“Burn the witch!”
“Kill ‘er! Kill the whore!”
A crowd hurled insults and threats at the girl on the ground. Her dress was covered in mud, as was her face. She was barefoot and her feet were covered in calluses and blood. Each time she would try to stand up, a man in front of her would pull the rope which bound her hands, causing her to fall again into the mud. She hit a few stones on their way to the town square, and now she got blood in one of her eyes. The person pulling the rope was a large man, wearing a crimson-red robe. He had a hood on, although it did a poor job of concealing his face. The man was bald, his nose was large, and his square face was covered with a patchy beard. A large loose pendant was hanging, reaching his chest. On it, a large metal cross reflected the setting sun.
The large man in red jerked the rope, and the girl fell on her side. She looked up. A large pyre was constructed, surrounded by hay. Someone threw a rotting tomato at her, missing by a few inches. With her face facing the ground, she allowed herself a chuckle. She was excited.
The man in red brought her up, pulling her by the hair. “Tonight, ye die, whore”, he said to her then spat on her face.
“My Lord!”, the man in red called, looking up. “We call upon thee to return this one to her dark master!”
He looked at the girl, smiling sinisterly. He was missing a few teeth and all others were yellow, the girl noticed. “Tie her up!”, he shouted and eager hands grabbed the girl. The man in red turned away from the pyre to which the girl was being tied, and faced a small elevated platform a short distance away. There were three chairs on it. The one in the middle was occupied by duke Lionel Reinfrid. The one right of him was vacant, but the chair left of him had a bundle of cloth and silk in it. From that bundle which resembled a young child, only the upper part of a head peeked through, hungrily eyeing the witch.
“Your Grace!”, The man in red shouted. “Give us your permission to burn this heathen, this witch!”, the man pointed at the girl who struggled against the ropes. “If you do, your Grace, tonight the troubles of Alsbeck Duchy end!”
The duke smiled. He leaned towards the boy, who whispered something to him, and then the duke stood up. “By the power given to me by God, I sentence this woman to death!” A wild smile appeared on his lips.
The man in red bowed. “Your will be done, your Grace.” The man turned to the girl again. “Someone hand me a torch!”, he said, his eyes chained to hers. “Any last words, whore of Vallasca?”
“In the name of God, STOP!”
The man in red stumbled. The girl didn’t say anything. Her eyes were looking at someone behind the man.
He turned, confused. The crowd had gone silent instantly. In the corner of his eye, the man in red noticed the duke standing up from his chair.
“Who…?”
“Have you forgotten your teachings, son?”
The crowd moved, forming a small passage. At the end of it, an old man sat on a mule. He was wearing the same red robes as well, although they almost completely covered him up. The hood covered his face, leaving only his mouth. Apart from the same cross pendant, the old man had a white scarf decorated with golden letters around his neck. Upon noticing the old man, the man in red knelt.
“My apologies, your Holiness. What are you-“
“Don’t talk back!”, the old man said. His voice was frail, but it instilled authority.
The boy covered in cloth, the duke’s son, shifted in his seat. The duke leaned to listen to his whispers.
“What is the meaning of this?”, the duke asked.
The old man lifted his head. “Your Grace”, he said, slowly getting off his mule. A nearby man from the crowd helped him. “This woman, the one you call a witch, deserves an exorcism. Her soul might yet be saved.”
The duke cocked his head.
“I am disappointed in you, son!”, the old man looked at the priest in red. “If you continue on this path of violence, soon, you too shall be in the need of an exorcism.”
Afraid, the man in red bowed again. “Forgive me, your Hol-“
“Ask God for forgiveness!”, the old man spat out.
“I shall perform the exorcism at once, your Holiness!”, the priest said, standing up.
“No.”
“No?”
“Get on your knees and pray to our Lord. I am still in His service and I will still do His bidding.”
“I beg ye, your Holiness. This woman is vile and dangerous!”, the priest in red protested.
“With my faith in Lord, I shall fear no devil!”, the old man raised his pendant, showing the cross to the girl. She squinted, and after realising what she was looking into, she started screaming and shaking uncontrollably.
“NO”, she screamed, spewing white bile from her mouth. “Kill me now. Kill. Me.”
Content, the old man sighed. Whispers of awe spread throughout the crowd.
The bundle of cloth shifted and squealed. The boy whispered something to his father, the duke.
“How long is this going to take? My son wanted… to see her burn”, the duke asked, standing on his platform.
“It shall be done when the Lord wills it!”, the old man said bitterly. “But I’ll see that it’s done in two hours, your Grace.”
#
The duke ordered the owner of the inn to provide the old priest and the witch with a small secluded room. “It must be dark and we must be left alone”, the old man said to the owner. The owner nodded, giving the keys to a small room at the end of a steep staircase.
“None will disturb ye, your Holiness”, the owner replied and backed away gladly.
They took the confused girl off the pyre and forced her into the inn. When they passed by the old priest, who still held the cross in his arm, she started screaming again. Two large men holding her struggled to keep her in place. They shared a look of sudden shock.
“Your Holiness, I beg ye to reconsider”, the man in red followed them, speaking to the old priest. “She is a servant of Satan. Ye might need my help!” The old man raised his head and his grey eyes reflected torchlight. His brows furrowed into an angry grimace. “You and I shall have a conversation, once I am done with her. You nearly brought disgrace to our sacred order.”
The man stuttered in shock. “I-I am… I don’t-“
“Enough”, the old man said and went slowly into the inn. He started climbing the stairs, holding the handrail as he went up.
In front of the room, two men who carried the girl stood. “She’s inside”, one of them said, but they both seemed nervous.
“Thank you, dear children”, the old men wheezed. “Now leave.”
The two men eagerly did so.
The old man entered the room, holding the cross in front of him. The ragged girl crouched in a corner, trying to move away.
Then the old man dropped his cross and placed a finger across his lips. He turned from her and closed the door.
He took off the robe, revealing two bags tied to his chest and back. He untied them, letting them fall. The man lost the hunch and he stretched his thin and young body and rubbed the face of the old man. In a moment, he pulled the thin leather off, revealing a face of a young man underneath.
The girl’s smile widened. However, she still remained silent.
From a pocket inside his sleeve, the young man pulled out a small stack of papers. He placed one piece of paper on the door. After a moment of holding it, the paper stuck to the surface. There was a rune clumsily written on it. The man did the same to the other three walls of the room.
Once he did that, he sighed in relief. “Finally”, he said, “If I had to wear those bags one minute longer…”
The girl laughed, standing up. “That was some outstanding acting there, Jory”, she said in a girly voice.
“Hmm. Thanks. However, I think you overdid it. Nobody, not even the devil himself would go rabid like that at a sight of a simple cross”, the man smirked.
The girl shrugged. “Are those runes any good?”, she asked, ignoring his taunts. She looked at one on the wall. “They are written horribly.”
“Hey! That’s the best I could do!”, Jory protested. The Runes of Agni, if drawn correctly, were supposed to stop any eavesdropping. The last thing Jory wanted was someone dropping in on their conversation.
“So, what did you find out, Mel? Working as a kitchen girl.”
The girl looked down as if seeing her body for the first time. That wasn’t how she normally looked. After all, she was a witch. Jory suspected that she was even older than him, but he never dared to ask. Witches hated being asked about their age, even more than normal women.
“Quite a lot actually. And I was very good at it!”, she smiled, playing into her girl persona. The ginger girl Jory was looking at looked around eighteen.
“You got caught! And weren’t you just seconds from being burned alive?!”, Jory wheezed and sat in a chair. In the room, there were a few chairs, a small table, and a bed. There was a chamber pot in the corner as well, next to a large wooden chest. The inn owner must have given them the worst room there was.
“I planned to get caught!”, Mel laughed and walked towards Jory. “That was the only way to lure it out.”
“And what If I hadn’t arrived at the perfect time?”, Jory said, hungrily eyeing Mel’s body.
“Oh, you think I can’t handle a little fire, my dear Jory?”, Mel lifted her dress slightly and sat on Jory’s lap. She’s way too good at acting as a young woman, Jory thought. He found himself enjoying it.
“So, what happened at the duke’s castle?”, Jory asked as Mel started unbuttoning his shirt. “Did you find it there?”, he asked, grabbing her thigh.
“All that can wait”, Mel giggled, gently caressing his lips with her fingers. “Right now, we have some exorcism to do.”
The bed was uncomfortable and small, but the two of them somehow managed to fit on it. And partly wreck it in the process.
“God, I missed this”, Mel said, standing up. She looked for her peasant dress. Jory was laying in bed, looking at her. He wished he had a bit of birch bark to chew on.
“So, what did you find in there”, he asked.
“It is a lamia, Jory. I am sure of it”, she said, wiggling into the dress. “It has killed the duke’s wife and son.”
“The son? Wasn’t he-“
“That was the lamia. It’s playing the role of the son. The lamia has poisoned the mind of the duke.”
“But… why? These monsters almost always act on their instincts. Why would it toy with the duke?”
Mel shrugged, sitting at the foot of the bed. “That’s your job.”
“How did you get caught?”
“Quite simple. I heated my teacup”, Mel said, laughing. “Lamias can sense magic. That’s how it found me.”
“That’s how you found it!”, Jory said smiling. He got up from the bed, gathering his clothes.
“It told the duke, and the duke called the church. You’ve seen the rest.” Mel yawned. “So, what’s the plan?”
Jory sat in silence for a moment, half-dressed. “Well, we first have to give the townsfolk what they want.”
Mel raised an eyebrow.
“They want to see someone burn.” Jory put on his shirt and the leather belts that went around his chest. They held some pouches of different contents, throwing daggers, and bolts for his small crossbow. “There’s a body of a girl in that chest.”
Mel stood up, shocked.
“She’s been that for quite some time, now. Relax!”, Jory smirked. “She was raped and murdered a few months ago. I don’t think she would mind.”
“Sometimes I wonder who’s the monster and who’s the monster hunter…”
Jory waved his hand dismissively. “I have to make do with what I have.”
Mel scoffed and threw her hands in the air. “I’m the whore of Vallasca and you’re a grave robber.” She smiled, contemplating her words. “What a duo we are!”
Jory smirked. “You’re gonna like what’s next. I need you to take her out and set her on fire.”
Mel placed a hand over her eyes. “Oh, for God’s sake…”
“But before that, I need you to give me that glyph of fire protection.”
Mel cocked her head, looking at Jory who put on the bags on his back. He instantly grew a hunch.
“I promised them a show, haven’t I?”
“Please don’t tell me that you’re planning on carrying her down?”, Mel walked towards the chest.
Jory smirked. He put on the red robe and pulled out a thin layer of flesh and leather from one of the bags. He put it on his face, instantly transforming into an old man. Lastly, he put two small glass contacts, changing the colour of his eyes from green to grey.
“Ready when you are”, he said in the old man’s voice. Mel couldn’t but not be impressed by his ability to impress a different person.
She opened the large chest in the corner. There was a tightly bound leather bag in which the white body was cramped. It did little to conceal the stench.
Frowning, she took the body in both her arms. While Mel looked like a sixteen-year-old, she was much stronger. “She is beautiful, isn’t she?”, she said wistfully, looking at the decomposing body.
Jory grunted when she handed him the body. “Now the glyph.”
Mel nodded, placing her hand on his chest. She whispered something and Jory felt a small pinch. He glanced down, noticing a few red lines dancing an inch above his chest. They disappeared in the next moment.
“You ready for the next step?”, Mel asked, looking at the body in his hands. There was a sad smile on her face.
Jory nodded. “However, people usually tend to scream when they’re set on fire, don’t they?”
Mel rolled her eyes. She took one of the papers off the wall and started screaming while looking Jory dead in his eyes.
He smiled. “Now, if you will…”
Mel gently placed her hand on the body and closed her eyes. The body caught fire instantly. Jory was startled, but relaxed when he realised that the fire didn’t hurt him. It didn’t even scorch his robe.
“Thank you, love”, Jory winked and turned towards the door. He nudged them open and went out. Someone at the foot of the staircase screamed. Mel looked at him go down. People screamed as he went out of the inn. Sighing, Mel picked up all the papers with the Rune of Agni and walked into the next room. Jory had already booked it in advance. It was time to change, she thought. Sadly, she wouldn’t be a woman this young again.
Jory, disguised as an old man opened the door of the inn, carrying the burning girl in his hands. People screamed in terror, but they stayed around to watch. The priest, who was standing by the pyre, fell to his knees again. Shock and fear overwhelmed him.
Jory waddled towards a small clearing and gently lowered the body. It was already charred and the flesh was melting. Jory brushed the ash off and faced the duke, who watched him in confusion.
“Your Grace, I’m sorry to say that I could not save this woman… this witch”, Jory said, impersonating a voice of an old man.
The duke stuttered, but he gave up on saying anything. He leaned to his son, to the lamia. After a moment, the duke turned to the crowd.
“The witch is dead. Praise God and his loyal servants”, he proclaimed monotonously, eyeing Jory.
The crowd shuffled. They wanted to see her burn and die on the pyre, but on the other hand, they were stunned by the appearance of the old man being untouched by the fire. They didn’t dare protest. In ill spirit, they dispersed. Jory looked at the lamia and found it staring back at him. Its eyes, which it took from the duke’s son, didn’t disclose any emotion. Those weren’t its real eyes, Jory knew. Lamias wouldn’t dare leave their real eyes in the open.
“Your Holiness”, the priest walked towards Jory. “I seek forgiveness and guidance.” He knelt again. There were mud stains on his knees.
“Stand, son”, Jory said and looked back at the platform. The duke and the lamia were already gone. Jory caught a glimpse of them riding on horses, going back to the castle.
“Your Holiness?”
Jory turned. “I-I need to rest, son. Would you be so kind to show me the way to the town’s church? I need to pray and rest, I’m afraid. Our conversation will have to wait for tomorrow.”
“Certainly, your Holiness”, the priest said, gently placing his hand on Jory’s shoulder. “The church is two streets away, can ye walk? Should I fetch ye your mule?”
Jory waved his hand. “I can walk…”, he murmured, looking at the windows of the inn, looking for Mel. Then he noticed someone standing in front of the door of the inn. A middle-aged woman stood peacefully, looking at him. Jory couldn’t see much, but he noticed that she had red hair and that it was tied into a bun. A silver necklace decorated with jades rested on her neck, accentuating her dark green dress. She was smiling at him.
#
“His Grace, Duke Lionel Reinfrid welcomes you to his party, my Lady”, the head servant courteously nodded when an old woman, lady Vernilla Matarhorn passed by him and entered the large hall. Not a single one of the nobility attending the duke’s party cared to even glance at him. But Derry was fine with it. You don’t get to become the head servant of the duke’s household without being offended by the noble. However, he was getting slightly worn down by the sheer intensity of the parties being held recently. Every little occasion was worthy of a party in the duke’s eyes, despite Derry’s pleas. It wasn’t unusual for the nobility to throw a party after every successful witch hunt. However, their treasury was nearly empty and the duke was almost bankrupt. How were they going to survive the coming winter, Derry didn’t know.
But alas, if the duke wanted a party, he would get one.
Another person walked towards Derry. The head servant smiled politely, just like every time one of the nobility would come near him, and repeated his well-thaught words.
“His Grace, duke Lionel Reinfrid welcomes you…”
Derry glanced upward. In front of him a man, dressed in plain leather trousers and a simple vest over a red shirt, stood. He had an obnoxious smirk on his broad face and stubble on his sharp jawline. His hair was loosely tied into a bun.
“Oh…”, Derry murmured. The man had belts around his torso, partly hidden by the vest. There were small pouches on it, daggers, and what seemed to be tiny bolts for a crossbow.
A witch hunter stood in front of Derry.
“Oh, indeed”, the man said, smiling. His hands were resting on his hips and he was leaning, trying to catch a glimpse of the large hall where the ball was being held. “Aren’t you going to let me in, good man?”
Derry scoffed. He didn’t like people of his kind. Witch hunters always thought they were better than anyone else and that they could get away with anything. And the worst part, if you were to ask Derry, was that they were considered to be something close to nobility. At least by the common folk. Since the Church openly proclaimed its support for their order, a few lords or dukes dared to deny them entry to their castles and strongholds.
“Aren’t you a little… late to our small town, witch hunter?”, Derry asked. If the man noticed a hint of hostility in Derry’s words, he didn’t show it. “The witch was burnt yesterday morning.”
The witch hunter looked at the short servant, smirking. “In the hands of a cleric, no less. Yes, I’ve heard.”
“So…”, Derry shrugged, “What brings you here? Looking for some free food and wine? And a place to sleep, no?”
“Ah, Derry, you’re as kind as always”, the witch hunter said. Raising his eyebrow, Derry took a step back.
“How do you know my name?”, he asked carefully. The witch hunters weren’t to be trusted, Derry believed.
“Oh, heard it here and there. Mine’s Jory if someone cares to ask.” The man took a step forward, ignoring Derry and looking into the hall. The majority of the guests had gathered and they were talking among themselves. The duke was yet to make an appearance. “I would say that the duke could still use my services. Your little… town is still full of threats.”
“His Grace, the duke!”, Derry corrected the man. Always rude and witty, Derry thought. However, refusing entrance to a witch hunter could pose damage to the duke’s reputation. But the head servant wasn’t going to let him in so easily.
“If you say so”, Derry said, offering his hand to the witch hunter. “Your permit, if you will.”
The smirk was gone from the man’s face. Derry felt content, but the man fished for the permit in one of his pockets and pulled out a yellow crumpled paper.
Derry took it, holding it by the ends of his fingers. The letters had faded slightly and there were cracks all over the paper, but the Church’s seal was unmistakable. The man in front of Derry was a legitimate witch hunter.
“Everything alright, Derry?”, the man asked.
“Unfortunately, yes…”, Derry folded the paper and returned it. “Enjoy your free meal, witch hunter”, Derry spat.
“I’ll toast to your health, little man”, the man said and walked into the hall.
Suddenly, one of the castle guards walked by Derry. The guard was wearing chainmail over a leather tunic and he had a sword on his hip. Derry waved the oblivious guard to come while turning to the witch hunter. “Oh, I nearly forgot”, he called out, catching the attention of the witch hunter. The smirk from the man’s face vanished when he noticed a guard standing by Derry. I will have the last laugh, Derry said, smiling.
#
The damned servant took his weapons away. Jory cursed the little man but kept a smile on his face as the guard took his two shortswords, one steel and one silver, his bolts, throwing daggers, and an oak stake. The last item got the guard confused. He placed them all in a bag and handed it to the head servant. Fighting the lamia will be a lot harder now. The guard left him pouches of different types of dust since he couldn’t feel any steel in them.
Jory returned to the main hall, where the ball was taking place. He couldn’t afford to be annoyed, so he put on a smile. Smiling always made him feel better. The main hall was a wide and long room, filled with light thanks to large mosaic glass panes on the walls. Although it was evening and the sunlight was faint, the colourful glass let in mesmerizing colours. The room was tall too, and at a height of around ten meters, there was a platform. At the end of the hall opposing Jory, there was a large curved staircase that ended in a set of carved oak doors.
Aimlessly walking, Jory glanced around. The hall was slowly filling with lords and ladies, all dressed in stylish coats and intricate dresses. Jory didn’t care much for the fashion of the noble, but their clothing seemed lush and expensive. Few of them would look in his direction, but they would soon look elsewhere. Witch hunters were underneath them and the nobility liked to look upon them as simple servants. Some, however, mostly young ladies to Jory’s content, found the witch hunters exotic and interesting.
But what drew Jory’s attention the most was a long table set against the west wall. It held many dishes filled with food and drinks, and the servants kept bringing new meals constantly. If a group of bards wasn’t tuning their instruments, people would hear Jory’s stomach roar for food. He walked towards it, nodding to men who stepped away and bowing to ladies who cared to look at him. The table really was the jewel of the party, Jory thought. The food on it was meant to be consumed as refreshments for the party members. The official dinner would take place later in the night, and Jory wasn’t so sure that he could save himself a seat. But to Jory, the simple ‘snacks’ looked divine. Pastries and bagels, cream puffs, and meat-filled dough lay scattered in front of him. There were also pies, both sweet and not, cakes with all sorts of fruits, and honey-glazed pieces of meat on toothpicks. At the end of the table, there were dozens of glasses next to jugs and pitchers of red and white wine, as well as liquors, spirits, and what seemed to be chilled water. A servant dressed in a soft black shirt stood by the end of the table, ready to serve and help any of the guests. He purposely evaded the witch hunter.
But Jory didn’t care. He grabbed a bacon-filled pastry, nearly swallowing it in an instant. His stomach purred happily. In the middle of choosing his next bite, someone spoke next to him.
“I knew I’d find you here.”
Jory turned with his mouth filled with dough and meet. A tall woman stood next to him. She looked around forty, but her skin was clear and tight. Her red hair was tied into a neat bun, held together by a silver brooch. She had a thin and attractive body, accentuated by a green dress. There was a silver necklace around her neck, falling to her chest. The necklace had small jade stones in it.
Jory’s smile widened. “It took me a moment, Mel”, he said after swallowing.
Mel, in the disguise of the middle-aged lady, smiled courteously, although her eyes were scanning the crowd. “Not Mel, idiot”, she hissed through her teeth, maintaining her smile. “I’m Lady Mellissa Offrey, widow of late Lord Gendry.” She gave her gloved hand to Jory, and he kissed it. A few people walking by glanced at them, but they continued.
“How did you manage to pull off her look?”, Jory whispered, returning to the table. He decided that a meat pie will be his next meal.
“Easy. I made her up.”
Jory looked at Mel, chewing.
“When I was a servant girl here, I forged a letter announcing the arrival of Lady Offrey. Even though nobody knew who she was, the letter seemed… aristocratic enough.”
Mel took a sip of wine from her glass, bowing to a passing lord. The man greeted her with a smile, but his lips twisted into a frown when he saw Jory. “Sometimes I believe that you put way too much effort into our little schemes”, Jory said, picking up a lemon cake. “What’s with all the silver?”, he asked while munching.
Silver was the metal of choice used by the Church and witch hunters. Unlike steel, silver could deal major damage to creatures of magic. It also nullified their magic aspect. Witches seldom wore it. It made them weaker.
“It will help me stay hidden.”
“And unable to defend yourself”, Jory said. “Does it hurt?”
“Wearing it?”, Mel gently lifted the necklace, “It’s more a slight inconvenience than pain. It sure does make me feel less comfortable.” Mel glanced at his empty sheaths. “I see you brought your share of silver to the castle”.
“Damn guard took them.”
Mel chuckled. “So we’re both hampered. Lovely.”
“Cheers to that!”, Jory lifted a glass of white wine and their glasses clanked.
“How come the duke’s late to his party?”
Mel shrugged and her necklace danced. “I can’t say. A man under the influence of the lamia is everything but predictable.” She moved a step away from Jory. “I can’t stay any longer here, or people will notice. But I’ll be close by.”
“Notice what?”
“A respectable lady shouldn’t have any business with a devious witch hunter, shouldn’t she?”
Jory raised an eyebrow, finishing his drink. “You afraid that people will talk?”, Jory asked, smiling.
“Until the night is through, yes”, she shot him a glance. “By the way, a young woman has been eyeing you through our entire conversation.”
Jory rolled his eyes. “Oh has she now?”
“I’m serious. However, I don’t believe she’s under the influence of the lamia.” Mel walked off, maintaining eye contact. Her eyes were stern and harsh. Touch her and I’ll kill you, the eyes said. Jory obediently nodded.
However, Jory had crossed his promises before. He just hoped his dear Mel would too.
He turned, facing the crowd. The party was just about to start, although the duke didn’t give his speech of welcome. The crowd was moving, and a clearing was made in the centre. A dancing podium was slowly being formed as the bards started playing their instruments. From the crowd, a young woman emerged, looking at Jory. She had a dark red dress and white gloves. Her hair was let loose, and it reached the middle of her back. A pair of silver round earrings accentuated her blue eyes and she had a patch of freckles on her cheeks.
She offered her hand to Jory. He knelt and kissed the white fur of the glove.
“My lady”, he said softly. “I’m afraid I haven’t got the pleasure of meeting you before. I’m-“
“Witch hunter”, she cut him off. She had a welcoming smile, but her tongue was quick and sharp. “And you are wrong, we have talked before. My name is Jessica Amary Reinfrid.”
Joey smiled awkwardly. “I’m afraid you’re mistaken, my fair lady.”
“Oh, enough with the pleasantries. I know who you are, Jory Hastwyck. I’m the one who hired you.”
Jory’s eyes widened as he placed the glass on the table behind him. When he got the letter asking for his services, together with half the gold needed for his services, Jory noticed that it was signed by J. R.
Jessica Reinfrid.
“I’ve never been employed by a woman before”, Jory admitted, gaining sudden interest in the woman. Who is she, he wondered.
“I hardly see how that’s an inconvenience. Gold coins you earn are still gold. Whether they come from a man’s or a woman’s hand is irrelevant, isn’t it?.” She leaned on the table, in the same spot where Mel was minutes before.
“Rightfully said, my lady”, Jory smiled, but he felt a cold touch when he noticed Mel looking at him through the crowd.
“However, the witch was burned yesterday, and you were nowhere to be seen”, Jessica said, feeling proud of her words. She studied Jory with her small blue eyes. Her face was covered in freckles, Jory noticed. “Have I made a mistake when I hired you?”
“Every witch I’ve met so far was able to handle a bit of fire, my lady. The ones who burned are nothing but poor girls who found themselves in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“What a dreadful thing to say”, Jessica let out.
“About the living witch or about the poor girls being burned alive?”, Jory scoffed.
“Well, the witch, of course. Although, I knew she wasn’t dead…”
“And how’s that?”, Jory leaned closer to her. The young woman blushed.
“Well, my uncle… the duke. Even after yesterday’s happenings, he still seems rather…”
“Delusional?”, Jory cut her off, “Odd? Busy? Lost in thought-“
“I won’t stand this disrespect toward my uncle!”, Jessica flushed.
“But I am right, am I not?”, Jory said. Jessica relaxed, although she still seemed insulted. The witch hunter looked away from her, and the moment he did, almost all heads turned away from them. Everyone was looking at them, Jory realised. The duke’s niece was talking to a rude witch hunter. How scandalous, Jory thought. If this wasn’t the best way to lure the duke out then what was?
“A dance, my fair lady?”, Jory asked, taking her hand and heading towards the dancing stadium.
“What?”, she said, blushing, but she didn’t resist. Lords and ladies all moved to let them pass, some of them holding a hand over their mouths. Now, they couldn’t move their eyes from them, even if they wanted. Jory noticed Mel talking to some lord, politely smiling, although her eyes were furiously eyeing him and Jessica.
“Shall we?”, Jory asked and placed his hand on Jessica’s hip. She let out a gasp. The bards continued playing a slow sonata, so he kept a slow pace.
“What. Are. You. Doing?”, she whispered, keeping her eyes down, as to hide her shame. Jory gently placed a thumb on her chin and lifted her face, greeting her with a smile. She almost stepped on his foot.
“The witch isn’t what caused your uncle’s downfall, my lady”, Jory said, swirling around.
She smiled nervously. “You say it as… as he’s already gone.”
Jory’s lips turned into a line. “Unfortunately, when a lamia inflicts a person, the odds are abysmally low of that person ever recovering.”
“L-lamia? What are you talking about, Jory?” The other couples joined them at the podium. Jory lowered his voice.
“Lamia is a magical creature, known to attack and consume nearly all animals. Humans are… somewhat of a delicacy to them.”
Jessica’s face paled but her feet continued dancing.
“When it infests a human, it will start slowly eating from the inside. However, what separates a lamia from other parasitic monsters is that lamia inherits the hosts’ characteristics. When it comes to humans, lamia can develop intelligence, even emotions, after consuming the brain.”
Jessica stayed silent for a moment, looking patiently into Jory’s eyes. “So you think that this… Lamia is eating my uncle’s brain? But, he’s been like this for the past few months! How can anyone live for so long with their brain being eaten?”
“We don’t think that your uncle is lamia’s primary target.”
“We? Wait, if not my uncle, then whom?”
Jory looked around the ballroom. There was some tumult among guards and servants. They’ll tell the duke soon. Jory was hoping that he would bring the lamia with him as well.
“When was the last time you’ve seen the duke’s son, your cousin?”
“Timet?”, Jessica asked. “He’s… he’s fine. I see him all the time.”
“Always by your uncle’s side?”
Jessica remained silent as they danced. The tumult of the crowd around them increased. Some couples gave up on dancing.
“For a lamia to maintain its influence over a human’s body, it needs to be close to it.”
“So, Timet is… lamia?”, Jessica asked, dumbfounded.
“Timet is dead. The creature killed him a long time ago. Now it’s using the boy’s body, or what’s left of it.”
“But… but”, Jessica stuttered, failing to find words. They were alone on the dance podium.
“Sorry for the bluntness, my lady, but the lamia fed off Timet’s flesh, just as it has eaten his mother before. For whatever reason, it is keeping the duke alive.”
Jessica stopped dancing, staring at Jory. Only then, did he notice that the band had stopped playing. Everyone was looking at them. Jory couldn’t find Mel’s face in the crowd.
“What is the meaning of this?!?”, a voice roared.
Jory looked up, towards the staircase. The duke, looking dishevelled and enraged, stood at the top of the staircase, looking at the crowd. He soon noticed the two of them on the podium. There were two guards next to him, together with a bunch of servants. One of them was holding the boy in his arms.”
“M-my… niece with a scum… like you?”, Duke screamed.
“The lamia is controlling his emotions”, Jory whispered, letting go of Jessica. “It’s making the duke hate me. The lamia sees me as a threat”, Jory smiled. Now, where was Mel when you needed her?
The duke went down a few stairs, but then he stopped. The servant carrying a bundle of cloth and flesh, which looked like the duke’s son, hurried after him. “Guards!”, the duke’s voice returned, angrier than before. “Kill him. Kill him now!”
Guests screamed and moved to the side walls. Some even tried to run away through the main entrance, but the presence of two guards deterred them. Hesitantly, the guards pulled out their swords. However, the two guards that came with the duke didn’t hold back. They jumped off the staircase and ran at Jory with their swords in the air.
“Whatever you do, don’t look at the creature’s eyes!”, Jory said as he pushed Jessica and jumped to the side to evade a blade. The hit left a crack on the marble floor.
Jory had a lot of experience in battling monsters. Fighting humans was a lot easier. However, he didn’t have his swords at his sides. He ducked and a sword flew an inch off his head. Then, he grabbed the wrist of the guard, pulled it, and hit his elbow. The man shrieked at his broken arm and he let the sword fall to the ground. Jory picked up the sword just in time to parry a hit from the other guard. The guard attacked again, but Jory parried the attack and cut the guard’s shoulder. The man cried out in pain, but then Jory hit him in the stomach with his fist and then hit his forehead with his own, making the man stumble back and fall unconscious.
Panting, Jory turned. Jessica was standing a few feet from them, her eyes locked on Jory. Mel was still nowhere to be seen.
The two guards from the entrance broke through the crowd and jumped on the dancing podium.
“Kill him!”, the duke shrieked. His voice cracked. Jory glanced at him, then at lamia. The creature used Timet’s eyes to look around. They were dead and grey, but Jory caught a hint of fear in them.
“I don’t want to fight you!”, Jory said to the two guards slowly approaching him. They saw two of their friends on the ground, making them slow their pace.
“The duke’s mind has been poisoned”, Jory continued, slowly turning to the crowd. “There’s a monster controlling him.”
“NO”, the duke shrieked. “Kill him now!”
The guards looked at their duke, then at Jory. Then they looked at each other, and after sharing a confused look, they pressed on, swinging their swords.
“Oh, you stupid fuc-“
Jory jumped back, raising the guard’s sword to protect himself. He deflected and dodged a few strikes, but soon he sliced the thigh of one man. The man stumbled but still held his sword. Sighing, Jory jumped on him, easily pushed the sword away, and landed with his foot on the guard’s knee. It cracked, and the guard fell off the podium, holding his broken leg.
The last remaining guard was way more hesitant. However, Jory knew that he couldn’t wait. Others were coming, alarmed by the tumult here. He needed to reach the lamia.
He ran away from the guard and jumped towards the staircase. The duke raised his hand protectively, but this time, it wasn’t him who was screaming. Lamia produced a high-pitched shriek, startling many. The man holding it jumped back, surprised, and let the bundle of cloth fall. Some of the cloth wraps unravelled and went bouncing down the staircase. They unveiled a couple of alarmingly thin and deathly-white arms. The face of the boy which lamia used shifted slightly, although its features were still expressionless. The boy’s eyes moved, looking at Jory.
“I’ve got you now”, Jory said and continued upwards.
However, before he could reach the duke or the lamia, the last guard ran after him. Turning back, Jory lifted the sword to protect himself. The enemy’s blade was cutting the air, aiming for his head.
I won’t make it, Jory realised.
The man flew to the side, engulfed by bluish air.
Mel stood in the crowd, panting. Her hair was let loose. People around here, once they realised who they were standing next to, screamed and moved back. Some even called God to protect them. The man landed on the marble floor on the other side of the room, making a horrifying cracking noise once he touched the floor.
“Took you long enough!”, Jory shouted.
Lamia turned to run away. It moved incredibly fast.
But not fast enough.
Mel’s silver necklace reached it. Lamia screamed, pulling the silver off it. Wherever the necklace hit it, its skin hissed and burned.
“Catch!”, Mel shouted at Jory. The silver brooch was flying through the air. Jory caught it. It resembled the Sun with a small cap on its backside. Jory removed the cap, revealing a hidden silver dirk. He’d feel a lot safer with his silver shortsword, but this would have to do. The duke, now when the lamia had scurried away, stood motionless on the stairs. His eyes moved from person to person, but his face was emotionless otherwise. Jory picked up Mel’s necklace and tossed it at the duke. It bounced off him, and the man didn’t seem to notice it.
Jory stopped, thinking. He looked at the large hat on his head. He removed it, uncovering a black bald spot on the back of his head.
Jory cursed. That wasn’t a bald spot.
Wrapping the silver necklace between his fingers and palm, he reached in.
Something squirmed and hissed inside.
He pulled his hand and black thick liquid started boiling from the gaping hole. The duke fell onto the stairs. He was dead.
“Merciful God!”, someone screamed among the crowd.
A dozen of oily black eels jumped out of the hole in the duke’s head, squirming on the marble stairs. They didn’t have any eyes or mouths, but they slowly moved down the stairs and jumped toward people.
Shit!
That was a part of lamia’s body. One of the eels jumped towards Jory, but he met it with the silver dirk. The eel released a hissing sound and then it stopped moving. However, the others were going toward the petrified crowd. Lamia was getting away, but Jory couldn’t let all those people die.
A ball of flame zipped through the air, hitting one of the lamia’s eels. Turns out the fire did the job just as well as silver. After a moment, there was only a dry piece of what seemed to be black leather on the marble.
“I got this!”, Mel said as fire engulfed her hands. There was an excited smile on her face. “Go after the lamia. I’ll keep them safe!”
She swung her arm and another fiery bolt flew through the air, hitting one of the eels mid-jump.
Jory scanned the crowd of people who were trying to escape, looking for Jessica. She was nowhere to be seen. He cursed again and ran through the door, hoping to reach lamia in time.
#
Mel was tired and her body was starting to ache with exhaustion. Being a witch wasn’t easy. Her hair went loose, moving around as she jumped and cast fire spells. Removing silver from herself replenished her energy, but she was still barely standing on her feet. During the fight, she lost her boots and the dress got torn around her thighs. Jory would love this, she thought, looking at an exposed part of her skin.
The people who were at the duke’s party finally managed to escape. During the attack of the Lamia’s eels, servants couldn’t care less about letting the nobility pass through. They all stumbled and trampled each other, trying to leave through a small passageway. Mel removed a few hair strands that were stuck to her sweaty forehead and looked behind. The main hall was empty, except for three guards who stood at the door. They all looked at her in terrifying silence, refusing to move. Their hands trembled as they held swords.
They weren’t afraid of lamia’s eels any more than they were afraid of her. Idiots, Mel whispered, walking towards the staircase. She ripped another piece of her dress and wrapped her hand in it. Mel picked up one of the dead eel-like creatures from the marble floor. It hung limply.
People tended to look at lamias as a monster composed of one whole. But that was far from the truth. A lamia’s body consisted of many thin and long parts, which cloned themselves when a food source was present. These lamia’s eels, as they were called in the witch hunter lexicon, acted as a hive, all with one goal – to find food and reproduce. Only after consuming a human’s brain could a lamia develop something like intelligence. Until then, lamias could only follow their innate instincts.
Mel dropped the charred eel and it fell on the stone below silently. Gripping the handrail, Mel went up, toward the duke’s body. Duke Lionel Reinfrid was a tall and well-built man when Mel first saw him, disguised as a servant girl. Over time, she witnessed a bold and stubborn man turn into a fidgety husk of his former self. The duke’s actions got erratic and unpredictable. It took some time for Mel to realise that a lamia, acting as his son, was the one to blame.
She crouched next to the dead man. He really was a husk now. Mel slightly moved his head to reveal a hole. One of the guards yelled something and took a step forward, although his friends didn’t share his courage. Mel looked at him, and sure enough, the man stepped back.
Inside the duke’s head was a little bit of brain, but most of it was black mucus. Mel cringed when she noticed a few small and undeveloped versions of lamia’s eels wiggling inside. She placed the palm over the hole on the head and summoned a burst of flame. The duke’s head caught fire instantly and the undeveloped eels shrieked inside. Mel stood up and waved her hand which was engulfed in smoke. The fire didn’t hurt her, although the heat felt unpleasant.
One of the guards said something and spat, but Mel couldn’t hear him. The three of them were far away, on the other end of the main hall. One of their friends was still on the ground, lying in a broken position since Mel blasted him off the stairs. She felt sorry for the man’s death, but it was either him or Jory.
Mel looked at the large oak doors through which Jory had gone a bit before. She’d feel a lot safer if he had brought his standard equipment with him. Now, he was only armed with her silver brooch. Mel looked again at the smoking body of the duke, whose head was now black and slowly melting. This wasn’t a standard lamia, she feared. Jory and she had encountered many monsters before, even a few lamias. Never had she seen a lamia in her life act with ulterior motives, though. It was killing the duke, yes, but it was doing it slowly. As if it wanted to keep him alive for as long as it could. Was it controlling him? Why would a monster want to control its prey?
Suddenly feeling anxious, Mel looked through the large oak door. She was surprised when she realised that she felt afraid for Jory. She didn’t know when the last time she felt fear was. Even when that brute of a priest was dragging her to a pyre, she wasn’t afraid.
Mel ran through the doors.
#
Even in his childhood years, Jory was a brave child. Brave and stupid. It led him to problems more often than not. During those misadventures, he felt nervous. There would always be a nagging voice somewhere in the back of his head, begging him to stop. Jory would never listen.
That voice was back again, screaming at him to turn back as he ran up the stairs. The only weapon he had was a small silver brooch which was turned into a dirk. With a good enough strike, he could kill the lamia once and for all. Of course, he’d have to deal with all those snake-like creatures that made the lamia’s body. That was the easy part. First, he needed to kill the hive mind.
The large oak door led to a small hallway and then up the spiral staircase. Since there weren’t any doors in the hallway, Jory went up. There wasn’t any other way to go. The lamia must have gone up.
The silence was complete at the staircase. Jory tried to move as silently as possible, but he could hear the batting of his boots. The noises of the petrified crowd from behind vanished. Jory wished Mel was with him. The staircase finally reached an end. It led into another hallway. There were windows in it, although the light came from a few torches that were mounted on the wall. At the end of the hallway, there were red doors. Their colour was surprisingly bright.
And surprisingly similar.
Jory felt a shiver. The door had black hinges on it. He had seen these doors before.
It was from his childhood. The memories flooded back. Not now, Jory whispered, grabbing the silver dirk. He pricked his thumb and a red line went down his hand, weaving between his arm hairs until it reached the elbow.
Jory watched the drop of blood, mesmerized.
It dropped off his skin and fell. Jory watched it fall until it hit the calm surface of a pond of blood. The drop sent waves around.
Jory gasped for air, but only tasted blood. He was underwater. Panicking, he swam upwards. When he finally reached the surface, he took a deep breath.
He was on a lake. He looked around. There was a small cottage house near the surface. Jory swam through the waters until he felt stone pebbles underneath. As he emerged and stood up, he raised his hand to get the water out of his eyes.
His hands were covered in blood, all the way to the armpits.
“Merciful God”, he whispered.
He looked at a body of a small woman. There was a gaping hole in the place where her stomach was.
Jory felt his stomach growl with hunger. He knelt by the woman’s body. She was wearing simple peasant clothes, although they were covered in blood stains. Her face was frozen in fear. Jory placed his hand on the woman’s wound. His fingers dipped in, feeling cold bowels. So comfortable, Jory thought. His stomach growled in agreement. He submerged his hand further and it made a squirting sound as he pulled out a part of the small intestine.
Just a bite, he thought. Jory was so hungry. He opened his mouth, feeling his razor-sharp teeth with his tongue.
NO.
Jory screamed in pain and opened his eyes. He instinctively reached for his leg and pulled something that was burrowing in his calf. He raised his hand, holding a squirming black eel. There were three lines of small sharp teeth trying to bite his flesh.
With anger fuelling him, Jory stabbed the eel with the silver dirk. It made a hissing sound and then limped.
The red doors were open. Jory looked at them. Another flurry of memories rushed to his mind, but he dismissed them. Lamia was trying to play with his memories. Gripping the silver brooch, Jory limped into the room. The damned thing bit me, he thought. The wound was deep and it was heavily bleeding. The lamia had probably poisoned him, but he had a good few hours before his body would give out.
The room was large and spacious, edged with large windows. There was a large bed surrounded by tapestries in the middle of the room. There was also a table with a few turned-over chairs and a large wardrobe leaning against the wall.
Jory stepped towards the bed, but at the last moment, his eye caught movement from the inside of the wardrobe.
It was watching him, Jory realised. Slowly, he grabbed one of the pouches from his belt and unhooked it. It contained tiny pellets of silver and some silver dust, mixed with black salt, grounded chalk, and red brick dust. Jory hurled the small pouch at the floor just in front of the wardrobe.
Startled by Jory, the lamia burst from the wardrobe.
A black smoke instantly filled the room and Jory covered his mouth. He heard hissing and shrieking, but there wasn’t a single black eel on his body. Carefully walking with the silver dagger first, Jory waved with his other arm to disperse the smoke. There were dozens of black eels squirming and wiggling at the floor, trying to reach and bite him, but they couldn’t move properly. Although the amount of silver in the smoke was minimal, it was enough to incapacitate them.
There were some cloth drapes in front of the wardrobe. Jory pushed them, revealing a few small eels wrapped around a disturbingly thin and pale body of a child. The boy’s large head was motionless, but his eyes followed Jory’s every move.
“There you… are”, Jory said, but his voice was rough. He couldn’t muster any more strength to speak.
The lips on the boy’s head slowly drifted apart. Then the ends curved upright, forming a sinister smile.
“You… think… you… can… kill me?”, the lamia spoke through the boy’s mouth. Its voice was rough and low. It resembled an animal’s growling.
Jory knelt near the boy’s body and placed the silver dirk tip-first on his forehead.
“Your… tricks… are worthless”, the lamia continued, ignoring the blade. Its eyes were chained on Jory. “Even… if you kill… me, I-I… will retu-return. My young are already… festering inside you. Soon, they will… grow and eat…eat you from the inside. Your memories… will be mine. Your mind will… will be mine. I will… swallow you…”
“Shut the fuck up!”, Jory uttered and hurled the dirk into the boy’s head. Only then did an emotion appear on the body the lamia was using: pain. The thin limbs swung through the air for a moment, but soon they fell, now dead for the second time. A few black eels surrounding the body relaxed and stopped moving. The lamia was finally dead.
Jory heard a hissing sound.
He turned away from the child’s body. The smoke was almost completely out of the room and he could see clearly. The black eels, now without the hive mind, were slowly calming down and they were turning toward Jory.
“The bloody monster was right”, Jory whispered. The rest of lamia hissed at him, almost like a reply.
Jory tried to reach for the nearest one and stab it, but his wounded leg gave out. He fell over the boy’s body. Cursing, Jory looked at his own leg. The wound had stopped bleeding but there was a thin layer of black liquid around the wound. The numbness was spreading throughout his body.
“So this is how I die. Mother, I guess you were-“
“Jory!!!”
The witch hunter looked up. A woman in a torn green dress was standing at the entrance.
“Mel…”, Jory whispered blissfully. Then the pain brought his attention back. “Burn the room!”, he shouted with the last ounces of his strength.
Mel raised an eyebrow, but then her hands caught on fire. Jory was surprised by how quickly she agreed to burn the entire room, including him in it, but he was glad. He’d rather burn to death than be slowly eaten by the lamia’s eels.
But still, why did she agree to set him on fire so fast?
The room burst with red light as the flames swallowed everything. The drapes caught on fire even before the flame reached the bed and the windows all shattered. Jory smiled, embracing the death of the fiery tongues. Heat came, followed by…
Pain?
Jory looked at the flames dancing around his body, stunned. They were eating and destroying everything around him, but his skin was untouched. Moreover, not that the fire didn’t bring pain; it took his pain from the eel bite. He felt the flames burn within his leg, but his flesh was untouched.
After a moment, the fire calmed down and Jory’s eyes grew accustomed to the dim light. He looked at Mel, who stood at the door.
“Are they gone? If there’s a single one left…”
Jory wanted to say something but couldn’t muster a word. The pain returned and his wound was bleeding again, but this time there wasn’t any black mucus around it.
“Oh”, Jory chuckled, noticing a faint glyph of fire protection on his chest. Red lines which made the glyph lingered for a moment and then disappeared. “You knew?” Mel looked at him, confused, and then slowly nodded. Then she noticed the bite mark on his leg. Her eyes widened and she rushed towards him. She knelt and studied the wound. “I’ll get my healing concoction. If we act fast, we can get the damned things out of you, before… before…”
Jory placed his hand on her shoulder. He forced a smile. “I think you burned the little fuckers. I can’t feel anything move inside.”
“Oh…”, Mel let out, relaxing. “That’s one way of dealing with it. But the wound still needs to be healed. You lost a lot of blood!”
Jory sighed. Mel was right, as always, but he forced himself to stand up, leaning on her. Although the fire was out, the guards must have seen the windows burst from the ground. Sooner or later they will gather strength and try to find the two of them. In their eyes, some of them will think that Jory had killed their duke.
“The wound can wait”, Jory moaned painfully as he leaned on the leg. The cut seemed small but it was deep.
“At least I can wrap it up”, Mel said, looking around. There wasn’t much of her dress that wasn’t torn or burnt, and the bedding turned to ash. Mel opened the wardrobe, looking for any clothes that survived the fire.
Inside the wardrobe, they found a shrivelled-up dry body. It was unrecognizable, but Jory figured that it was the duke’s long-gone wife.
“What on Earth…”, Mel whispered.
“Who knows how long she was there. The lamia had squeezed all life from her…”
They heard a noise coming from the staircase.
“Not now…”, Jory whispered. He wasn’t in a state to fight. Mel could easily run away from them, but she probably wouldn’t leave Jory alone. She looked around, looking for exits to run away. The room was on the top of the highest tower in the castle. Even a witch such as her couldn’t survive a fall from that height.
Someone cursed in the hallways that led to the duke’s room. They must have seen the trail of blood and the lamia’s eel Jory had killed. Jory shifted his weight on his healthy leg and stood up, trying to look strong. If there were less than five men, he might even survive. Any more, though…
Jessica Amary Reinfrid entered the room, followed by a dozen guards. She looked around the room, scanned the charred body of the Lamia and eels, and finally looked at Jory and Mel.
Jory relaxed although Mel was still alarmed.
“Is it… dead?”, Jessica asked, looking at the remains of a child. Jory nodded, moaning with pain. Only then did Jessica notice the cut on his leg. “Sir Regson, get the healer!” One of the guards looked at Jessica, then at Jory and Mel. He spat on the ground but did as he was told. “Yes, my lady”, he murmured. The other guards remained in their places, not daring to turn their eyes away from Mel.
“She’s a bloody witch”, someone whispered.
“Lady Offrey”, Jessica said, “Please forgive my men’s language. We’re all surprised by your… nature”, she said awkwardly.
“You feel threatened by me?”, Mel said, looking at the faces of the castle guards. “Good”, she said and helped Jory sit down.
“Your men?”, Jory asked, looking at Jessica.
“You should thank me first, and then question my right. If I hadn’t brought them to sense, these men would tear both of you apart. Now since his Grace, my uncle the duke… is dead, and his son Timet is also…”, Jessica looked at the charred body of the boy, “…gone, that leaves me the rightful heir.”
The guards murmured something. “Only until your brother, Lord Hen- Duke Henry, returns”, one of them awkwardly said, but Jessica ignored him. Guards moved to let sir Regson pass through, followed by a small man in a grey robe. He was carrying a wooden box of bandages and needles. The healer looked around the room, confused and afraid, before kneeling next to Jory. “I’ve ordered some wine to be boiled and brought up here my lord”, he said slowly as he started cutting bandages. “It’ll hurt, but it will clean and disinfect the wound.”
Jory smirked and looked at Mel. “I don’t think that will be necessary.”
#
They were in the castle’s garden, by the stables. It was the second day since their fight with the lamia and it was raining ever since. Jory was ankle-deep in the mud, saddling a brown stallion Jessica had given him. Mel was standing next to him, wearing simple rider’s clothes and a cloak.
Jessica was in front of them, talking to Mel. Sir Regson stood by her, holding an umbrella so that Jessica wouldn’t get wet. The old grumpy knight still looked at Jory and Mel with resentment, but he listened to Jessica’s orders.
“You can stay longer if you want, Jory”, Jessica said to the witch hunter.
Jory shook his head. He wanted to leave the castle as soon as possible. His leg was far from being properly healed, but he was able to stand on his own and ride. “Thank you, your Highness, but that won’t be necessary.” They had returned his swords and daggers the day after the fight and now they happily hung from Jory’s belt. Gripping the reins, Jory got up on the horse. Moaning with pain, he gave his hand to help Mel sit behind him.
“We wouldn’t be able to free ourselves from the monster without your help. The whole duchy of Alsbeck is grateful to you.”
Jory looked at Regson’s face. The man didn’t look grateful to him.
“There will be troubles”, Mel said, joining Jory on the horse. “This shift of power might cause some of your lord to swear fealty to someone else. The Duchy of Alsbeck has never had a female leader before.”
Regson slowly nodded, agreeing.
“Unfortunately, you are right. And I don’t intend to rule for long. I just need to wait for my brother Henry to come back. They’ve already sent out ravens to him.” After a moment of silence, she spoke again. “He’ll know what to do.” However, there was slight insecurity in his voice.
“Well”, Jory said pulling the reins. He smiled. “We wish you all the luck with that, but we’ll be on our merry way…”
Jessica placed her hand on Jory’s knee. Mel’s eyes fiercely jumped to her, but she didn’t seem to notice.
“You know, having a man of your skill around can be quite useful. I am quite sure that many people in my position would be eager to spend a lot just to… keep you in their service.”
At that moment, Jory could have sworn that he heard Mel growling. “You flatter me, my lady”, Jory said quickly, “But you know my oath. Witch hunters cannot take part in political disputes.”
Jessica shrugged. “It was worth a try…”
Jory gently squeezed the horse’s legs. “So long”, he said, guiding the horse through the castle gate. The guards on the post watched them leave, and after they’d passed the bridge over the moat, the guards spat. Spitting was a superstition that was supposed to chase away ill spirits.
“We really are popular here”, Jory joked, enjoying the wind and gentle rain on his face.
“We overstayed our welcome long ago. These superstitious people will never accept us, Jory”, she said seriously.
Jory shrugged. “Not like people ever liked us.”
“I like you. That’s enough.”
“Aw, don’t get so soft on me.”
Mel sighed. “I wish I knew a spell to shut your mouth. Oh, wait… I do. Maybe casting it will bring me some peace.”
“I don’t think so.” Jory laughed and the stallion picked up speed. “You’d get bored soon. My sweat mouth is half of my charm – hey, don’t roll-I know you’re rolling your eyes!”
Mel giggled. “You never said you like me back.”
“Mel, I like you back.”
“Umm, no. Doesn’t feel right.”
“To hell with you then, witch”, Jory joked.
“In its due time, dear. And don’t think you won’t be there with me. I’ll drag you down there if I have to.”
“Deal’s a deal”, Jory said. He lost his smirk. He looked around. Alsbeck was a harsh and poor part of the country. It enjoyed special privileges for being a duchy, but it was still poor. The ground wasn’t very fertile and the constant squabbling wars of the nobility made the lives of simple people worse. “At least there will be work for us here”, Jory said after a few moments of silence.
“When bad times come, we’re the ones who profit. No wonder people hate us”, Mel scoffed. “Wars draw out the worst in humans, scarring the ground. All that violence and bloodshed will lure out monsters of all kinds.”
“We sure will have our hands full here, Mel”, Jory said. Mel didn’t answer. She just hugged Jory tighter and rested his head on his back. She closed her eyes, and all she could hear was the rhythmic batting of the horse’s hooves and Jory’s fast breathing.
#
Jessica watched the witch hunter and the witch ride through the castle gates. She waited a few moments before turning back and walking towards the castle. Sir Gregory Regson followed her, keeping the rain off her with the umbrella. When she walked into the lobby of the castle, her boots left muddy footprints on the stone.
“That will be all, sir Regson”, Jessica said.
Regson nodded and walked away. The old man was stuck in his beliefs, but with time, Jessica would break him to his will. She was certain of that. She left the lobby and went into the east wing of the castle. Jessica walked past the large hall where the party took place two days ago. She peeked inside. The room was eerily empty. Everything was washed and cleaned, but Jessica could remember exactly where her uncle had died.
She continued, entering the tower where her rooms were. However, she didn’t go into her room. She went into the basement. Jessica pushed a large open door, walking into a small basement room. Many plants were drying in the room, giving the room a strong herbal smell. There were many large jars on shelves filled with vinegar and animal body parts. There was a large table on which a map was spread out. Books held its corners, and there were numerous letters all over the map.
She took her silver earrings off and sighed with relief. She hated wearing silver. Jessica arranged the letters in one large stack and moved them aside. The top letter had the name Coven Below written in the top right corner. It was a contract for buying the lamia.
Jessica smiled, picking up the paper and crumbling it. She stopped breathing. The paper caught fire in her hand and turned to ash in a moment.
“Oh, dear Henry”, she whispered. Her voice had a hint of sadness to it. She’d sent him the letter of her uncle’s death five days before the duke even died. She looked at the map, studying the route her brother was taking to reach the castle. She knew all places for ambush the road had. “You promised me you’d come back alive”, she whispered again but the silent walls of the room gave no reply. “But we all break promises, don’t we?”
