The Hag's Contract

Seven

Captain Evann couldn’t help noticing the high spirits of his men as they marched in two columns out of Alber. He had seldom seen a more enthusiastic band of adventurers. And why not? They were off to save the king, and with a wizard’s magic to protect them, they had no doubts as to their ultimate success.

He arched his back a little as he led them up the road. This early, no one had turned out to see them off, and just as well. The fewer people who saw them leave, the less talk there would be.

Cobbles rapidly gave way to deeply rutted wagon tracks as they left the city. With the wind at their backs, the snow little more than flurries, and gently rolling farmlands before them, he knew they would make good time today.

He squinted at the horizon. Twenty miles ahead, the immense Drachenaur Mountains began. He planned to march out to the foothills, turn right, and skirt them until they came to the Hag’s Domain. It would take four or five days of steady marching.

For now, the company had nothing to worry about. Today would be the easiest stage of the trip, as they crossed the most civilized part of Grabentod. Idly, Evann stared at the fields surrounding them. In the spring, the land would be green with wheat and oats and hay, but for now he saw only a few animals loose to graze on winter-brown grass and thistles: cattle, a handful of mules and horses, some goats.

He grinned as, behind him, he heard Harrach begin a boisterous marching song. “The Ballad of Gretta Magree” was a catchy tune, and one he hadn’t heard since King Graben’s brief campaign against the neighboring barony of Wolfgaard, some ten years before. He found himself matching his stride to the tempo. The three battles against the baron had been indecisive, and when winter came, both sides had withdrawn from their mutual border. Hostilities had never resumed, though the peace remained uneasy.

The rest of Evann’s men joined in on the bawdy chorus the second time Harrach sang it, even Uwe Taggart, whose clear young voice rang like a bell in the stillness.

Late in the morning, the snow let up completely, leaving a faint dusting on the ground. Overhead, the clouds parted, and briefly the company glimpsed a wan sun.

At noon Evann called a break, and after a quick lunch of trail rations washed down by water from a stream, they continued as before. They had a lot of ground to travel today, he knew, if they were going to reach the foothills below Mount Krakenwald, the closest of the Drachenaur Mountains, before darkness overtook them.

The day wore on, the road became rougher, and the farms fewer and farther between. Harrach moved from lusty ballads to military marching songs until his voice gave out, and then the men chatted as they walked. Evann listened with half an ear, but mostly kept his attention on the road ahead.

The mountains grew steadily closer. Although he’d been this far only twice before—both times as King Graben’s guest on hunting expeditions— Evann remembered it well enough. He’d never thought he’d enjoy himself so far from the sea, but the hunting, feasting, and general merrymaking had been quite an experience. At the end of the first hunt, King Graben had made him captain of one of his roundboats. Truly, it had been a week to remember. He smiled as he thought back on it all.

As afternoon edged into evening, the sun beginning to stretch the men’s shadows long before them, they reached the dense pine forest that marked the beginning of wilderness. The roar of a cougar came from somewhere close by, and several deer bolted for safety among the trees.

Here the road ended entirely. Several small trails, suitable for little more than small game, wound up into the pines. Evann paused, inhaling the fresh, clean-scented air and trying to get his bearings. Which trail had they taken last time to get to the king’s hunting lodge?

The one on the left, he thought. He peered in that direction. Just visible over the trees he spotted what looked like wooden shingles … a roof? It had to be.

“This way,” Evann announced, starting forward. “We’ll spend the night at the king’s hunting lodge. It’s just ahead.”

A cheer came from his men. No roughing it out in the cold tonight, he thought with a quick grin.

The trail twisted several times, climbing a rocky hill dotted with trees. When at last a broad clearing opened before him, he found the lodge almost exactly as he had remembered it: a huge log building, perhaps eighty feet long and forty feet deep, with its back up against a stone cliff. It had four large chimneys, two at each end, and ten broad windows across the front. All the windows had been securely shuttered. Nobody had been here in the years since King Graben’s capture, and it showed. Dirt, pine needles, and dead branches lay everywhere, and a few shingles had blown off the roof, exposing sun-bleached thatch. Still, it would more than do for their purposes.

He walked up to the front door as though he owned the lodge, tried the knob, and found it locked. For a second he frowned, wishing he’d thought to ask Harlmut for the key, but then he set his shoulder to the door and heaved. The latch gave way with a squeal of twisting metal, and he stumbled inside.

“Open the shutters,” he said, stepping inside and shrugging off his pack. The main room was almost completely dark. The air inside had a dank, musty, deserted smell. He blinked quickly, trying to identify the dark shapes of furniture in the dimness, then moved forward.

Light flooded in as first one, then another, then another of the windows came open. Evann dumped his pack on the long table in the center of the room, stirring up puffs of dust. Stuffed animal heads—deer, elk, cougars, a couple of bears—covered the walls. Plenty of comfortable chairs circled the stone fireplace, and padded leather couches stood up against the walls. Doors led to private bedchambers, the kitchens, and the servants’ quarters.

His men trooped after him. He heard a few exclamations of surprise and pleasure.

“Harrach, Wolfgar, set a fire,” he said. “Turach, see if you can find oil and lamps.”

They would spend the night in this room, he decided. Once they had a fire going and the place warmed up, it would be as cozy as home. There was nothing like a hunting lodge for comfort.

Evann clapped his hands together to warm them and nodded in satisfaction. Yes, this would do quite nicely, he thought. Now, to see if any wine remained in the cellars …

As he turned for the kitchens, a loud grating noise came from one of the back rooms. He paused for a heartbeat.

“What was that?” he demanded, turning and counting heads quickly. All his men were here.

They glanced at one another uneasily, then back at him. He swallowed. They weren’t alone.

Holding up one hand for silence, he drew his sword, then crept cautiously toward the doors at the back of the room. Now that he listened, he heard a faint scratching sound coming from one. It sounded like iron rubbing on stone. The hairs on the back of his neck began to bristle. This room had belonged to King Graben, he recalled.

Hardly breathing, Evann pressed his ear to the door, straining to hear. After a second, the scritch-scritch sound came again, followed by a scuttling noise.

Probably just animals, he thought. Maybe a family of raccoons had gotten inside. Still, best to be careful….

Silently, he held up four fingers, pointed to the door, then pantomimed walking around the lodge. Harrach, Taggart, Reddman, and Lothar drew their swords and padded silently out the door. They would cover that room’s windows from outside. The rest of his men eased out their own swords as well.

Evann counted to twenty, waiting for Harrach and the others to get into position, then stepped forward and flung the door open.

He found himself facing a huge black bear. It stood by the king’s bed, facing him, perhaps fifteen feet away.

Letting out a roar, it reared up. Its head just missed the ceiling twelve feet above. Then, growling deep in its throat, it dropped to four feet and charged straight at him.

Evann slammed the door in its face. He’d hunted a bear the last time he’d come out to the lodge with King Graben, but the one they’d found had been half the size of this one. He’d never seen anything so huge on land before. He knew it could tear a man in half without much effort. Hopefully the door would stop it.

Instead of giving up, though, the bear rammed into the closed door with enough force to crack its wooden frame. Then, using its front paws, it began to punch its way through. The door shuddered under its weight, then made a splintering sound.

“Back!” Evann shouted, and his men gave way. “Get your crossbows!” he ordered. “That’s our best bet!”

They ran for their packs. He held his ground, long sword ready. Suddenly, the bear punched a hole through the middle of the door with one huge, clawed paw. Reaching out, it tried to grab him.

It was the opportunity he’d been waiting for. Leaping forward, Evann swung the long sword with all his strength, whipping it down in a savage blow and putting all his weight behind it.

The blade bit deep into the creature’s forepaw, but didn’t sever it, as he’d hoped. Spraying blood, the bear jerked its wounded limb back into the king’s chamber. A second later a large eye lowered to the opening and peered out. The bear let loose an angry, strangled scream as it focused on him. It knew he’d been the one to hurt it, Evann realized.

It battered the door again with all its weight. The latch made a cracking sound.

Evann glanced back at his men. Three of them had their crossbows out and were sitting on the floor, cranking back the drawstrings as fast as they could. They weren’t going to be ready before the bear broke through, he realized with dismay.

With a crashing sound, the door flew open. The bear paused for a second in the doorway.

Evann held his ground, sword at the ready. His men began to fire, two scattered shots, then a third. The bolts lodged deep in the huge beast’s side with dull thucks, but seemed to have little effect. If anything, they made it only madder.

Rearing back, blood gushing down its coat, it roared with raw fury. Long strings of blood-flecked saliva dangled from its jaws. Then, as though stung by mosquitoes rather than crossbow bolts, it charged straight at him.

Heart pounding, he raised his long sword, the point out before him. His hand wavered, but he forced it steady. There could be no flinching now. It was just the two of them, man against beast. He wouldn’t go down easily.

The bear impaled itself. He felt the blade slide into its chest like a knife into butter, and then it was on him, bowling him over. He smelled the stink of its breath and felt the wet splash of its drool on his face as it wrapped mammoth paws around his back in a crushing embrace. A foul stench filled his lungs. He couldn’t draw in any air. His face crammed against dense black fur.

He tried to shove it back, but it continued to press down on him, throwing him off his feet. He fell backward.

That was the last he knew.

Throughout the day, Bowspear and his men had cautiously but easily trailed Captain Evann and his men. This close to Alber, Bowspear thought, Evann doubtless felt he had nothing to worry about. After all, the Hag’s reach barely extended to her own realm’s borders, and they would have nothing to worry about from her for several days.

Evann’s course took them due east. It didn’t take Bowspear long to realize they intended to spend the night at the king’s hunting lodge. He nodded; he would have done the same thing himself. Tomorrow, Evann would turn southeast, following the line of mountains to the Drachenlok, the rough river that spilled down from the mountains and into Wolfgaard Bay. From there it would be only a few miles to the mountains separating Grabentod from the Hag’s Domain.

Confident he knew Evann’s plans, Bowspear turned south at the next crossroads. His unde had a farm seven or eight miles from here. They could spend the night in his barn, then set out early the next morning. With any luck, and some long, forced marches, they would reach Drachenlok ahead of Captain Evann.

He smiled grimly. And then the fun would begin.