The Hag's Contract

Eight

After seeing Captain Evann off, Candabraxis spent the rest of the morning and most of the afternoon in his rooms asleep. When he finally roused himself, he felt drained, as emotionally and physically exhausted as he’d ever been in his life. Working so much magic at once had taken more out of him than he’d expected. You’re getting old, he thought with a chuckle. His old master kept apprentices and journeymen around to help with such castings, and Candabraxis began to appreciate why.

Half aware, drowsing in the land between sleep and wakefulness, he lay in bed and stared up through slitted eyes. Slowly, the plastered ceiling and huge rough-hewn support beams began to spin overhead, then faded to blackness.

Magic. He felt his pulse start to race. Someone had begun to cast a spell that involved him. But who would do that? And why?

Carefully, he kept his body immobile. Let whoever it was think he still slept. His old master had been more than a little paranoid, and he’d taught his students many ways to defend themselves from unwanted scrying. Later tonight he would prepare a talisman to protect himself from magically prying eyes. Now, though, he could do little but bide his time and wait for the perfect moment to strike back.

Something moved in the darkness over him. He saw gigantic dark eyes emerge from the gloom … a hideous face covered in boils and open sores … long, scraggly white hair….

It had to be the Hag. Somehow he had attracted her attention. He swallowed. The abomination’s scrying would be hard to throw off, since she drew her strength from the land and her bloodline, but he had to try. Perhaps, if she wasn’t expecting it—

In one sudden movement, he leapt from the bed, chanting now, calling on the primordial forces of Cerilia, drawing upon the land itself as the source of his magical strength. He felt power coursing like a living thing through the land around him, rushing up into his body. He became a channel for it, directing it toward the darkness over him.

Light and energy burst from his hands, streaming upward in a brilliant arc. He pressed his eyes closed, and still the blinding light pounded into his skull. He heard himself start to scream, but whether it was from pain or ecstasy, he didn’t know.

Abruptly, he was alone. Flames covered the ceiling of his room, and the heavy beams burned with hot embers.

With a quick gesture, he doused the fire. Smoke curled in the air before him, then slowly dissipated.

Drawing a shuddering breath, he sank down on the bed. It had been a simple child’s trick, directing the power of the land up into the lens of the scrying spell the Hag had used. In effect, he had flashed a bright light into her eyes. It wouldn’t have hurt her, but might have blinded her for a few seconds. That had been enough to disrupt her spell.

He drew himself upright. No telling how much time he had. Better start work on that protective spell. He’d shield his rooms first, then build a talisman to protect himself when he went out.

He headed for his workshop.

Captain Evann came awake with a jolt of pain.

His men were dragging the dead carcass of the bear off of him, and one claw snagged his cheek, cutting a deep scratch. Shuddering a little, Evann tried to sit up. Uwe Taggart ran to help him. The lad had a canteen out, and Evann sipped gratefully.

“What happened?” he asked.

“It grabbed you and knocked you down,” Taggart said, his eyes big, “and we thought you were dead. We all went crazy—everyone rushed it, and then there were swords flying and blood everywhere—”

Evann nodded and climbed to his feet a little unsteadily. His legs felt weak, and his ribs and back ached, but he didn’t think he’d broken anything. Touching his cheek, he found blood.

“Just another battle scar,” he said with a forced grin. “Nothing to worry about.”

Taggart nodded, looking a little awed. Leaders had to be inspiring, Evann knew; his men would take tales of this adventure back to Grabentod with them, and he wanted everyone to know not even a bear could kill him. Let Bowspear try to top that!

Turning to his men, he watched them drag the carcass outside. The bear had to weigh seven or eight hundred pounds, he realized. He’d been lucky. It could easily have killed him.

He followed them out. Harrach had already thrown a couple of ropes over a strong branch of a nearby pine, and as Evann watched, they hoisted the bear five feet off the ground. Blood poured from its wounds. Harrach opened a few more to properly drain it.

“Ready to carve soon enough,” the grizzled warrior proclaimed. “We’ll have good eating tonight!”

“Any sign of other bears about?” Evann asked.

Wolfgar shook his head. “Already checked, sir. Ain’t no others. This one here broke through the shutters and holed up inside for the winter.”

Evann nodded. “Good. Harrach, see to the butchering.”

“Aye, sir.”

Circling to the right of the lodge, Evann came to a well. He moved the wooden cover and lowered the bucket. It came up full of clear cold water, which he used to wash the blood from his face. The stink of the animal lingered on him. Its blood covered him from head to heel. He’d have to wash his clothes. In this weather, he didn’t look forward to it.

Maybe the king or some of the other nobles had left spare clothes behind, he thought. He turned and went back inside. He found Taggart using kitchen rags to clean up the blood on the floor. Stepping around the mess, Evann went to the king’s chamber first.

The bear had broken through a side window’s shutter. Bits of wood lay scattered across the floor. The featherbed was in hopeless, fouled ruins, and the paneled walls bore long gouges where the beast had sharpened its claws. Other than that the lodge had little damage. Crossing to the untouched wardrobe, Evann pulled open the doors and looked at the racks of hunting clothes inside. King Graben had a bit more belly than he did, but otherwise they had about the same height and build: everything should fit.

He selected brown pants, a pale green shirt, and fresh undergarments. By the time he’d changed and wandered back out into the common room, Taggart had finished cleaning up and the other men had built a roaring fire. They all sat in front of it, warming their hands and passing around a couple of bottles of wine from the king’s stores.

“See if you can find hammer and nails to fix the shutters,” he said to Reddman. “No sense leaving it open for more animals.”

“Aye, sir,” he said, rising with a groan and heading for the kitchens.

Realizing that Harrach was missing, Evann went outside to see how the butchering was coming. His old friend had just begun carving up the carcass. Mouth watering at the thought, Evann sat back to wait. Rank had its privileges, and he planned to have the first steak off the fire.

He’d more than earned it.