The Hag's Contract

Eleven

From the highest window in his house, Prattis watched as Evann and Harrach left their small boat and started up the street toward the town square. Although it was dark outside, a simple spell enabled him to see everything going on below as though it were day. Now he gazed at them with a longing that made him want to rush his plans, to seize them now, before he was truly ready.

“Have patience,” he whispered to himself, looking out across Gletscherel Village. “One by one, you’ll have them all.”

These two would be next, he decided. It would be a simple matter to grab them, remove their ridiculous protective charms, and begin the magic that would bind them to eternal servitude.

Nodding happily, he shut the window, latched it firmly, and turned toward the stairs and his workroom. It had taken great effort to possess the two sailors and the old man who had wanted to warn Evann—more effort than Prattis had used in quite a while—but rather than exhaust him, it had left him exhilarated and eager to continue.

He sighed longingly, thinking again of the Hag and how proud she would be of him. She liked nothing better than power, and he offered it.

Many years before, the king of Rzhlev had tried to arrest him for daring to explore the darker arts. He had watched from a secret room in his house while the city guard ruined half a lifetime’s work—all in the space of fifteen minutes. They’d smashed his collection of rare elixirs, burned his scrolls and books, slaughtered his helpless servants before his eyes. He’d watched; he’d waited. When the guards finally left, he’d fled through the caves beneath the city.

He’d sought refuge in many temples that night, but none would take him because of the book he carried, the only thing he’d managed to save from the king’s violent purge. It was the rarest object in his collection, a volume so old, scarcely a handful of men in the world still understood the language in which it had been written. He’d spent many long and lonely years trying to master it.

Ultimately, the Hag had been the only one to welcome him with open arms when he sought shelter. She had allowed him to live with her, to bask in the glow of her beauty and her power. And Prattis had been only too happy to serve.

She had give him this village to continue his work, his unholy studies, and he knew that when he mastered the arcane lore of the Shadow World, she would have no choice but to surrender herself to him, as everyone else surrendered. Then she would be his forever.

He chuckled. He had such plans for the future. Ultimately, he would return to Rzhlev. The king would bow before him. He would take the king’s bloodline, and with the Hag as his queen, the world would tremble before him.

He smiled, a horrible, pinched look. Yes, it would be good to return home.

Harrach kicked in the tavern door, and Evann followed him in. They both had their swords drawn. Evann scowled angrily. They had no time for subtlety. Rescuing his men came first.

The people inside the tavern stared back at him with mingled fear and puzzlement.

“Where are my men?” Evann roared.

“They left,” the barkeeper said softly. “They went out for a bit.”

“Where did they go?”

“I don’t know. I’m sure they’ll be back, if you’ll wait. Do you want wine?”

“No,” Evann said. He glared. “I want the truth.”

The barkeeper shrugged helplessly. “I’m afraid that’s all I know, sir.”

Evann stepped forward and placed the tip of his sword at the man’s throat. “The truth, I said, if you value your life!”

Blanching, the barkeeper began to stammer, “I d-don’t know wh-where they w-went!”

“Feh!” Evann let him go. He seemed sincere enough, and killing him would gain them nothing. Maybe they didn’t know anything. He looked around, searching the faces of the other men and women in the tavern. They had all drawn back a little, looking like frightened sheep.

“If they’re all under the Hag’s control, too …” Harrach whispered.

“Then they won’t tell us anything.” Evann nodded. “Outside,” he said softly, motioning with his head. He backed out, sword held ready, but the people inside the tavern didn’t try to stop them.

In the street, Evann glanced up and down. The village remained eerily quiet. Shivering a little from the cold, he tried to think. Where would a wizard be? Who could they ask?

He heard light footsteps, then a boy of perhaps eight rounded the corner at a trot, almost bumping into him. He had a basket in his arms. Leaping forward, Evann caught his arm.

“Let me go!” the boy cried, struggling to escape.

“Enough of that!” Evann said, giving him a shake. He peered at the boy more closely by the light escaping from the tavern’s windows. The boy was thin, with shaggy black hair, a dirt-smudged face, and boots several sizes too big, obviously hand-me-downs from an older brother.

Evann reached into his pouch and pulled out a single silver coin. The boy’s eyes bulged. He’d probably never seen so much money before.

“You want this?” he asked.

The boy looked at him, eyes wide, saying nothing.

“Well?”

“Y-Yes, sir?”

“Very well, but you’ll have to earn it. Understand?”

The boy nodded.

“I seem to have gotten lost. Where does the wizard live?”

Without hesitation, the boy turned and pointed to the left, at one of the taller buildings in the next street. “That one.”

Evann smiled triumphantly. Never trust a child to keep a secret, he thought. Rising, he studied the shuttered windows, the thatched roof, the tall stone walls. It seemed a gloomy enough place, especially by moonlight, and certainly suitable for a wizard. He had no doubt the child had told him the truth.

He offered the coin. The boy grabbed it and ran.

Harrach shifted uneasily beside him. “I have a bad feeling inside,” he said.

“Me, too,” Evann said, “but I don’t see another choice. Let’s get it over with.”

He circled the block, with Harrach beside him, and they took to the shadows as they neared the wizard’s home. Its ground floor windows had all been tightly shuttered, though a pale flickering light came from the second floor’s front rooms. That had to be the wizard’s workroom, he thought.

Creeping forward, he reached the front door. The handle wouldn’t turn, bolted from the inside. Not a sound came from within. If not for the light on the second floor and a thin plume of smoke drifting up from the chimney and hazing the stars, he would have thought the place completely deserted.

A scraggly-bearded old man shuffled past, wheezing for breath. Evann reached out and stopped him.

“Is this where the wizard lives?” he asked.

The old man turned. It was only then that Evann recognized him as the same fisherman who’d warned him about the snakes, the fisherman who’d seemed to die. The old man’s face was slack, his eyes glassy. He seemed to gaze through Evann, rather than at him.

“Wizard?” the man mumbled. “There’s no wizard there. That house has been empty for as long as I can remember.”

“Somebody’s in it now,” Evann said. “See the light?” He pointed at the second floor.

The old man barely glanced up. “Don’t see anything.” He started on his way again, and this time Evann didn’t try to stop him.

“Curious,” he murmured. “This has to be the place,” he said. “Let’s try around back and—”

“The talismans will protect us, Captain,” Harrach said. “That’s why he didn’t take Uwe when he had the chance.”

It made sense. Evann nodded.

“Have at it,” he said.

Harrach took a step back, then charged the door. Wood splintered around the bolt. He backed up, then kicked the lock savagely. The door burst open, hinges shrieking.

“He certainly knows we’re here now,” Evann murmured, peering inside. The ceiling glowed with a pale yellow light, casting a sickly pall over everything.

“He knew it all the time. Don’t play his games, Captain, or he’s already won.”

It sounded like good advice. Evann stepped forward into the entry hall. The air inside smelled musty and close, but it also held a sickly sweet tang … not mold or decay, exactly, but perhaps burning herbs or incense? Somehow, he’d expected something more gruesome to welcome him into this wizard’s home.

Then he saw the eye. It floated, silent, unblinking, just above the door. When he turned to face it, it faded away from view. He swallowed hard.

Evann strained to hear over the wild beating of his heart and the roughness of his breath. Not a step, not a sound came from within.

“Wherever he is,” Harrach said, “we’d best take care of him quickly, before he can muster his defenses.”

“Cover my back,” Evann said, easing forward, through a high archway into the next room.

It had once been a large dining room. A long table, covered in dust, filled the center of the room. Dust-covered wooden benches lined the walls. Above them hung faded, moldering tapestries. Other than that, the room was empty. Two small staircases led from it, one going up, the other down.

Evann glanced at Harrach. “Two staircases,” he said, “one for each of us. Or perhaps we should stay together.”

“Speed is more important,” Harrach insisted. “We have the talismans. I think we should split up.”

“Very well.” Evann hesitated. He wasn’t sure whether it was a good idea or not. They would find out soon enough, though. “I’ll take the upstairs, then. Call if you see anything. And remember—don’t kill him, not until we find the men.”

“You can bet on it.” Harrach headed for the down staircase.

Evann touched his talisman. He hoped it would protect him. Swallowing, he started up the broad, steep steps. Little puffs of dust rose around his boots. He kept his left hand on the wall for balance and his right hand on the hilt of his sword, ready to draw it at the first sign of trouble.

He reached the second floor and prowled through it quickly, finding little of interest. The flickering light he’d seen came from the ceiling of the front room. Whatever magic the wizard used to light his ceilings seemed to be failing there, and the light flickered faintly. The rest of the rooms contained nothing but old furniture. Evann could tell by the dust on the floor that they hadn’t been disturbed in many years.

Two of the bedchambers, though, showed signs of recent habitation: one contained a large featherbed, a scattering of books and other personal effects, and crumpled piles of clothes. The other held a pair of thin pallets, perhaps for the wizard’s servants.

Cautiously, he eased up the narrow, winding staircase for the third floor. On every other step, he paused and listened intently.

When he heard a slight creaking sound from above, he stopped. If anyone were going to try to ambush him, this would be the spot. Should he call Harrach? No—not yet, anyway. He didn’t want to tip off whoever was waiting above. Hefting his sword, he took a deep breath and crept forward.

As soon as he stepped into the third floor hallway, two men jumped at him. Both wore loose linen clothing like the other townsfolk, and Evann felt certain he’d seen them on the dock that afternoon. Both held heavy wooden clubs.

Ducking a wild blow, Evann retreated, keeping the tip of his sword high. Fortunately, the narrowness of the hallway made it impossible for both men to face him at once.

The first fisherman moved forward, raising his club for a sharp, downward sweep.

Evann feinted, lunged, and thrust his blade through the man’s chest. The fisherman looked down as if startled, and then up as the sword jerked free. He stepped forward again, seemingly uninjured, and swung his club.

It grazed Evann’s arm. Cursing, Evann took a quick step back. By all rights, the fisherman should be dead now. He glanced at his sword and noticed there wasn’t any blood on its blade. Swallowing, he retreated another step.

The man followed, raising his club again, and Evann slipped a knife from his belt. At this distance, he couldn’t miss. He tossed it underhanded in an end-over-end roll, and it stuck in the fisherman’s left eye.

The man reeled back, pawing at the knife, and managed to remove it. He made no sound. A white, milklike substance oozed from the wound.

Evann moved forward, more confident. That wound seemed to have hurt him.

Again the fisherman raised his club, but this time Evann was ready. He lunged, but instead of going for the easy chest target, he struck higher, flicking the blade across the man’s one remaining eye, completely blinding him.

The fisherman dropped to his knees and began feeling his way toward Evann.

The second man pressed forward.

Drawing a second knife, Evann readied himself. Now that he knew how to hurt these people or creatures or whatever they were, it wouldn’t take long to finish off these two. Then he’d go see what trouble Harrach had gotten himself into.