Wand of the Witch (10 page)

"Noelyn!" cried a voice in the distance.

"Oh spirit, Noelyn, are you all right?" shouted another voice.

Rowyn and Ellywyn emerged from between the trees, goldencharms glowing. They raced toward the boulder.

"Climb the trees!" Noelyn shouted to them. "Don't worry about me."

But her friends ran toward her over roots and leaves. The reptiles hissed and leaped toward them. Rowyn uttered spells, shooting smoke from his wand. One lizard turned to stone, then another. Ellywyn lashed Sunfire, her dagger of elfsilver. Lizard blood flew, black and thick.

"For Glaswood Forest!" rose battle cries, and a dozen elfling warriors emerged from the trees, bearing bows and quivers. A dozen arrows flew. Lizards squealed. Blood splashed. Noelyn shot her last arrow, killed a lizard, and it was over.

Silence fell. The beasts all lay dead, tongues hanging from their maws.

Legs shaky, Noelyn climbed off the boulder. Rowyn rushed to her and embraced her.

"You're wounded," he said and touched her cheek.

She nodded, eyes lowered, and held him. "A scratch."

He kissed her cheek. "We must find you a healer."

Noelyn smiled. Concern filled Rowyn's eyes. When they grew up, he was always the one who'd comfort her when she cried, who bandaged her wounds when other children hit her, who listened to her stories and deepest fears under the blankets.

"We will soon," she said. "Come, see something here."

She knelt by a dead reptile. It lay bloodied, its neck pierced with an arrow. Mud coated its scales. A collar encircled its neck, and a tag hung from it. On the tag appeared a single letter: a red
M
.

"What does it mean?" Ellywyn asked, frowning. A scratch ran down her cheek and leaves filled her red hair.

Noelyn looked up into her friend's green eyes. "Madrila."

They all shuddered. The name Madrila was feared in Glaswood Forest. Elflings whispered of seeing the witch wandering the forest at night, cloaked in black, eyes blazing in her hood. Several elfling children had disappeared over the past few years. Some whispered that Madrila had snatched them. In some stories, the witch cooked and ate the children. In other stories, she cast spells upon them, and turned them into monsters who now served her. Noelyn gulped. Had these lizards once been kidnapped elflings?

Young Oryn ran between the dead reptiles. "They all wear the same tag!" he said, eyes wide. He shuddered. "The witch."

Noelyn looked at the others, then closed her eyes.
Fall Festival has come, and another time of darkness falls upon me.
She tightened her grip on her bow.

* * * * *

Scruff crept toward the dungeon door, knelt, and peeked underneath. He saw the boots of a guard and heard snores; the man was sleeping in the corner.

"I think it's night," Scruff whispered over his shoulder. "The guard's snoring."

Neev sighed in the darkness. "Quite the caliber of men here at Fort Rosethorn. And this is the place that flunked you from knight school, yes?"

Scruff grumbled. "Remind me, brother. Didn't you graduate with honors from the Coven? Oh wait. I forgot. You flunked too."

Neev rose to his feet and growled. "Blame Romy for that. I did summon a demon from Hell, and that's no mean trick. I couldn't predict it would be a thumb-sucking, teddy-bear-loving, duckling-fearing demon."

Cobweb shushed them. "B-b-be quiet! We d-d-don't want to wake da guawd. Scwuff, do you tink you c-c-can bweak da doow?"

Neev snorted. "Look at him, Cobweb. I've seen smaller prize bulls than Scruff. He could knock down the Great Wall of China if he leaned against it."

Scruff had never heard of China, so he said nothing, took a deep breath, and prepared to charge.

"Ready?" he whispered.

Cobweb raised her fists like a boxer and nodded. Neev chanted a spell and cast a Cone of Silence on the door. Cat whiskers sprouted from his nose.

Stuff growled, ran, and slammed his shoulder into their cell's door. He crashed back, shoulder throbbing. The door remained standing.

"Scwuff!" Cobweb said.

He rose to his feet, shook his head wildly, and charged again. The guard was shouting outside. Scruff's shoulder hit the door, and it cracked. He fell back again, growled, and charged a third time.

The door shattered.

Neev tossed magical spiderwebs, hitting the guard's chest.

Scruff and Cobweb leaped outside, tossing punches. The guard fell and thrashed, struggling in the spiderwebs that bound him.

"Prison break!" he cried. "Help down here!"

"Wun!" Cobweb cried. "Upstaiws!"

Scruff led the way, charging up a craggy staircase. He crashed into a second door at the top, shattering it. He rolled into an armory, expecting to see more guards, but the place was empty. The shelves were free of swords and armor.

"Something's going on," he said, panting. "There are usually hundreds of swords and pieces of armor in this place."

Neev and Cobweb emerged into the armory behind him. They stared around, eyes narrowed. Shouts echoed above them. Swords clanged and boots thumped. Creatures grunted and a woman shrieked.

"Madrila is here," Neev said softly. Scruff shuddered.

"Wook, Scwuff! Ouw awmow and weapons." Cobweb pointed to a shadowy, dusty corner. Her bow and arrows lay there upon a table. Scruff's mace, helmet, and breastplate lay beside them. They grabbed the weapons and armor, and soon Scruff felt like a warrior again.

"We're two Bullies short," he said, heart hammering. "But we're ready to fight. Let's go face the witch."

As he ran upstairs, he wondered where Romy and Jamie were. Would they return to defend the town? Did they still hide in the forest? Did Madrila meet them there? But soon there was no time for questions. When he raced into Fort Rosethorn's courtyard, he beheld a battle of blood, screams, steel, and spells.

A hundred soldiers fought in the night, clad in chain mail and wielding swords. A dozen or more lay dead already, blood seeping into the dust. Countless grunters were lashing their claws and biting, grunting as they fought. Some carried torches, their light flickering red across the courtyard.

A grunter leaped at Scruff, snapping its teeth. Scruff swung Norman into its head. The grunter fell dead, but two more replaced it. He swung Norman left and right, slamming the mace into grunter heads.

Neev began tossing fireballs and lightning bolts. His cat whiskers vanished, replaced with rabbit ears, then a monkey tail, walrus tusks, and finally a giraffe's neck (which made his head bobble like Romy after a night in the pub). Cobweb was firing arrows and lashing her knife. But the grunters kept attacking, and Scruff saw no end of them. One bit his leg, and he screamed and kicked it off. A second clawed his shoulder. Their torches burned around him, and smoke entered his lungs. He coughed and howled as he fought.

"Where's Madrila?" he shouted. "Is she here?"

Neev coughed too. He cast another fireball, and his giraffe neck shrank. Ram's horns grew from his head.

"I haven't seen her, but it's her we have to kill. Let's find her."

The Bullies ran across the courtyard between battling soldiers and grunters. Scruff's mace swung, Cobweb's arrows flew, and Neev's fireballs rolled. They managed driving a path through the battle and burst outside the fort. They stood atop Rosethorn hill, looking down upon the town.

Burrfield burned in the night.

Grunters ran through the streets, torching houses and swinging swords at fleeing townfolk. Memories pounded through Scruff, spinning his head.
It looks so much like that night... the night Dry Bones killed our parents.

"Look!" Neev said. "Friar Hill!"

Scruff stared. The hill rose across town, alight with green, red, and blue lightning. It seemed to Scruff like a dark figure stood within the light, controlling it, lashing it forward. Lightning rose from the figure, twisted, and rained down onto the streets. Wherever the bolts struck, houses broke, cobblestones shattered, and trees split.

"Madrila," he said. He tightened his grip around his mace and ran.

He plowed through the streets, knocking grunters aside. Townfolk fled around him, screaming and weeping. Soldiers fought and died. Neev and Cobweb ran beside him, firing fireballs and arrows.

I wish Jamie and Romy were here,
Scruff thought. Had they met Madrila's monsters in the forest? Were they dead? Worry for them twisted his gut and shook his knees.

Lightning came crashing down. Scruff leaped back, and the bolt hit the street. Cobblestones cracked and smoke rose. Scruff leaped over the smoldering hole and kept running. A grunter leaped from behind a house, roaring. Scruff shattered its teeth with his mace, kicked it down, and ran.

A figure leaped from behind a house, and Scruff raised his mace, prepared to strike... but paused. It was John Quill, his clothes ashy, his eyes wide with terror.

"Scruff!" the printmaker said and grabbed Scruff's collar. "You have to do something! Stop them!"

Rage bubbling, Scruff shoved the man back. "Get lost, Quill. How dare you touch me?"

Neev ran toward them, a fireball in his hands. He raised the crackling comet, prepared to toss it.

"Give me one reason not to burn you with the rest of them, Quill," the young wizard said.

Cobweb pointed an arrow at Quill. Her cheeks flushed. "We shouwd j-j-just kiww you, you wiaw."

Quill fell to his knees. He grabbed Scruff's boots and began kissing them.

"Please," he begged between kisses, "stop the witch. She's burning everything, her and her monsters...."

"You mean her innocent wood elves?" Scruff said and kicked the snivelling man aside. "Get out of our way. We'll deal with you later."

Neev growled and tossed his fireball at Quill's feet. Quill screamed, leaped back, and vanished into the shadows. He blubbered in the darkness.

The three Bullies kept running. When they reached Friar Hill, they found several soldiers dead at its feet. Tears stung Scruff's eyes.
They're dead... because of us. Because we killed Dry Bones and drew his daughter here.

He tightened his lips. There would be time for guilt later. Right now, he had to kill Madrila. He raised his mace.

"You with me?" he asked.

Cobweb nodded and nocked an arrow. "Awways, Scwuff. I wuve you."

Neev raised his hands; the fingers sparkled with electricity. "I'm right here, brother."

Scruff nodded. "Good. Let's go kill the witch."

They ran uphill.

Chapter Nine

A Long Time Ago...

Amabel trudged through the snow, crying, her newborn clutched in her arms.

Wind screamed around her, freezing her tears. Her babe squealed, such a frail, pink thing of wrinkles and grasping fingers. Amabel tried to tighten her cloak around her and the babe, but snow still found its way to their skin, fast and stinging.

She kept moving, though the wind bit, and the snow tugged her ankles. She could see nothing but flurries.
Just keep moving,
she told herself.
To stop is death.

"Shhh shh, it's okay," Amabel whispered to her daughter, but the babe kept crying. She was only a day old.

And I myself am still a child,
Amabel thought. She was only fifteen, and alone, and scared. She had never been so scared.

"I miss you, Father," she whispered, trudging down an alley between towering, icy walls. Her father would shout, shiver, and curse that his daughter had whelped a bastard; he had been so angry since Mother had died. But he would also know what to do. After shouting, he would help her, comfort her. He would speak of building cribs, dealing with curious neighbors, assuaging the priests, and Amabel would not be trudging through the snow with a mewling, frail, pink baby. Yet Father was gone to the Crusades, like most of the town's men; he had been away for two years now.

"And I miss you, Jan," she whispered as she walked through the icy town square, snow swirling around her. Jan Rasmussen. A tall, gaunt youth with dark eyes. Her childhood friend. Her baby's father. He too was gone—not to the Crusades, but to Batwog Coven, a council of wizards many miles away.
He's a wizard's apprentice now; he won't be home for years.

Amabel trembled. She had never felt so alone. Where could she go? She could visit Sam Thistle's house, perhaps. Sam had been her friend since childhood, but he too now fought in the Holy Land, and his mother frightened Amabel.
She always wanted me to marry Sam. What would she say, if she saw me carrying Jan's babe?

She looked up to a tall, narrow house beside her. Icicles covered it.
I could go to the Quills,
she thought; they were an old family of scribes.
But they are also the town's worst gossips. They will speak of my babe, of my bastard. All the town would know my shame.

She sobbed and shuddered.
Where can I turn?
The ice and wind slammed against her. Snow filled her cloak. Bundled in cloth, her babe wailed. Amabel raised stinging eyes. In the distance, behind swirling snow, she saw the steeple of the church. It was but a thin, grey pillar in a white world, but it called to her. She had never been a pious girl, but now the church seemed like a beacon of hope, of warmth, of aid. She trudged toward it.

Ages of ice and snow passed before she reached the church. It loomed above her, a monolith of stone glimmering with frost. Gargoyles crouched atop the steeple, glaring down at her, and suddenly more fear than ever filled Amabel. She was sure that those gargoyles were mocking her. Their tongues hung and their eyes leered.

Harlot!
they seemed to tell her.
Bastard's mother! How dared you forget your Sam Thistle? How dared your whelp this illborn daughter of Jan, a shabby peasant?

Amabel gulped. She wanted to flee. She looked behind her and saw only swirls of snow, and her baby mewled.
My daughter needs warmth. Those gargoyles can go to hell.