Witch Bane (7 page)

It shined silvery, as if possessed of its
own illumination. Like liquid steel, it undulated and rippled. She
could feel the power that wafted from it. Emerald tore her eyes
from the mesmerizing blade and met Victor’s amused stare.

“
No one would dare to stand before a
quicksilver blade.” He smiled. “You remember your
lessons?”

She nodded numbly, Victor teaching her the
ways of the blade seemed so long ago.

“
Good. Keep it well hidden, but close
at hand, on you at all times. Use it as you must, but only then.
More importantly, it is attuned to my blood. I will know when it
has been pulled from its sheath, and I will come for
you.”

Emerald glanced back at the dagger and slid
it reverently back into its cover. She clutched it to her, feeling
the strength of it as it washed over her. “Thank you.”

Victor leaned in close and kissed her
forehead, the wild whiskers of his beard tickling her eyelids. He
sat back, only the remnants of his smile still on his lips. “I have
given directions to Donlen, to help guide you on your way. You
haven’t much further to go, your destination measured in just days
now.” He stood hunched and backed out from beneath the shelter.
Emerald followed him.

She wrapped her arms about him once more,
feeling her courage build as she held him tight. All too soon, he
pressed her away, their eyes locking.

“
I must go, my love, lest I bring the
wrath of your mother down upon us.” He kissed her deep, pulling
away with a smile. “Once you have met with Elizabeth, and she has
performed the ritual, draw the blade so I might know you are safe.
It would ease my heart to know.”

She nodded, uncertain of her voice. He
kissed her once more and whispered his goodbyes, then drifted into
the woods to disappear. Emerald stared after him for a moment, her
breath shallow. Her heart beat heavily in her chest. She clutched
to the dagger, listening for any sound that might indicate Victor
was still somewhere nearby. There was nothing but Fulrik’s raspy
snores and the quiet whinny of one of the horses. At the crunch of
leaves behind her, she turned to spy Donlen emerging from the far
side of the camp. He waved to her and came over.

“
You saw the Lord?” He kept his voice
low. His eyes darted to the dagger, then back to her face in a
rush.

She nodded.

“
We head out early. You might try to
get some sleep before we do. We’ve a long few days
ahead.”

Emerald mustered a smile. Donlen nodded and
headed back toward the trees. Like with Victor, she watched until
he faded into the foliage. She glanced at her makeshift shelter and
felt her stomach rumble. There’d be no more sleeping there, the
scent of her sickness a reminder of her fear.

She went to the nearest of the large trees
that cast a leafy green ceiling overtop and dropped down beside its
trunk. The buildup of humus was soft and fragrant, and no worse
than the ground she’d picked to set her shelter, so she settled
atop it. She drew a small pile of foliage under her head to use as
a pillow, and lay upon her back, glancing up through the cracks in
the canopy.

The branches swayed in gentle rhythm with
the wind, the star-speckled sky popping in and out of sight. She
watched the movement with slowly closing eyes, holding the blade
clutched tight to her chest. She had left her world behind, her
inheritance, everything she’d ever known. Her fingers tracing the
line of her belly as she hoped she hadn’t been a fool.

After but a few moments, a yawn stretched
her mouth. Victor’s visit had been a balm to her restlessness. She
drew in a deep breath of the musky forest air and knew no more.

Seven

Deborah pushed her way into the throne
room, shoving the heavy doors aside. The servant behind her leapt
to the one nearest and grabbed its handle just before it struck the
inner wall. The other door hit with a resounding
boom
, the throne room echoing with
its clatter.

“
This had better be worth dragging me
from my bed.” She stared at Gracelin who met her stare with
boldness.

“
I would not have done so if it were
not.” She grinned, her joy contagious.

Deborah sighed and strode to stand in front
of the Green Witch, the slightest touch of a smile brightening her
own lips. “Then tell me, woman. I’m in no mood for surprises.”

“
I’m certain you’ll enjoy this
surprise.” Gracelin shooed the servant away, speaking only once the
door was closed, despite Deborah’s insistent glare. “I have word of
Elizabeth.”

Deborah’s smile broke across her mouth,
spilling onto her cheeks. “Tell me.”

Gracelin took her hands in hers. “One of the
Red Guard captains patrolling near the waste lands received word
from a villager, more fearful of us than the resistance, it would
seem.” She squeezed Deborah’s hands. “He told her a number of armed
men had passed through their village but days before, led by an
older woman with wild streaks of blue in her hair.”

“
It’s Elizabeth, most
certain.”

Gracelin nodded. “No other witch would dare
wear the signs of her shame so brazenly.”

“
And the village?”

“
Deliton. The man told the captain
that the resistance had headed northeast of the town, in the
direction of Corilea, by way of Cammpras.”

Deborah pulled away from the Green Witch and
strode up the stairs to her throne, dropping down heavily. “She
comes here? What an interesting tactic.”

“
If that is truly her intent, I would
say it’s more foolish.” Gracelin came to stand before her. “She
would need an army to wage war against the seat of our domain.
Given the number of Red Guard we retain at the walls alone, she
would be slain before she reached the city gates, without us
needing so much as to raise a hand in our own defense.”

“
Elizabeth is no fool. Perhaps she
hopes to distract us, or mislead us into drawing our forces back to
Corilea. That would give her free reign to traipse about Mynistiria
without being seen.”

“
Perhaps, but we’d be the fools were
we to pass this opportunity by without response.” She knelt beside
the throne, gazing up at Deborah. “Now is the time to make use of
Shade. If Elizabeth has set a trap, then Shade can sniff it out for
us. But if our informant has spoken the truth of what he has seen,
then the assassin can make the most of it by bringing us
Elizabeth’s head.”

The White Witch leaned back into the throne,
her stare locked on the brown pools of Gracelin’s eyes. She sat
silent for a moment, her mind spinning. At last, she gave a quick
nod. “You are right.” She set a smooth hand on Gracelin’s cheek and
traced the line of her jaw gently with a finger. “Send Shade to me.
I would have her on her way.”

Gracelin smiled up at her and rose slow. “We
can end this now,” she said as she backed toward the edge of the
dais. “Just as I could years ago, I can imagine the day you rule
unopposed.” She loosed a quiet laugh and nearly danced down the
stairs, flowing from the room without a backward glance.

Deborah’s grin fell from her face once
Gracelin was gone, not willing to give in to the woman’s hopeful
optimism. She, too, could picture the day, though it had been long
in coming. Nineteen years had slipped away since she’d taken the
throne, but her victory could never be complete as long as
Elizabeth still lived. She was the last of the witches who had
known Alise’s true will, the desire that burned most fiercely in
the woman’s heart. Alise would have had the Council step down,
eliminating it in favor of letting the people rule their own
destinies. It was her wish to stop the culling of warlocks, and to
embrace them as one of their own.

Deborah felt her lips pulled unconsciously
into a sneer and smoothed them with her palm. She had argued with
Alise, bartered, even begged, but the former White Witch would not
budge. She had been bound and determined to bring about a new world
where witches were no better than the rest of the rabble in a
society of equals. It sickened Deborah to think of it, even
now.

Within the blood of a warlock was hidden the
key to immortality, and Alise would have given it away without a
thought, condemning all of their sisters to the same pitiful end as
the human roaches that skittered across the carcass of the land.
They were naught but bugs to be exterminated; to be ruled.

So Deborah did what she must, and Alise was
sent to her grave before she could set her plans in motion, but the
truth of what she intended still lived on in Elizabeth, a witness
to the blood that stained Deborah’s hands. With word of Bourne’s
location at last, she hoped to strangle the truth into silence.

A knock at the door pulled her from her grim
reverie. She called out as she wiped all trace of emotion from her
face. Shade stepped inside, drifting gracefully down the aisle
toward the dais. Deborah watched her approach with wistful
silence.

Tall for a woman, Shade stood at least six
feet. Beneath the distorting bulk of the hardened leather plates
sewn into the midnight black of her outfit, she was lean and wiry
with muscle. Her hair cut to the scalp beneath the mask she wore,
Deborah could see nothing but the shimmering blue of her eyes that
peered from the narrow slits cut into the mask. She strode to the
stairs and bowed deep, the swords hung at her hips curving out and
away as if they were the twin tails of a dark scorpion. She rose to
meet Deborah’s gaze, her arms at rest behind her back.

“
Welcome, Shade. I have a mission for
you.”

Shade nodded, the blackness of her mask
giving away none of the expressions beneath.

“
Please, remove the mask. I would see
the face of those to whom I speak.”

“
Of course.” Shade reached up and
pulled her covering aside with efficient ease, her arm settling
once more behind her.

Deborah smiled as she gazed at her assassin.
A face so rarely seen, the White Witch had nearly forgotten what
lay beneath the concealing cloth. Fiery stubble sat atop her head,
the hair of her eyebrows long by comparison. Beneath the cold stare
of her eyes was a face that might once have been considered pretty,
but the patchwork of puckered scars raised across its pale surface
obliterated any comparison to true beauty. Shade’s nose, the
cartilage whittled down nearly to the bone, was little more than a
round dot above her thin lips. Her cheeks stood out prominently
with puckered flesh, adding a superficial thickness to what had
once been a narrow countenance.

Deborah stared a moment at the ruin of
Shade’s face, before remembering her manners and bringing her gaze
up to meet the assassin’s. Shade seemed not to care.

“
There has been news of Elizabeth
Bourne,” Deborah said, motioning Shade up to the top of the dais.
Once she was there, the White Witch continued. “I would have you
confirm whether the information is true or false. Should it be
proven true, my wish is that you put Elizabeth to the fire.” She
clasped her hands, her knuckles turning white. “I want her dead.
It’s as simple as that. I don’t care how you accomplish it, be it
quick or cruel, but bring me her lifeless head.”

Shade’s lips peeled back into a horrific
semblance of a smile. “I understand.” Her voice flowed out smooth,
melodic even, a sharp counterpoint to the damage that marred the
woman’s appearance.

The White Witch met the assassin’s smile
with her own. “Succeed in this and great will be your reward. You
might just find yourself with a seat upon the High Council when all
is said and done.”

Baring her teeth, Shade’s smile turned into
a hideous grin. “That would be wonderful, indeed.” She bowed and
slid her mask over her head, hiding her features once more. “I’ll
send word soon.” She straightened and left the room without waiting
to be dismissed.

Deborah watched as the assassin left, the
image of the woman’s face etched upon her mind’s eye. For all her
pity for the ruin of Shade’s appearance, beneath the scarred
exterior was a woman forged in the finest of steels. Deborah could
have chosen no better weapon.

She eased back into the throne, its seat
comfortable at last. If Elizabeth had truly been found, it would
only be a matter of time before Shade fell upon her and brought the
last nineteen years of uncertainty to a close.

She could not wish for a happier ending.

Eight

The sun had crept high in the sky by the
time Darius slowed to let Sebastian catch up. The heat of the day
penetrated the canopy in a shower of golden lines, which warmed his
skin, as he passed beneath.

He came alongside his father who glanced
over at him. “Are you done sulking yet?”

Darius stopped and turned to glare at
Sebastian, annoyance clear in the tight lines of his face. “I
wasn’t sulking.” He spun the rest of the way around to look back
the way they’d come. “I should have known better.” His hands swung
about as he spoke, as though he might chase his anger off with his
motions.

“
Known better than what? Than to trust
the villagers to treat us kindly after I’d risked life and limb to
free them from the Red Guard tyranny?”

His father shook his head. “The moment
you told me the resistance tried to recruit you we should have left
Deliton behind.” He growled, whipping his head around to look at
Sebastian. “Rebellions are not won through honorable combat on an
open field. It’s only the end result that holds any value for a
resistance movement, for anything
but
victory means death for them. They’ll do
anything to win.”