The Witch's Reward (13 page)

He knew Larra had no reason to mistrust him. Not only was he the king’s captain, he had treated her with kindness during their journey. Was she not allowed privacy every day to wash? Had he not carried her from the river in his arms when she couldn’t walk because of her injured feet? No kinder treatment had ever been given to a prisoner. He should receive her gratitude for such consideration, not her lies! If she was afraid of Smithen, she had to know that she could confide in him and trust him to keep her safe from the wretch. The truth was that if the witch was afraid, there was no reason for her to lie about it.

But she did lie. Christoff had heard the lie in her voice just now and seen it in her eyes. There had been no “accidents.” Something else was obviously amiss and logic suggested that Smithen and the girl had some sort of partnership, some plot that they didn’t want anyone to know about. 

He was disappointed, even hurt, at the knowledge that this beautiful young woman could have so little honor as to lie. He had begun to like her, he painstakingly admitted to himself. Ever since hearing the gnome’s truthtelling, he had even begun to trust that her motives for having magic were innocent. And then there was the way she reacted to every problem she faced—with strength, courage, and perseverance. Even Griffen seemed to have formed a friendship with her, and he was known to choose his friends carefully.

He was confused. Against his better judgment, Christoff had come to admire her. But now it looked like she’d been fooling them all.

Lucien’s warnings came to mind:
Do not trust her, even for a moment! She will use any tactic necessary to achieve her purposes. You must be on guard at all times. You have no idea what witches are capable of doing with their magic.
Abruptly, Christoff’s confusion vanished. If what Lucien had said was true, then it was possible she could deceive a gnome. She could have used her magic to make the gnome talk.

He felt a sharp pain in the cavity of his chest, close to the vicinity of his heart. He had begun to forget she was a witch. Had wanted to forget she was a witch. He liked her, more than any other girl he’d ever met in his father’s court or in his travels abroad. And he’d begun to forget who he was—her captor, the man trusted by the king to bring this dangerous creature to the palace to be judged.

As he heard her speaking quietly behind the trees, sharing words that he didn’t care to hear, he determined that he would never forget again.

By the time she finished washing and walked back to the tree, Larra wasn’t surprised to find that the captain’s mood hadn’t changed. If anything, the accusation and hostility on his face had multiplied ten-fold. The pretty little tune she had been humming while she washed was forgotten, and they began the walk back in silence. Even now his jaw was tight, his eyes narrowed and focused on the small trail before them. He looked not only mad, but determined. He looked like a man with a mission—an unpleasant one.

As they entered the campground, she was handed over to Sir Griffen, who escorted her into the wagon. As he had on previous occasions, the older man treated her gently. He offered his hand for assistance getting into the wagon and gave her an apologetic smile when he locked the door. 

Before he could walk away, Larra scooted to the door and called out his name. He stopped and turned around.

“Why are you so nice to me?” she asked.

At first he appeared surprised, but then a shadow of sadness fell over him like a cloak. “You remind me of someone I used to know.” He appeared to struggle with some distant memory. “It’s the face, you know. And the hair.”

“And it reminds you of someone you cared for?”

“Aye, someone I cared for very deeply. It was a long time ago. Years. I hadn’t been a knight for long and was training for a position leadership. The position would have enabled me to marry the woman I loved—a woman of remarkable beauty, not unlike your own, and hair just as dark and rich. A woman that I thought loved me in return. But I was wrong.”

“What happened to her?” Larra asked, curious.

“We courted for some time, and then one day she just disappeared. I spoke with her friends, the people she stayed with, her trade master, anyone I could find. But they wouldn’t say a word to me about her. Just that she went home and didn’t want me to follow. I always assumed she was from the city, but evidently she had only been staying there for her trade. I didn’t know where her real home was.” 

He sighed and smiled weakly. “Obviously she didn’t love me as I loved her. But the past is in the past. I eventually met another wonderful woman who I later married and who now browbeats me every time I leave my tunics lying around the house.” His eyes twinkled.  “Though she is not nearly as bad as I let on. She is really a very sweet, understanding woman, and though we have no children, we are very happy together. Life moves on, after all. Some people give up when things get difficult. Others toughen up and deal with the trials. You are of the latter group, I have noticed.” 

“I hope so,” responded Larra, “though I have little choice in the matter.”

“There is a choice in every matter. And you have chosen to be very brave for a woman of such tender years. I don’t recall a single whisper of complaint since you have been with us. That in itself is remarkable, and has not gone unnoticed. Though the other knights haven’t said as much, they respect you for how you are handling this difficult situation. As do I.”

His words were a soothing balm to her wounded heart, especially after her encounter with the captain, which had left her raw and hurting with the knowledge that she had destroyed their truce with her lies.

“Well, I believe the captain is beckoning me to get a move on.” The twinkle left Sir Griffen’s eyes and he reached out to place one of his rough hands over hers as it clasped a bar.

“I know you’re in a difficult situation,” he said. “I truly hope that this trial turns out well for you.”

“Thank you, Sir Griffen. Your kindness means more to me than you know. And knight or not, I am glad that you are here.”

“You are quite welcome. Don’t give up hope, my dear. King Steffan is a fair man. He’ll listen to what you have to say before you are judged. I am certain.” With those words of hope and consolation, he gave her hand one last pat, and left to join the others.

Chapter 13

With a heaving sweep of an arm, the old, dusty law books cluttering the top of the desk were flung through the air. They landed in broken, lifeless bumps on the hard floor, like dead bodies with equally dead words.

Roaring with unsuppressed impatience and anger, Lucien turned away from the crystal. His hands rose to either side of his head, clenched fists to his temples as though trying to contain the frustration. His plans were going to be ruined! That lazy, shiftless, no good soldier couldn’t even manage to kill one slip of a girl. And the prince! That self-righteous pup kept interceding where and when he was least wanted. 

He couldn’t wait much longer. The group was only a few days’ ride from the palace. The king continued to be ill, but his sickness was progressing far too slowly for Lucien’s peace of mind. At this rate, the fool would still be alive when the witch arrived. And Lucien knew that if she saw how sick the king was, she would heal him. If only Lucien had started administering the poison months ago, this could all have been avoided. The king would already be dead, Lucien’s lifelong desires would finally come true, and the witch would be just another subject he could use in his experiments.

But he hadn’t discovered the existence of that tasteless, odorless poison until just recently, when he’d travelled to Signon on official business. And though he would have loved to have given Steffan a heaping dose of the noxious powder the moment he’d discovered it, Lucien couldn’t risk the suspicion that the king’s sudden death would arouse. Thus it had had to be a slow poisoning.

Now it looked like he’d have to risk the suspicion and up the dosage, anyway. He could practically see his goals and ambitions fading with each passing moment. And all because of the king’s unexpected strength against the poison, and his son’s equally unexpected instincts to protect a worthless girl.

And that soldier. Why couldn’t he complete a simple murder? It wasn’t as if the witch was fighting him. No magic had been detected from her vicinity since she had been discovered, so she wasn’t using her magic to stay alive. No, the soldier was merely incapable of the task.

And to think he’d had such a formidable, deadly reputation. 

In addition to finding the poison in Signon, Lucien had also found Smithen there. The man had been sentenced to death for the murder of two entire families, the reason for which was unknown. He was reputed to be both bloodthirsty and intelligent, a deadly combination. It was easy enough for Lucien to free him from the dungeon—a little poison in the guard’s dinner ration, some threats, and Lucien had a hired killer.

It had been equally easy to convince King Steffan to accept the man as a soldier, telling him that Smithen had lost his whole family to sickness and wanted to be far away from where he’d lived with his beloved wife and children and the painful memories that existed there. King Steffan had believed the touching story, agreeing that Smithen could have a place among his soldiers, so long as he pledged his allegiance to Aggadorn. Such a touching story, such easy lies to spin.

But Lucien had obviously overvalued the man’s worth.

He knew exactly what he had to do. It wasn’t a pleasant task, trying to communicate with the carnies, but there was no other way to accomplish his purposes within the limited time frame he had left. He would have to use the onyx stone to keep them from trying to drink his blood, but he knew he could manage the task. Besides, it would be simple enough to make a deal with one of their leaders. If they helped him, he would agree to stop catching and using carnies in his experiments with magic. He hadn’t been successful in extracting magic from them, anyway, so it was no real loss.

His obsession with obtaining magic had begun when he was just a child hiding in a tree, watching as his family was slaughtered by carnies. His mother had died when he was a baby, and his father and older brothers had delighted in taking their frustrations out on him in the only way they knew—with brutality. So their deaths had brought no feelings of loss. Instead, his experience at such a tender age had formed a fascination with how magic worked, and how he could have such magnificent power for himself. It was an obsession second to one other thing—the only thing that kept him human, even as his soul fought to be a monster.

Riding to the nearest known carnie settlement would take time, but within two days he should have the problem solved. He would also save himself some trouble and have the flesh-eaters take care of that useless soldier and arrogant prince at the same time as the girl. Why, he’d just take care of the whole group and call it a quirk of fate, an unfortunate accident. And with both the king and the prince gone, the queen would be lonely and grief-stricken, and needing a shoulder to cry on.

Very useful, indeed.

Chapter 14

“They shouldn’t be eating those berries,” Larra pointed out to Christoff as he passed. Despite how weary she knew he must be, he managed to appear unaffected by the long day. He stood straight and tall, his heavy armor appearing no more burdensome than a feather on his shoulder; though she imagined that wasn’t really the case.

He was still upset with her, as was apparent in the way he forced himself to turn in her direction, a look of annoyance on his face at being delayed from whatever task he had been about. He was too well-mannered to ignore her comment.

“Why is that?” he asked, impatiently. “My men dine on little more than meat and bread on every journey they make. Fresh produce is a treat.”

“But they shouldn’t eat them,” she pressed.

“Listen,” he said, forcefully. “I don’t know what you’ve got against the berries. You can plainly see they are enjoyable. And we’re not so ignorant that we don’t know that the sweet berries are good to eat, while the bitter ones are poisonous. These are obviously very sweet.” He nodded his head towards the scout who held a bag of the large, round, purple berries in his hands. Knights were grabbing handfuls of the produce, clearly enjoying the fruit as they went about setting up camp. 

“Whatever issues you’ve got at the moment,” he continued, “I don’t appreciate you taking them out on my men. They’ve been traveling long and hard, and miss the taste of good cooking, no thanks to you.” He looked pointedly at her. “Don’t begrudge them a bit of pleasure.”

“It’s not that I doubt they are sweet, or that your men feel the need for them after being on the road for so long. It’s just that I’ve made a life of studying plants and their properties as part of my trade. I’ve never seen a berry like that.”

“And this affects the situation, how?”

“I just don’t want your men to get sick. Different sometimes means dangerous.”

“You’ve given your warning, but forgive me if I pay no attention to it. I have more important things to see to, and my men will eat what they like.” He dismissed her.

Lara watched him approach a knight who was busy replacing a lost shoe on one of the horses.
Does he have to be so arrogant?
she wondered.

Maybe she’d misjudged the berries. From the distance of the wagon, they looked not only oddly large and too deeply purple to be a normal berry from the area, but their unique roundness made them appear almost similar to Signon’s foolsberries—a berry native to the kingdom of Signon that simulated tasty, healthy fruit, but was in actuality a noxious weed and produced brief but severe cramping and sickness. Foolsberries would be unfamiliar to anyone who hadn’t either traveled to Signon or intently studied plants, which Larra had.

It had been a long day. She’d spent it recalling recipes for potions and tonics, how to apply poultices so that they didn’t leave a rash, and naming useful herbs alphabetically—whatever it took to keep her mind off of her future, and off the tall, dark man she couldn’t seem to ignore. No doubt the berries were a figment of her imagination brought on by sheer exhaustion. She hoped that someone would come soon to take her to the river. It was getting dark now, and she desperately wanted to wash the cobwebs from her mind.

Christoff wondered why the pang in his heart was resurrected every time he looked at her.
Different sometimes means dangerous
. How well he knew. Had he ever confronted anything as dangerous as this one girl, who was so different from any other? He’d spent the day spinning her lies and Smithen’s errant actions around in his head like a windmill, trying to make sense of them. But he kept coming to the same conclusion he’d reached at the river two nights before: they were working together. They were partners. Deceivers.

How ironic that despite knowing she was lying to him, he still couldn’t seem to help the attraction he felt for her.

The day had been too long, and he was dirty, sweaty and weary. In the two days since he’d suspected that Larra and Smithen were partners, he had been on constant watch to prevent any escape attempt. To help matters, he had kept Smithen on scout duty each day.

Scouts were very important. Christoff always sent two men to ride a short distance ahead of the group, keeping their eyes out for potential problems along the trail such as wild beasts, road blockage, or robbers. The scouts also carried a horn and sounded it if there was an issue. Two blows of a horn signaled a non-threatening problem, three blows signaled an attack. As the sun began to set, the scouts were also responsible for selecting the best location to make camp. Once they found an area, they would wait for the rest of the group to catch up.

Just as Christoff rotated various tasks among his men, scouting was no different. But Christoff felt no qualms about dispensing with tradition and keeping Smithen on the assignment. It was a win-win situation. It relieved Christoff of some of the pressure he felt trying to keep the soldier and witch separated, and it let some of his more trustworthy knights, who would have otherwise taken a turn to scout, stay with the group. The scouts were not disposable, but there was certainly a higher risk in riding ahead into parts unknown. Not that Christoff wished any harm to come to the soldier. After all, he considered himself a fair man, and Smithen had done nothing obvious—yet. And of course there was a second scout with him, one of Christoff’s knights that he liked and wouldn’t want to see harmed.

As predicted, the day had gone smoothly; the scouts found a good spot for camp, moderately clear and flat and not many yards from the river. And even better, they had found some berry bushes in the vicinity of the camp. The same berries Larra was now warning him to not eat.

The sickness began soon after the men finished rolling out their bedrolls. They had not yet eaten dinner, Smithen and another man having just returned with two of the wolfhounds and a couple of fat pheasants. Again, Christoff had solved some of his most immediate problems by sending Smithen away from the camp as soon as he had finished scouting. Why let the man wander around the camp while everyone was busy unsaddling and clearing the ground, possibly getting into contact with the witch when he could instead be out hunting for their supper?

It seemed the minute Smithen returned, fresh kill held in his hand by their tail feathers, that the others began to complain of stomach cramps. One by one they dropped like flies, clutching their bellies as if to keep them from turning inside out. Some threw up, running to the bushes just in the nick of time, and all were laid low and incapable of even the slightest defense.

The men, strong, well-developed fighting men, had been turned into helpless babies in a matter of minutes. He prayed there would be no danger from the woods. Should they be attacked by an enemy or beast, they would be dead men. Luckily, carnies did not travel this close to the river, or the stench of sickness would have drawn them in large numbers and they would have feasted on the sick like starving men at a banquet.

Christoff went from one man to the next, checking for fever and pushing away swords so they wouldn’t roll over the sharp blades in their hurry to spit out the vile berries that were undoubtedly causing their pain. It seemed the only ones unaffected by the illness were Smithen, Larra, and himself. Smithen hadn’t had opportunity to eat the fruit, as he had been hunting. Larra had refused, based on her doubts of the plant itself, and Christoff simply hadn’t taken the time to try them for himself, partly because he had been busy issuing orders, and partly, he admitted with some shame, because the girl’s warning had casted doubts, however unwillingly received, into the backmost portion of his mind.

“Smithen!” he yelled at the returning man. “These men are all ill. Get down to the river immediately and haul back as much water as you can. We’ve got to get them cooled down.” He quickly began removing armor and boots from the men, trying to get as much of the cool evening air flowing over their skin as possible. The downside of being a knight was that the armor they wore was heavy and not at all breathable. Luckily, some of the men had already removed theirs when they’d dismounted. 

Making his way around the camp, he decided that in this particular instance it would be wise to abandon Lucien’s warnings and request help from the witch. Larra was, after all, a healer. Witch or no, she’d been living with her grandmother and had been raised to help people with all matter of sicknesses. She must know something that could help speed the men’s recovery without having to use her magic. She had known about the berries, so it was likely she would know a remedy. He could even offer her something, a trade of some sort, to sway her to aid the men. Perhaps he could offer to purchase her a pair of shoes when they reached the city, or send a note to her grandmother on her behalf.

He looked up from the man he was helping and toward the cage where she had been tied, waiting for her chance to go to the river. Then he went deathly still.

She was not there.

He looked again, glancing to both sides of the wagon, darting his gaze below the axle.  Where had she gone?

Suddenly, he knew.

Smithen!
 

Panic filled her, verging on full-blown hysteria. The beefy arm wrapped around her neck was choking her as it dragged her through the undergrowth of the forest and to the river. Not five minutes earlier, Larra had wished desperately to touch that fresh, flowing water and wash the trail dust away. Now she could barely think for the fear that had overcome her. Her hands pulled desperately at the iron grip around her neck, fingernails scratching at skin and pulling hairs, but to no avail. She couldn’t breathe, much less yell for help.

Smithen had grabbed her quickly, cutting her bonds while the captain was looking after his men. Without a second glance, he had jerked her away from the wagon and began rapidly moving towards the river. Larra knew what would happen when they got there.

She tried kicking, her legs swinging wildly around him like the branches of a willow tree in a hurricane. They struck blindly at the giant dragging her toward her death, but without result.

He didn’t say anything until they reached the water, which looked blurry through the tears of desperation in her eyes. She assumed his silence was to keep the captain from hearing them as they left. But now that they were far enough from the camp, he had no reason to keep quiet.

“It was pure luck that I found those berries during my scouting. Good thing I’m a native of Signon or I wouldn’t have known about their spectacular little qualities. Unfortunately, I don’t have as much time as I’d hoped for. What a pity; this could have been much more enjoyable. Now it’ll just have to be quick.”

Even as he spoke, she felt the earth tilt about her and she found herself crashing down into the water. Strong hands grasped either side of her shoulders, pinning her arms and holding her below the surface. Her last thought before she blacked out was that she wished she could have done more with her life.

Christoff knew he would find them faster on foot than if he had taken the time to saddle a horse. The dogs caught the trail immediately, heading toward the river, and Christoff ran after them. His single most important duty was to return the girl to his father, and he would not fail.
Honor and obedience above all else
. At the moment, both were clouded by anger.

Had they set this up? As he ran, he thought of Smithen and wondered if the soldier had known the berries were poisonous, if this was part of his plan to get Larra away from camp. It seemed so unlikely, yet the evidence was starting to point in that direction. It was even possible that Larra had used her magic to make the berries poisonous. He had a dozen sick men, most of whom were good friends, lying sick and helpless in an open clearing in the woods. They could be attacked by anything and they would not survive. How dare she bring his men into such danger! How dare she use her magic! Beauty or no, seemingly innocent or not, he would mete out the appropriate punishment when he found her. What a fool he was to have come to like her, respect her, when all the while she was planning to escape.

The hounds howled, acknowledging that their target was close at hand. Christoff could make out the glitter of the setting sun on water through the trees and burst ahead through the branches, only to stop dead in his tracks. 

There was Smithen, standing waist deep in the river, the veins bulging from his arms as he held his captive down under the water. He saw the thrashing of limbs and the heavy cling of wet, purple fabric to the front of Smithen’s body. Tips of long, dark hair were surfacing above the silky depths of the river where his arms were buried.

It didn’t take long for Christoff to take in the scene, and he felt his stomach drop and fear stab through his chest like a sharp knife. Then he was running again, his feet searching for balance along the stone-scattered bank.

His dogs would reach Smithen first, he knew. Their large paws were better for running over ground made slippery by wet rocks. The soldier wasn’t aware of their ever-quickening approach, so intent was he on drowning the girl in his hands that he didn’t even hear the barking.

As if in slow motion, Christoff watched as one of the hounds leapt into the air, water dripping from its stomach and legs as it hurled itself onto the bulky shoulders of the murderous brute. Smithen was thrown off balance, releasing his grasp on Larra to defend himself against the teeth-baring beast. Dog and man both crashed into the water as Smithen lost his footing, splashing the second dog that spun up and down the bank, watching and waiting for the enemy to break away.