Treacherous Witch

The heart enflames with blade’s bright blood;

The men doth ride; the maids doth run;

So to unleash the beasts of war.

Geraldin Montbretton’sTo War

“No,” she said. “No, no, no, you can’t be here, Markus! Why are you here?”

She hadn’t planned for this. Markus wasn’t supposed to be here; he was supposed to be safe.

His smile disappeared. He shook his head, expression grim. “I’m here to finish what I started.”

“Markus...” Lord Gideon had arranged this, she knew it. That smug smile said it all. “You can’t... You don’t know how dangerous this is. Don’t put yourself at risk. Please.”

“I’m killing the Chancellor, Val,” he said. “You can’t stop me.”

Her retort died in her mouth. There was nothing she could say that would convince him. Markus was the most stubborn person she had ever known.

And his presence threatened everything.

She swallowed, looking over Markus’s shoulder as Prince Bakra emerged from the boat in his guard’s uniform. The prince handed over the wooden case to Gideon.

“Valerie,” he said. “You say that the Chancellor is waiting for us?”

“In the temple,” she said. “That’s where I told him to wait for me. He thinks Lord Gideon is delivering the crown jewels.”

She glanced at Gideon as she said that, but he didn’t look perturbed. He planned for betrayal, she thought. Or he’s been working with Avon all along.

“To the temple, then,” said Bakra. “We take care of Avon first, then open the gates and storm the palace. My men are waiting outside.”

“What if we’re spotted?”

“I’ll help you make a quick getaway,” said Markus. “We’ve done it before, haven’t we?”

When they’d fled her village during the Empire’s invasion. Oh, Maska. She swallowed, tasting bile at the back of her throat.

“Well, then,” said Bakra. “Onwards, we march!”

No choice. She would have to improvise.

And so onwards they marched. They made a bizarre foursome, Gideon leading the way with the wooden case, Bakra behind him, Valerie in the middle slowing all of them down in her dress and heels, and Markus bringing up the rear, hand resting on the sword at his hip. The helmets they wore didn’t entirely cover the face but did cover their hair. She supposed no one would question Gideon’s personal guards.

She was right.

They crossed the grounds and entered the palace, making their way through the gallery. No one stopped them. They passed other guards who saluted and let them through. They didn’t meet any of the courtiers, who were likely still making merry in the ballroom. Had anyone noticed she was missing?

Her heart raced. They entered the temple. The smell of incense, once soothing, instead made her breathe faster. Usually the guards in the temple stood watch by the steps leading down to the Forbidden Chamber, which was the only prohibited area. But tonight there was a sentry at each pillar and none at the steps. Gideon ignored them, marching on by. The guards saluted. Valerie tried not to look, to act as if she had every right to be here...

Almost there. Down the steps, the seal’s magic once again calling to her, warning her...

In the chamber below the temple, Lord Avon was waiting in full armour, accompanied by Captain Doryn and three guards.

Gideon stopped, then gave a short bow. As if this was a prearranged meeting. As if he and Avon were here for a chat. Flanking him were Bakra and Markus, still and silent. For now.

She held her breath.

“Lord Avon,” said Gideon. “What a remarkable coincidence. I had just sent for you.”

“Did you?” said Avon. “I thought you’d bring more men. What are you doing with my sorceress?”

“I arrested her,” said Gideon, “for trying to steal the crown jewels.”

He threw down the case on the sandy floor. Were the crown jewels in there? She hadn’t actually seen them. She was so close...

But Gideon’s hand curled around her shoulder. “I warned you that your pet witch would betray you. Your poor judgement proves that you’re unfit to call yourself Chancellor. Stand aside.”

The silky hiss of swords being drawn ratcheted up the tension in the chamber. Blades on either side of her: Bakra and Markus. And blades before her: Avon, Doryn, and the three guards, flickering in the fire braziers’ light.

“An unwise statement,” said Avon, “for a man outnumbered.”

Heavy footsteps thudded on the steps behind them. Valerie gasped, twisting around in Gideon’s grip. Two, three—no, four guards marched down to block the entrance to the chamber. They were surrounded.

And still Gideon did not seem perturbed.

Avon noticed it too, reacting a split second before she did. It all happened so fast: two of the guards behind them stepped forward and stabbed their comrades in the back. Another guard next to Avon turned on his closest companion, and the third attacked Doryn, who was slow to react—but Avon wasn’t. He leapt in front of the captain and met the traitor’s blade with his own, the sword glowing a brilliant white.

Before she could process what was happening, Gideon clamped his hand over her mouth and dragged her out of the fray, up against the chamber wall. With that, his men charged forward: Bakra, Markus, and the two traitorous guards. Avon slew the man who had attacked Doryn, and the captain stood ready to meet the onslaught before him.

She yanked Gideon’s hand from her mouth, throwing herself forward.

Markus had charged past Doryn, the captain engaging the other men—

“Avon!” she screamed.

At her cry, Avon turned and raised his sword in time to meet Markus’s blade. Markus’s eyes widened in shock and he fell back. Meanwhile, Doryn had felled one of the traitorous guards, but he’d taken a knock, breathing heavily, as Bakra and the other guard pressed their advantage.

But her eyes were only on Avon and Markus. Gideon hadn’t lost his hold on her. She thrashed in his grip, cursing him with every word under Maska’s sun.

Avon sidestepped a wild sword swing from Markus, then dealt him a body blow that sent Markus sprawling into the chamber wall, but he didn’t finish his foe off. Doryn had just cried out—a dagger buried in his leg—and Avon instead rushed forward to help the captain. He set upon the final guard with a fury that broke the other man’s defence in seconds. The guard went down.

Bakra gritted his teeth and swung his sword at Doryn, who fended him off—

Markus was getting up—

No, she thought, no, don’t do it, stop it!

But Avon had seen him. And without the element of surprise, Markus had lost his advantage. Snarling, he launched himself at Avon, who countered, blow for blow, then wrenched sideways, disarming Markus with a flick of his blade, and stabbed him in the gut.

“No!” The cry was torn from her own throat.

Markus fell to the ground, groaning. Bakra’s fight with Doryn had gone the other way. He’d knocked the captain to the ground, bleeding from leg and shoulder.

Somewhere in the mass of sprawling bodies, sand, and blood lay the wooden case. The power she needed. She had no magic here. No way to throw Gideon off.

But she had herself.

Improvise.

Valerie went limp in Gideon’s arms. Then, the moment he relaxed, sneering down at her, she wriggled her arm free and jabbed two fingers into his eyes.

Gideon howled, letting her go. And Valerie threw herself at the nearest person she could: Bakra, who had raised his sword for a killing blow.

“Stop it!” she screamed. “All of you, stop it! Avon! Look at me!”

Avon stood over Markus who had collapsed, bleeding heavily. But he did stop, his gaze falling on Valerie.

“Valerie!” Bakra tried to shake her off, but she clung on like a stubborn flea.

Six men were dead. Markus was dying, Doryn wounded. The air was thick with iron.

“Wait!” she said. “Let me heal them. This is your fight. They don’t deserve to die.”

“Why did you stop me?” Bakra panted.

At some point in the fray, his helmet had come off, revealing his boyish face and bright, fierce eyes. And now Avon straightened up, a flicker of recognition passing between them.

Then a pair of vile hands closed around her, and she was torn away.

“A lesson for your people, Bakra,” Gideon sneered. “Girls are soft-hearted, weak. You should never have let them run the country.”

His hand twisted its way to the back of her neck, wrenching her head back. She stumbled and gave another little cry. But his fingers were touching her skin...

“Valerie,” said Avon, his gaze sliding to her. “Kill Gideon.”

Valerie smiled.

At once, her skin became scorching hot. Gideon let her go with a yelp and she turned on him, grabbed his face with both hands, and squeezed. All her rage, all her hatred, all her spite she poured into him, and he melted. His face turned as red as his bloodshot eyes, the skin blistering and popping. He screamed for mercy.

She pressed harder. Vicious. Unrelenting.

“This is for every Maskamery you tortured. Everyone you tormented. Maska curse you!”

She felt the moment of his death like another pop, a strange, insignificant moment. He became dead weight in her hands, and she let go, letting his burnt-out corpse slump to the ground. Then she rose.

“Valerie,” said Bakra, but his voice quavered. He was doubting her.

“Let me heal my friend,” she said. Neither man moved. She shook her head and snapped, “Stand aside! Let me heal him.”

Slowly, reluctantly, each man took a step back. Valerie knelt down by Markus. He was flat on his back, and he had already lost a lot of blood.

“Valerie,” he murmured. “What are you doing?”

“Saving your life,” she whispered back, pressing her hand to his jaw. “Hold still.”

She closed her eyes, becoming aware of his body. Starting with his head, then moving down and through his flesh until she sensed the cut beneath his ribs. The blade had torn through his kidney; she hissed between her teeth. Focusing, she knitted the wound together, stopping the bleeding on the outside. The internal bleeding, on the other hand...

Valerie wasn’t a healer. That wasn’t her specialism. She had a basic understanding of the organs of the body, but...

She opened her eyes. “Bakra. Give me the Kestrel’s Eye.”

She glanced back, and Bakra was hesitating.

“I’ll put him to sleep,” she said. “He won’t join this fight and neither will Doryn. Give me the Kestrel’s Eye.”

At the edge of her vision, she was conscious of Avon watching her too. But he said nothing.

She held out her hand. Bakra opened the wooden case, taking out a gold pendant which he gave to her. Its power flowed into her and she gasped.

The power of restoration.

Holding the pendant tightly in one hand, Valerie returned to her work with the other. To her delight, she had instant clarity. She directed the pendant’s power and it did the rest, almost faster than she could process. Markus’s wound vanished. His laboured breathing returned to normal, his heart beating at a slower rate. He was recovering so fast she had to quickly add on her own spell, the one to put him to sleep. Moments later he was passed out.

She moved on to Doryn and did exactly the same thing. Doryn’s eyes met hers. She thought she saw gratitude, then his eyes closed and he drifted away.

Valerie stood up. The two men had moved away from her, Avon standing in front of the great stone barrier that had brought them all here, Bakra facing him.

“Well,” said Avon, looking at Valerie, “what now?”

“You must be the emperor’s son,” said Bakra. “Lord James Avon, the butcher.”

“Prince Bakra, the coward,” Avon rejoined. “Will you have Valerie fight your battle here too?”

“I’ve waited a long time to kill you,” said Bakra. “I’ll do it myself.”

Bakra struck first. He thrust the point of his blade and Avon parried, turning the blade aside. They broke off, circling each other. Parry, counter-parry. Testing each other’s skill. Valerie watched, transfixed, wondering whether to step in...

She had the pendant. Slowly, as if in a daze, she put it on around her neck. As for the other jewels... She backed up against the wall of the chamber and moved towards the wooden case.

Avon cried out. Bakra had caught him a glancing blow against his arm, but his armour held fast.

She reached into the case. Yes! The Sceptre. A light, short staff, burnished with gold and thrumming with power. It surged through her, like lightning, like fire, like the deep cracking of the earth splitting open.

She set the Sceptre on her lap and reached in again. The Masked Crown. A slim, elegant headpiece of rubies and gold. She lifted it out of the case and felt a burst of inspiration. Setting the crown upon her head, she thought, I could bring to life any idea.

The seal sang to her.

It’s time.

Avon drove Bakra back with a two-handed swing. The prince stumbled into the empty case, losing his footing. He fell and rolled away as Avon’s blade stabbed into the sand. Valerie yelped, snatching the Golden Sceptre close to her chest—that was rather too close. Avon’s eyes met hers, but Bakra leapt at him, and he was forced to retaliate.

She was halfway to the stone block before they realised what she was doing.

“Valerie,” said Bakra hoarsely. Both men were panting. “I told you not to break the seal.”

“And why is that?” Avon asked. He was still closest to the door, holding his ground.

“This is my magic,” she said. “I worked for this. All of you wanted to use me—even you, Bakra, you threw me to the wolves without a thought to get back your throne. It’s my magic, and I’m breaking that seal for me.”

At the word me, she threw out an idea: a cloud of darkness that erupted around both Avon and Bakra, blinding them. They cried out in confusion.

She darted over to the stone door and pressed her hands against the stone flesh...

The seal can only be broken by a woman.

The seal can only be broken by one thrice-blessed.

The seal can only be broken by one wielding the Masked Crown, the Kestrel’s Eye, and the Golden Sceptre.

The seal shone brilliantly, a kaleidoscope of colours: blue sky, yellow sand, green grass, red roses, purple berries, silver leaves, the burnished orange of a kestrel’s wing...

The Sceptre glowed, and the seal shattered into a million tiny fragments. Air whooshed over her head as the great stone boulder rolled away, revealing an entrance as black as night.

She stared, breathing hard. She’d done it. She’d broken the seal. Whatever lay beyond it was waiting for her.

Valerie faced the darkness and stepped through it.