washing over him.
Sebastian stared into the man’s gray eyes. “Go home to your family,
Victor, and do everything within your power to keep them safe. I
will not seek you out nor dare to harm Emerald or your son. On
that, you have my word.” He proffered his hand.

Wide-eyed, the Lord clasped it in his.

“
I offer this as a warning, however.
Should any seek me out to claim the price on my head, I will lay
ruin to them without pity.”

Victor slipped his hand free with a nod.
“Fair warning.” He glanced at the snow-covered grave. “Your father
was a great man, despite it all.” He looked back to Sebastian. “He
did well with you. I pray to the One we do not cross paths again.”
He turned and walked toward the woods.

Sebastian watched until he was gone from
sight, then turned back to look at his father’s grave. The Green
Witch’s head still lay there, staring up at him. Her face was rigid
with the torment that had brought her death. He stepped to it and
snatched the head up by its hair, casting it as far across the open
wastes as he could. Sebastian turned back to the grave and wiped
the snow smooth again, where it had lay, erasing all traces of the
witch. He would not have its foulness soil his father’s resting
place.

The snow canvass once more smooth, Sebastian
rose and said his farewells. He turned and looked out across the
frozen, white wastes. Somewhere out there life waited to be found.
Leaving nothing behind but death and misery, Sebastian headed
toward the farthest reaches of the realm, looking for another
beyond Mynistiria’s borders.

He would find himself there, or he would die
trying.

Epilogue

The Lord of the Hunt strode into the dark
crypt, the gloom settling about him as though it were a winter
cloak. His breath steamed in the frigid air, the burial chamber
even colder than the storm outside. A lone torch flickered in a
sconce set just beyond the heavy iron door he’d passed through, its
pathetic light doing little to chase away the shadows cast by the
rows of ancient sepulchers. Stacked side-by-side, the stone tombs
stood guard at each side of the passage.

His footsteps echoed hollow, each barely
fading away as the next rose up to take its place. He walked toward
the rear of the crypt, the darkness thickening into an inky
blackness he could feel pressing uninvited against his flesh.
Victor felt phantom tingles where his sigils had been, until
Emerald had them removed, as though they still squirmed inside,
only hidden from the eyes outside. A gentle creak sounded loud in
his ears, reverberating through the crypt as though it had come
from everywhere, all at once. A moment after it died away, he heard
a quiet voice drift out of the darkness, sounding as ancient as the
tombs themselves.

“
Is it done?” The words settled heavy
in the still air.

“
It is,” Victor answered, staring into
the black.

“
Good. Return to your duties. We shall
know soon enough if your seed has flowered.”

Victor bowed and turned away, leaving the
crypt with heavy steps. He shut the door behind him, its hinges
squealing in protest, throwing the tomb into darkness once
more.

About the Author

Raised on a diet of Heavy Metal and bad
intentions, Tim Marquitz has always been interested in writing, but
it wasn't until about 1995 the urge became a compulsion. However,
it would be many years later before the ability matched the
interest. Fortunately, the two have reconciled...mostly.
Writing a mix of the dark perverse, the horrific, and the
tragic, tinged with sarcasm and biting humor, he looks to leave a
gaping wound in the minds of his readers like his
inspirations: Clive Barker, Jim Butcher, and Stephen King.
A former grave digger, bouncer, and dedicated metalhead, Tim is a
huge fan of Mixed Martial Arts and fighting in general. 
He lives in Texas with his beautiful wife and daughter.

http://www.tmarquitz.com