A Nameless Witch

9

I didn't steep that night. Another of my undead gifts was a talent for borrowing vigor against future rest. The longest I'd ever gone without sleep had been a week. I could have easily gone longer, but Ghastly Edna had ordered me into bed. I'd slept for two weeks, so soundly not even magic could wake me. She'd warned me then to watch myself. It would be easy to slip into a habit of staying awake for years, then slumbering away decades. As with all her warnings, I took it seriously, but I just couldn't make myself go to bed. I stared at the fort and thought of Wyst of the West in lustful, unwitchly ways.

I thought of the gobling horde too. It was a contradiction in logic. Goblings did not amass in hordes. They were a voraciously carnivorous species. Anything a gobling catches-including other goblings—it eats. There had to be some magic involved in this, and as the witch of Fort Stalwart, it was my duty to get to the bottom of it.

Mostly though, I thought of the White Knight, his warm, lean body intertwined with mine, how his dark flesh would taste, his eyes, and those oh-so-delectable ears that so needed a good, long nibbling.

In the morning, I went to the fort to see Wyst address the soldiers. Gwurm and Newt accompanied me. We were early, and while we waited for the men to wake and assemble, I explained the contradiction inherent in a gobling horde.

"Hold a moment," Newt asked. "If goblings eat everything, including other goblings, how do they reproduce?"

"They're asexual," Gwurm replied. "Every week or so a gobling squats and lays a gooey blob that grows into another gobling. Providing the original doesn't eat the glob, which they often do."

Newt puckered his bill. "Disgusting."

"They're foul little creatures. Far be it for me to slander an entire species, gods know we trolls have suffered from that practice, but I've yet to run across one that didn't need killing.

"I visited a city in the Wastes once. They had gobling fights. They'd throw a pair in a large cage and take bets which would consume the other. Gruesome spectacle. I only watched once. That was enough. The two fiendish little beasts twirled about in a slavering, hissing, blood-spurting blur. A few seconds and it was over. That match was a draw. There was nothing left of either but a scrap of wing and puddles of yellow blood."

Newt narrowed an eye. "You're making that up."

"I am not. I was told it was not uncommon, given their insatiable appetites."

Gwurm liked to tease Newt, but in this, he sounded sincere. I certainly believed it possible, which only made the prospect of a horde of the beasts all the more terrible.

The soldiers assembled, and we watched from the fort gate. The Captain introduced Wyst of the West, and the White Knight began a speech that was no doubt sincere in its passion. I couldn't hear much of what was said, but I saw the Knight's inspiration enchantment work its magic on the assembly.

Most were moved. Their hearts filled with a soft glow that gave them courage. Enough to keep them from deserting for a while at least.

Those easily enchanted or truly brave shone bright in the crowd. There weren't many of these. Perhaps twenty-five of the five hundred. This was more than I expected, and I knew that these men would lay down their lives as long as they fought by the White Knight's side.

Finally, there were the craven few without an ounce of valor in their hearts for the magic to play upon. These men would vanish by dusk, if not sooner. I guessed their number at fifty, less than I'd expected.

Wyst did not speak long, trusting in his magic to reach the men. The Captain issued orders. Some soldiers were to notify the civilians of the hasty evacuation. Most were to prepare for tactical drills with the White Knight. I gathered the horde was only three or four days away, leaving us not much time to prepare.

When the Captain retired to his office, I told him of my intention to stay. Both the Captain and Newt fixed me with peculiar glances.

"Are you mad?" the Captain asked. "Do you have an inkling of what we're in for?"

"A good witch walks beside death."

"I've yet to see magic be much use on a battlefield. Still, some armies do swear by it. The Tyrle Kingdoms reportedly employ several regiments of zombies with some effectiveness, and every man in Hurgle's Marauders is enchanted to explode when killed, which is very distracting in the middle of a fight, I can personally attest. Not to mention horribly messy." He rubbed his eyes, full of worry and weariness. "You can stay but please don't enchant my men without consulting with me first."

"Thank you. I think I know of something to sour the taste of your soldiers."

"Would that stop the goblings from eating them?"

"Nothing overcomes a goblings appetite," I replied, "but it would lessen their zeal."

"That's something at least, I suppose."

I promised to deliver the tonic by tomorrow morning, and the Captain dismissed me with a noteworthy lack of enthusiasm.

Outside, Gwurm was speaking with Wyst of the West. I stayed back and waited for them to finish. Newt, who could no longer stay quiet, spoke low enough that only I could hear.

"Why are we staying?"

"Because this is my job," I said in an equally low whisper.

"Your job is vengeance. Remember your dead mistress."

I swatted him hard across the backside with my broom. He jumped, forgot his oath of silence among men, and swore.

"Why did you do that?"

I smacked him again, harder this time. Newt shouted out, "Damn it! That hurt!"

"Good. Now listen, and listen well. I welcome your opinion. Feel free to offer it whenever you like. But make no mistake about it, I make the final decisions on what we will do, where we will go, and who we will kill. Is that understood?"

"Yes, yes, mistress. Whatever you say," he grunted without much enthusiasm.

I let go of Penelope. She struck him softly across his tender seat and jumped back to my hand.

"Of course, mistress. I meant no disrespect."

"Yes, you did, and I'll have no more of it. If you're unhappy, take your leave. Otherwise, shut up and stop second-guessing everything I do."

He grumbled. The demon in him so hated being dressed down, but an unreliable familiar would do me little good. Penelope trembled in my grasp, eager for another swat.

"I'm sorry, mistress. You're right, of course. I overstepped my bounds, and I humbly beg your forgiveness."

He wasn't truly sorry. Nor was he the type to humbly beg for anything. Expecting sincerity from a duck with a pinch of demon was asking too much. It was enough that he maintained a false, yet respectable, humility.

Penelope shook, begging for another shot. I squeezed her tight, and she relented.

"Very good. I'm pleased we understand each other."

One thin soldier no more than sixteen years old had been close enough to catch our conversation. He measured Newt with a vaguely shocked expression. He was not so much frightened as surprised.

My familiar hissed in a decidedly unduckly manner. "That's right. I talk. I also devour souls, and what a tasty little soul I'll bet you have."

He took a single step toward the soldier. The boy turned and tripped over his own feet. Newt chuckled while the young man scurried away.

Gwurm and Wyst of the West parted. I worried the Knight might want to speak with me, but he went to preparing the soldiers for their drills. Gwurm returned to my side.

"Nice chap," Gwurm remarked. "He just wanted to apologize for judging my character based solely on my species. Says there's even a troll in his order who's distinguished himself as an exemplary champion."

Gwurm had not given the slightest hint of insult after their first meeting, but just because he accepted such inconveniences as a troll's burden didn't make them right. Wyst's apology showed his good character, and his good character only made me hunger for him more in ways both carnal and carnivorous.

I kept my eyes low and buried such desires beneath more immediate concerns. But it wasn't easy, and it was proving more difficult each time.

IN THE SAFETY OF my tent, I borrowed Newt's body again. He didn't complain about the switch. He liked wearing my body. My green eyes gleamed with sinister delights. He had no doubt dreamed up all manner of twisted, demon-born fantasies of what he might do with it given free rein. I warned him he only enjoyed its full use by my good graces. Should he behave in any inappropriate way, the privilege would be revoked.

He acted as if he didn't need to be told this. I made a point of telling him anyway. Then I dispatched him and Gwurm to gather the ingredients I'd need for the Captain's tonic. They set off on their task, and I set off on mine.

I stepped out of my tent, found a bare spot, and stomped my web foot four times. Then I shouted because one must be loud to attract the slumbering earth's attention.

"Hello there, good earth. Any goblings down there?"

The earth replied with a vaguely feminine voice, yet deep and slow as the earth should have. "No. No goblings down here."

"Could you point the way to the nearest batch?"

It took a minute for the earth to take in the question, but she knew the answer. The earth was hardly aware of anything happening atop her but knew all that went on below the surface. An arrow drew itself in the dirt. I thanked the earth for her help, but by then she had gone back to sleep.

I took to the air, circling the fort once to stretch my wings.

I kept from looking down for fear of glimpsing Wyst of the West. There were more important matters at hand.

I soared over the forest, stopping every fifteen minutes to check with the earth, whose directions, while reliable, were always in need of some adjusting. After a few hours, I found the horde.

There was no need to consult the earth because the forest below grew deathly quiet. Not a chirp or a chitter or a squeal rose from the trees. All the birds and beasts that hadn't been eaten had fled the area. I landed without worry. Goblings were nocturnal. They spent their days sleeping in burrows. I spotted dozens of entrances in the soil. No efforts had been made to hide them. And why should there have been? The creatures were dug deep into the earth, and any attempt to flush them out would only drive them deeper. A legion equipped with the finest shovels and sharpest swords could've spent weeks trying with nothing to show but blistered palms and a handful of gobling corpses out of thousands.

I glanced down into a dark hole. Goblings were about duck-size, and I would have to squeeze down into the depths if I were to learn anything more. Newt's body was a match for a gobling or two, but there was still a danger. If I should get his borrowed body killed, my soul would simply snap back into my own flesh, push out Newt, and he'd expire. Familiars were made to serve, but I had gotten attached to my demon duck, disrespectful as he might be. Sentimentality aside, a good witch takes care with her familiar.

I deemed it worth the risk and stepped into the darkened burrow. Though my own eyes would have worked better, Newt's could see reasonably well. I moved slowly, carefully, and soon came across a slumbering gobling. It was a noisy little creature. Its body twitched as it snored, grumbled, and snorted in a fitful sleep.

I didn't get too close as I studied it. It looked as I'd been taught goblings should. Two arms. Two legs. A square head with a large mouth, small eyes, and giant ears. Small leather wings grew from its shoulders, but goblings were notoriously bad fliers. Worse even than Newt. I sensed no magic in this creature, but just because I didn't see enchantment didn't rule out the involvement of magic. Magic can be concealed even from a witch's eye. It usually wasn't considered worth the effort.

If I was to learn any more, I'd have to take this gobling back for more in-depth inspection. It wouldn't be much trouble to kill it in its sleep, drag it to the surface, and fly it back to the fort. Getting it back alive would have been preferable but unfeasible.

The gobling sniffed and stirred. A shiny, orange pinpoint lit the tunnel. By the time I'd realized it was one of the gob-ling's eyes, it had already scrambled to its feet and came at me, screeching.

The demon in Newt's flesh reacted without a thought from me. It thrust my bill into the creature's throat. Blood spurted from the gash. It splattered on my face and bill. I swallowed some of it and discovered gobling blood tasted not bad at all, the tang of rabbit with the sweetness of deer, though I disliked the aftertaste. The gobling writhed a minute, hissing and spitting, before expiring.

I took a solid bite of an ear (not easy without teeth) and I began hauling it from the burrow. Newt's body was strong, especially for a duck, and the gobling would be easy enough to carry back in flight with a rest here and there.

I was so pleased with my catch that I almost didn't notice the grunts coming from deeper in the tunnel. From the depths, shapes were rising. Each of them sported two pinpoints of orange eyes. They growled in ravenous fashion.

I counted five of the creatures. There were probably even more waiting, crowding forward. They were cautious, which was fortunate. I couldn't fight them all. I dragged my prize toward the surface, and they followed along, getting ever closer. I'd gotten halfway out the burrow when one finally latched on to the corpse's foot and, with a growl, yanked it from my bill.

Hands would have made this easier. I guess Newt was used to his lack of them, but they truly were practical tools. I lunged at the gobling and nipped off a bit of finger. The creature let go and retreated. I hastily swallowed the finger, gripped the corpse by its arm, and hauled it out of the dark and into the light, where the goblings would not follow.

Then I sat and caught my breath. Goblings tasted very good. It was no mystery why they devoured each other. I was tempted to go back and grab another for a snack. Instead, I bit off the big toe of the one I had and chewed it slowly. I wondered how humans tasted in comparison. An instinct told me they were even better. And Wyst of the West would surely have a flavor beyond lesser men, but this was perhaps an assumption of my growing affection.

A voice interrupted my musings. "A duck eating a gobling. There's a sight I'd never thought to see."

A gray fox sat on a flat stone. She smiled. Foxes usually did.

"I have demon in my flesh," I replied.

"Yes, and a witch in your mind."

I didn't know I looked surprised, but I must have.

She smiled wider. "Oh, I've seen one or two witches in borrowed bodies before. One even borrowed mine once."

"You're very observant, I can see."

"Well, I am a fox. A very clever fox at that, if I say so my­self."

I sat on my gobling. "Not that I doubt you, but what would a very clever fox be doing around here when every other living thing has the good sense to be elsewhere?"

"I never said I had good sense. I merely claimed to be clever, but the problem with being clever is that I get bored easily. So when the goblings came along, I began a game. Every night, they rise from their burrows and scour the woods for every morsel, and I do my best to avoid finding myself in their stom­achs."

"A dangerous game."

"As all the very best games are. And why, I must ask, should a witch's mind in a demon duck's body dare risk herself for a gobling corpse. Surely, they aren't that delicious."

"You're very curious," I replied.

The fox smiled again. Rather, she smiled differently than before. "A hazard of being too clever, I'm afraid."

I explained how I needed a specimen to study that I might discover if magic was indeed involved in this horde of gob­lings.

She stopped smiling and playfully swished her tail. "I am no witch, merely a fox, and I can tell there is magic in this." She walked over and sniffed the corpse. "For one, this is not a true gobling. None of them are."

"How so?"

"I couldn't say. I'm not that clever, but they are not genuine flesh and blood. Can't you tell?"

"No, but I'm no fox, just a witch." I kicked the corpse. It felt solid. Yet it was already stiffening and stone cold but minutes after its death. These were surely signs something was amiss.

I remembered the wolf's remark on Ghastly Edna's killers. They had been men who were not men. Was there a connection, or were creatures of false flesh more common than my sheltered existence had led me to believe? I didn't know, but it was certainly noteworthy. Perhaps my vengeance was not so far away as Newt suspected.

I thanked the fox for her help. She wandered off to get some sleep before the evening games began, and I flew back to the fort, my dead gobling clamped in my bill.