The Hag's Contract

Ten

In a darkened room, in a lonely town at the foot of the Gletscherel Falls, sat the wizard known as Prattis. He was old and worn and more than a little mad: it showed mostly in his eyes, which held an almost haunted pain.

On the tabletop before him, he had sketched an intricate design full of waving lines and tracings of circles. As he brought his attention to the pattern, it rippled and began to move. Finally, when the lines blurred together, he found himself gazing as though through a clear pool of water at the face of his mistress.

“What news, pretty-pretty?” the Hag asked with a cackle.

“They come,” he said. His watchers had seen everything she had predicted. The soldiers had even captured the fishing boat he’d sent out, exactly as the Hag had said.

“When?” she demanded.

“Today, within the hour.”

“When you have them, inform me.” The Hag smiled. Prattis cackled with glee. She was happy with him. He’d done what she wanted, and now she was happy with him.

“You won’t forget our bargain …?” he called.

“Of course not, pretty-pretty. I shall bring you a beautiful bride all for your own.”

“I would rather have you, Mistress.” He pouted a little. Why didn’t she see his devotion? Why didn’t she recognize his love for her?

“Pretty-pretty, ours is a doomed romance.” She cackled again.

Frowning, Prattis drew a cloth over the pattern. She always said that, he thought. A doomed romance … it had a certain appeal.

The Hag’s image vanished.

As they sailed up the Gletscherel toward the falls, the wind began to drop. By midafternoon, it hardly filled the sails. Evann frowned; at this rate they’d make better time walking, but he was loath to give up the boat quite yet.

They neared the mountains, which marked the border of the Hag’s Domain, and he wondered if her creatures might be watching them from the shore. Candabraxis might have given them protective talismans, but Evann still planned on taking things slowly and cautiously.

Without a breeze, the air grew stifling. Evann found himself staring to their port side, at the shore. It looked singularly inhospitable, since the trees were bare of leaves … almost skeletal in winter’s embrace, he thought darkly.

“Sir,” Uwe called from his perch in the rigging. He was the only one of the crew light enough to climb up there without capsizing the boat. “There’s a small town ahead.”

“A town?”

Evann turned and squinted. He could see a faint dark smudge far ahead, in the breach where two mountains came together. Ahead, the river continued around one of the mountains to the falls. There, they would find the pass. Something about a town being here disturbed him. He thought they were still in Wolfgaard, but who in their right minds would settle so close to the Hag?

If the townsfolk were civilized, it might be a good place to shelter the ship until the wind returned. At the very least, there would be fresh water, fresh food, and most especially a warm place to sleep. He glanced up at the sky. Anyway, it was too late to set out for the pass, he thought. They could do it just as well tomorrow morning.

“We’ll put in there for a night!” he announced.

As they drew closer, he saw it was a decently sized town. It sat on a natural inlet of the river. It looked like any of a hundred other fishing villages he had seen over the years, with small docks and perhaps two hundred whitewashed stone houses sprawling up the side of the mountain. Several dozen boats of varying sizes had been tied up or drawn ashore for the night, and bright yellow nets had been spread out to dry in the sun. No fortress or castle brooded over the buildings. Doubtless the place would be run by a local council of elders, or perhaps by some minor noble.

People had already begun to wander down to the docks to point and stare. A few waved.

Evann smiled. It seemed like a pleasant enough place to relax; nothing could bother them here.

They pulled up to an empty dock just as dusk settled over the land. Several boys of seven or eight years came running to take the ropes and moor the boat in place, and after it was secured, Evann hopped to shore.

An old man stepped forward from the knot of townsfolk who’d gathered. He wore baggy white pants and a gray shirt and, atop his head and set at a jaunty angle, an intricately sequined cap. This had to be the town’s leader.

“We bid you welcome to Gletscherel Village,” the old man said with a slight bow. “I am Ara Mundi, and the hospitality of my house is yours.”

Evann bowed in return. “Thank you, sir,” he said. “I am Captain Evann. We are passing through on our way to the falls.”

“The falls?” Mundi asked. “Why?”

“I am a mapmaker for the Erbrechts of Müden. Doubtless you have heard of them.”

Mundi stared blankly back at him. “No. We thought you might be traders, until we saw you were on a fishing boat.”

Evann shook his head. “I hired this boat to speed our journey. As I said, I am charting these waters for the Erbrecht family’s archives.” He indicated the men behind him. “These are my guards.”

“You are welcome to stay the night, if you wish. There are several small taverns … though our local vintage will doubtless be poor fare for a well-traveled man such as you. There are several shrines to the gods as well, should you wish to make offerings. I trust your stay will be a pleasant one.”

“I’m certain it will be.”

“There is, however, the matter of the docking tax …”

“My assistant Harrach takes care of such matters,” Evann said. “See him in the morning, and all will be arranged.”

“As you wish.” Mundi bowed again. Turning, he motioned to the men and women behind him. “Move along, now! Lanji, Cerji—don’t you have homes and wives to attend to? And Kaeli! What about your shop? You’d leave it to your sons to run? I thought not!” All the people turned and started to wander off, looking faintly disappointed.

In a moment, the dock was deserted. Evann looked up and down, but saw no one anywhere. Few lights showed in any of the windows; no voices disturbed the stillness of the air. Not even a dog or a rooster broke the silence. He shivered. The place seemed empty and eerily quiet. And yet he couldn’t quite say what was wrong.

Perhaps because they lived in the Hag’s shadow, these people kept their town quiet, he thought. That might explain a lot.

“We’ll sleep aboard the boat,” Evann said. “If any men want to go ashore, stick together. Don’t bother the locals, and don’t attract attention.”

Harrach stifled a yawn. “It’s late. I’m going to bed, Captain.”

“And I’d advise everyone else to do the same,” Evann said, stretching on the deck. He pulled a pack over for a pillow.

“I think I’ll take a look at those taverns,” Wolf-gar said slowly. Breitt and Uwe Taggart echoed his words.

“Be back before midnight,” Evann growled. “Shurdan, you have first watch.”

“Aye,” Shurdan said, settling himself in the prow, a scabbarded sword across his knees.

Sleep didn’t come easily for Evann. The silence grated on him. Finally he rose and stretched. A couple of hours had passed since they’d arrived. Shurdan had been relieved on watch by Harrach.

Wolfgar and the others hadn’t returned yet from their tavern.

“Something wrong, Captain?” Harrach asked quietly.

“Can’t sleep,” he said, stretching. He still ached from his encounter with the bear. “I thought I’d get a bottle of wine. Want anything?”

“No, thanks.”

Evann hopped ashore. He’d watched the others head up a narrow street, and he followed their path. The taverns would probably be in the small square he’d spotted halfway up the hillside.

Suddenly he heard footsteps to his left, coming out a narrow alley. They were heavy and seemed to drag a bit, as though the man were especially drunk. Evann stopped and sighed. Wolfgar, he thought. The man drank himself into a stupor at every opportunity.

“I do wish you’d show some sense,” he began, turning.

Instead of Wolfgar, though, he found one of the villagers, an old scraggly-bearded man. Seeing Evann, the man rushed forward and grabbed the front of his shirt.

“Snakes!” he whispered. “Help me! You must stop them—stop them snakes!” With a hoarse gasp, he dropped to his knees and clutched at his throat. A choked gurgle came out. “S-snakes …” He fell to his side and writhed on the ground.

Evann swallowed, stepping back uncertainly. He’d seen drunks by the hundreds. He’d heard feverish men rave, and he’d watched mortally wounded men die from gaping wounds. In all his years, though, he’d never seen anything quite like this. The old man seemed to be having a seizure. And snakes? What did that mean?

“Come on,” he said, stepping forward to help. “Let’s get you home where you belong.”

Then he saw the snakes. They appeared like a gathering fog, slowly, almost imperceptibly coming into existence. They seemed more shadow than substance, ghostly gray things, each less than a foot long, each with pale eyes that glowed in the twilight.

Gasping, Evann drew back, too shocked to run or even look away. He rubbed his eyes, thinking the snakes some illusion, some trick of the moonlight. But rather than fading like the hallucinations he believed them to be, they grew yet more substantial, more solid. He could see the scales on their backs, etched as though in glass. As he watched, they multiplied before him: they seemed to ooze from the air itself, from the buildings around them, from the man’s clothing. The street filled with their writhing bodies. There were hundreds, perhaps thousands of snakes….

They swarmed all over the old man now, through his hair, around his neck, over his hands and face. He opened his mouth to scream, but they poured down his throat, choking him, strangling him. His eyes rolled wildly. He clawed at his neck, hands twitching and jerking, face growing purple as he tried to breathe, but couldn’t.

Evann took a step back, touching the talisman pinned to his cloak. Fear swept through him like a sudden wind. This was magic unlike any he’d ever seen before.

The man gave a final twitch, then lay still. Dead, Evann could see. He didn’t touch the body. All the snakes seemed to have vanished inside the old man.

Throwing back his cloak, he drew his sword in a quick, fluid movement, then studied the dock-side buildings. None of the villagers had appeared to help, though they must have heard the man’s cries…. It was almost as if they’d known what would happen and didn’t want to get involved. Shadows ran thick and deep in the alleys.

What did the old man say about snakes? Evann thought. That I have to stop them? He swallowed. How? He didn’t have the faintest idea.

Still, he’d seen enough to know magic was involved, magic powerful enough to threaten his men and mission. He paused, listening intently. From the river, he heard small waves lapping at the docks. Wood creaked as boats shifted at their moorings. Only the tavern echoed with the sounds of men at ease. Somewhere ahead, he suddenly heard a boisterous voice—Wolfgar’s, he thought—drunkenly singing.

Something scrabbled near his feet. Evann leapt back, dropping into a fighting stance. It was the old man, he saw. Somehow, impossibly, he was moving again. Evann stared, bewildered and amazed. He’d just seen this person die. He was as certain of that as he was of the snakes.

As he watched, the old man rose unsteadily to his feet. His movements were jerky and unnatural, and he held his head at an odd angle, bent up so he stared at the moon and the stars. Without a word, he turned and walked back up the alley the way he’d come.

Evann shook his head, hardly daring to believe what he’d seen. The snakes, the old man’s death …

He ran forward and seized the old man’s arm, spinning him around.

“What—” Evann began, then stopped.

The old man’s eyes seethed with shadows. Nothing human remained in his blank expression. The old man jerked his arm free, turned and continued his stiff, unnatural walk through the village.

Evann backed away, whirled, and sprinted to the boat as fast as he could. He leapt to the deck.

Instantly Harrach rose, drawing his sword. “What’s wrong, Captain?” he demanded.

“I saw—” Evann hesitated. What exactly had he seen? A few shadows, a raving old man … magic of some kind.

He told Harrach all that had happened.

“What did he mean?” he said. “What did I see? What were those ghostly snakes?”

Harrach cleared his throat. “I have heard legends of such things,” he said, so softly Evann had to strain to hear. “I believe those snakes must be from the Shadow World, brought here to serve a dark magic.”

“The Hag …”

Harrach leaned back. “I think that would be a safe guess, Captain—the Hag or one of her minions must control this village. Maybe even a wizard.”

“A wizard …” Biting his lip, Evann turned and gazed ashore. “And three of my men are out there.”

Suddenly loud footsteps echoed through the darkness. Evann drew his sword, then relaxed when he saw it was just Uwe Taggart. Gasping for breath, Uwe drew up short.

“Captain—” he gasped. “Wolfgar—and Breitt—”

“What about them?” Evann demanded.

“They deserted!”

“What? How?”

“I don’t know!” Uwe cried.

Evann took a deep breath. More of the Hag’s work, he thought.

“Start at the beginning,” he said in a calmer voice. “Tell me exactly what happened.”

All the other men on the boat were coming awake now. They were listening intently, though none spoke.

“I don’t know what happened!” Uwe said again. “We were all of us in the tavern, drinking, and they went out to relieve themselves. And then they came back, but they were … different, somehow. They wouldn’t talk to me. And then they just left.”

“Left? You mean walked out?”

“Yes. They pretended not to know me. They said they were fisherman!”

Evann glanced back at Harrach. “Like you said, one of the Hag’s minions must be at work here. We’ve got to find the one responsible and stop him.”

“Think of the mission, Captain,” Harrach said. “Clearly the talismans don’t work.”

“Um …” said Uwe.

“What?” Evann demanded, rounding on him. “What did you leave out?”

“It was so hot inside,” he said softly. “They took off their cloaks.” He touched his own talisman, still pinned neatly in place.

Evann swallowed and picked up his sword. That one simple mistake might cost two men their lives, he thought.

“Harrach,” he said, “you’re with me. Lothar, you’re in charge while we’re gone. If we’re not back by dawn, continue without us. You’ll still have six men. That’s enough.”

“But, Captain—” he began, looking shocked.

“You heard my orders,” Evann said firmly. Their mission to save King Graben had to come first, but he wouldn’t abandon two of his men without a fight.

Lothar still looked unhappy, but he nodded.

Evann turned to Harrach. “Let’s go. And pray we’re not too late.”