The Hag's Contract

Seventeen

Bowspear lay still in the dark, eyes open, and listened to the moans of his men and the dripping of water somewhere in the back of the cave.

He cursed himself for a fool. He should have tried to fight. He should have tried to run. He should have done something, even if the goblins killed him on the spot. Anything would have been better than being chained up in this confinement. He shifted a bit, and the heavy iron shackles on his feet made a muted clanging sound. He could have wept in despair. Captured by goblins … it was a human’s worst nightmare. He pressed his eyes shut and felt tears trickle from their corners.

After chaining them so they could barely move, the goblins had carried them down to a lower level of caves and locked them in a dark cell. Water dripped slowly in the back. Escape seemed ever farther away.

And, over the last few hours, the goblins had returned periodically. “Good eating!” they said each time, as they hauled a man out. Then Bowspear would hear a brief struggle in the corridor outside, followed by a human scream and the thud of a falling body. Afterward would come a faint jingle of shackles … a dead body being dragged away.

He’d shuddered. Now there were only three of them left in here. He heard skittering goblin footsteps outside the cell and saw the flicker of torchlight under the door. Slowly he scrambled backward, deeper into the darkness.

The door swung open and a goblin stepped in … followed by a human. Bowspear stared up at the stranger in polished chain mail, with his deep-set eyes, short black beard, and sharp prominent nose.

“Get up,” the man said.

Slowly Bowspear climbed to his feet. The others did the same.

The man held out his hand. From it dangled the Eye of Vadakkar. Bowspear’s breath caught in his throat.

“Which one of you wore this?” the stranger demanded.

“I did,” Bowspear said. It came out as little more than a croak.

The man took a torch from one of the goblins and thrust it closer to Bowspear’s face, looking him over carefully.

“You don’t look like a wizard,” he said.

“I’m not,” he said. “I am Captain Parniel Bowspear of Grabentod.”

“How do you explain this, Captain Bowspear?” He held up the Eye again.

Bowspear remained silent. Perhaps, if he could make this man think he was a wizard …

“I thought so,” the man said. He nodded to the goblin. “You did well. You will be rewarded.”

After tucking the Eye of Vadakkar into his pocket, he grabbed Bowspear’s chain and pulled him toward the door.

“Come,” he said. “My mistress wishes a few words with you.”

Bowspear dragged his feet. “My men—” he began.

The stranger hauled him into the rough stone passageway. More goblins were waiting there, and they all held long knives. As soon as the stranger had dragged Bowspear out of the way, they poured into the cell.

“I’m afraid,” the stranger said, “they’re lunch.”

Screams echoed from the cell. Goblins began to gnash their teeth happily, and a small river of deep red blood washed out the open cell door and down the passage.

Bowspear gulped, feeling sick.

Harrach dreamed of beautiful women flying toward him with arms outstretched. He reached out to embrace them, but something kept blowing them away, like rose petals caught on the wind. When finally he did manage to touch the hand of one, it felt cold and damp, like a corpse’s.

He came awake suddenly, very afraid, though he didn’t know why. His heart pounded wildly; a cold sweat covered him. For a second he didn’t know where he was, but then it all came back. In the Hag’s Domain … surely that alone was enough to cause nightmares.

He blinked. The campfire had almost gone out, he realized with alarm. Silent as a cat, he rolled from his blanket and drew his sword. Who was supposed to be on watch? He hesitated, glancing around anxiously. It felt early, certainly no later than midnight.

Softly, he moved around the camp, counting sleeping bodies. One too few. Everyone was present except Captain Evann … and Evann had taken the first watch.

He moved to Lothar’s side and shook him awake.

“Wha—” Lothar asked, blinking sleepily.

“Shh!” he whispered. “Something’s wrong! The captain’s gone!”

Instantly Lothar snapped awake. “What happened?” he asked in a low voice.

“I don’t know. I’m going to investigate … I’ll take Uwe. Stand watch. If we don’t come back, wake the rest of the men and retreat to the forest. Got it?”

“Aye, sir,” he said.

Harrach gave a quick nod, then crossed to Uwe and gently shook him awake. As soon as Harrach told him what had happened, the lad leapt to his feet and eagerly drew his sword. He even puffed out his chest, doubtless proud to have been chosen for such a dangerous assignment, and Harrach didn’t have the heart to tell him the truth: Uwe was the most expendable of all the men here. That alone made him Harrach’s first choice.

Turning, Harrach padded cautiously from the ruined building, with Uwe on his heels. He saw no trace of Captain Evann anywhere, nor any signs of who might have taken him. If only it were light, he thought with a frown, he’d be able to look for tracks in the grass.

At the edge of the ruined village, he paused, listening over the low moan of the wind. He heard the susurrous hiss of wind blowing through the grass, the soft lapping of waves from the lake, but other than that … nothing. He shivered, a little unsettled. Out here he would have expected at least a few distant cries from owls hunting mice by moonlight, but no living creatures stirred.

Uwe lightly touched his arm. Harrach glanced over-impatiently. What was it?

Slowly, Uwe pointed toward the lake. Harrach followed the line of his finger to a pair of figures on the shore … a man and a woman? Could one of them be Captain Evann? Squinting, Harrach tried to see, but in the dimness he couldn’t quite tell.

“Come on,” he said, advancing for the lake cautiously. He had no intention of being taken by surprise—the waist-high grass could have hidden an entire army.

The figures on the shore turned and began walking away from them. They seemed to be walking on top of the water, heading toward the center of the lake. For a second, Harrach thought they had to be walking on ice, but then he saw the waves around them, under their feet.

Then, like an early morning mist, they vanished.

“Ghosts!” he breathed.

Uwe looked at him, bewildered. “That wasn’t the captain?” he asked. “What happened to him?

“Yes, it was Captain Evann,” Harrach said with a shudder, knowing somehow that it had been his friend and commander. “He’s beyond our help, though.”

Captain Evann felt himself drawn to this strange pale woman. Her kiss, long and lingering, left him hungry for more. He reached for her, but she shook her head and drew back.

“Who are you?” he whispered. “Why do I love you so?”

“This way, Terrill…”

Taking him by the hand, she led him to the lake.

He went willingly. Every time she looked at him, his heart fluttered in his chest like a dove’s wings. He wanted nothing more than to be with her for the rest of his life. He found himself gazing at her face, admiring her delicate nose, the soft curve of her cheek….

Taking his hand, she led him away from the village, down to the shore of the lake. There, without hesitation, she stepped onto the water and began walking away from the shore. He hesitated a moment, afraid of losing her, afraid of being left behind. The farther she got from him, the more desperate he became. Finally, unable to stand the thought of losing her, he ran after her.

Instead of splashing into the chill water, though, he found himself gliding like a ghost on top of it, but the movement seemed like the most natural thing in the world. He was amazed he’d never done it before. Catching up with her, he took her hand again, and she did not pull away. A deep contentedness filled him.

At last they came to a small, mist-shrouded island in the center of the lake. Here, the woman released his hand.

In a second she vanished, leaving him alone. He blinked and suddenly felt himself released from her spell. What had happened? Why had he gone with her? Had she been real?

Slowly he wandered forward, looking all around, and only then did he notice the bones. The whole island was covered in them … the pale weathered gray remains of many people. He swallowed as he picked up an arm bone, turning it to the moonlight. He noticed deep cut marks, the kind made by a sword, gouged into it. This person had been cut down in a battle of some kind.

He crossed the narrow rocky island, following the trail of skeletons. There had to be dozens of them, perhaps hundreds, but it must have happened many years ago for them to be this weathered.

“Terrill…” a soft voice whispered.

He turned. The woman had reappeared, but this time she didn’t touch him, didn’t do anything except float before him, her feet suspended half a foot from the ground.

“Who are you?” he demanded.

Her voice was soft and hollow. “I am one of the people from the village where you camped.”

“But you’re …”

“A ghost,” she whispered. “Yes, Terrill…”

“What do you want?” he asked. “Why have you brought me here? To kill me?”

“We are forgotten here,” she said. “Behold—”

A blinding light surrounded him. Evann covered his eyes, crying out in surprise.

—And suddenly he heard battle cries and screams from women and children.

Opening his eyes, he gaped at the scene before him.

It had suddenly become daylight. He stood in the middle of the village as it must have looked many years ago. All the houses stood whole, their thatched roofs and brightly painted shutters in repair. The warm breeze ruffling his hair and beard tasted of summer, and he felt the hot sun on his back, smelled fresh-mown hay from the fields around the town—

Hooves thundered. He whirled to see a dozen horsemen in dark helms riding with swords drawn through the village. Women and children ran before them, screaming in terror. Here and there a few men stood, holding pitchforks and axes, trying in vain to drive them off.

Evann shuddered as he saw one, then another, and another of the villagers fall. The horsemen were cutting them all down, men and women and children alike. The warriors moved with mechanical speed, killing and killing and killing until the streets ran with blood—

“Enough!” he cried, covering his eyes. It was too terrible to watch.

Abruptly he stood on the island in the middle of the lake. The ghost floated before him.

“So …” she said.

Evann gave a shudder and met her eyes. “Who were they? The Hag’s minions?”

“Who?” she asked.

“The Hag—” he began, then stopped. They had probably never even heard of her. Their first encounter with her minions must have been their last.

“She is an abomination,” he said. “She rules this land now.”

“It must have been her,” the ghost said.

“What do you want of me?”

“Peace,” she whispered. “The quiet, easy sleep of those who rest in their graves….”

Harrach nodded. “That I would promise you,” he said, “but I have no way to get my men to this island. It’s been years since anyone lived here. There are no boats left anywhere on shore.”

“If you cannot come to us, we must come to you.”

Evann felt a strange stirring of energies, and around him the bones began to move. Body after body began to reassemble itself, bone crawling to bone, hand to arm to shoulder … foot to leg to pelvis … ribs—backbones—skulls—

One by one, the skeletons rose up before him— tens, then dozens of them, men and women and children. Empty eye sockets gaped at him; fleshless bones rattled as they moved.

Evann swallowed. This was magic, but somehow it felt good, like an age-old wound being closed. Slowly, the skeletons turned to face the shore, and then they began to walk out across the waves.

The ghostly woman took his hand and pulled him after them. Hardly daring to believe, Evann stepped out onto the water and followed.

Harrach saw them coming across the water.

“No …” he breathed. It had to be an undead army. He’d heard the Hag sometimes controlled creatures from the Shadow World, but he’d never believed he would encounter them here. The encampment in the village must have attracted the Hag’s attention.

“Back!” he whispered to Uwe. “Rally the others. Tell them to ready their weapons outside the house.”

“But the captain—”

“Do it!”

“Sir!” Uwe ran.

Swallowing, Harrach drew his long sword. He’d stand point guard, then fall back as they approached. Harrach spotted Captain Evann, following after the skeletons, holding the hand of a beautiful, pale woman. He and his escort were walking a few inches above the waves.

“Magic!” he breathed. Evann looked alive and well, but that might be a trick of some kind.

Hesitating, Harrach considered what their best course would be. They could fall back, retreating to the forest, but that might be what the Hag wanted. On the other hand, if they stood here, they might be able to rescue Captain Evann.

As the skeletons set foot ashore, they began lying down on the sand. Harrach glanced to the east. The sun had just begun to pale the sky with the morning twilight … perhaps they marched only in darkness.

Captain Evann set foot ashore just as the sun broke over the mountains to the east, flooding the land with light. He stood there, looking around him as if half bewildered. A trap? Harrach hesitated, then cautiously advanced.

“Captain?” he called. “Is that you?”

“Aye,” Evann said wearily.

“What happened?”

“We have to bury them,” he said. “I promised.”

Bowspear allowed himself to be dragged through the mountain and out a small cave on the other side into daylit forest. There, the mail-armored man released his leg shackles so he could walk. He found it hard to care anymore, though. His men were dead. Eaten. A numb shock filled him.

The man half led, half dragged him down through a small pass to a grassy plain, where a squad of ten men waited with horses. They all wore helms with the insignia of Drachenward on the front… though the markings had been all but obliterated by scratches.

Rapidly, the men saddled the horses. They had an extra one, which they led over to him.

“Get on,” said the man who had dragged him.

The horses … the Drachenward helms … suddenly it all made sense to Bowspear. He almost laughed with relief.

“You’re Orin Hawk, aren’t you?” he asked.

“Yes.” Hawk’s voice was low.

Perhaps everything wasn’t lost after all, Bowspear realized. Perhaps sacrificing his. men wasn’t such a great cost.

Licking his lips, he began, “I need to talk to you—”

Hawk whirled and struck him backhanded across the mouth. “Shut up. Get on your horse. You’ll talk plenty before the day is through.”

Stung by the blow, Bowspear did as Hawk commanded. Once Bowspear was in the saddle, Hawk turned and, without a word, mounted his own horse, spurred it on, and rode to the head of the line of men.

They rode for perhaps two hours, skirting the mountains, until they reached a small camp. Bowspear noticed with growing unease that not one of the soldiers around him spoke during the entire trip. There seemed to be little human about them except their forms.

Their camp, nestled between two low hills, consisted of a dozen tents, several long, low buildings, and a few pens that held more horses. A large natural cave opened up in one of the hills.

Hawk rode up to the cave and dismounted. “Mistress!” he called. “I have him for you.”

Seconds later, Bowspear saw movement in the shadows.

A hideous creature emerged—a hideous pockmarked woman from the waist up, a mass of huge, writhing serpents from the waist down. An unreasoning terror like none he had ever felt before filled him. He wanted to run screaming from her camp and never return.

Hawk chuckled, a low, evil sound. Bowspear managed to tear his gaze from the Hag long enough to look at the man.

“Beautiful, isn’t she?” he said, awe in his voice.

He really felt that way, Bowspear realized. He swallowed. She had bewitched him.

The Hag made a gentle clucking sound deep in her throat. Bowspear faced her and tried to keep his fear and revulsion from showing. Perhaps all was not yet lost. He’d found Hawk, after all. If she’d make a deal with him …

“Well, pretty-pretty,” she said. “So you thought you could fool me, did you?” She gave a cackle and stretched out her hand to stroke his cheek.

Bowspear couldn’t help himself—he recoiled in revulsion.

“Take him inside,” the Hag said to Hawk, and then she retreated into the cave, vanishing in the deep shadows.

“Yes, Mistress,” he said.

Hawk dragged Bowspear from the saddle, then marched him into the cave. Bowspear tried to keep from vomiting. The place had a thick foul odor, like something had died in here and begun to rot.

“Have mercy!” he gasped, trying to breathe.

“Mercy? What’s that?” Hawk hooked Bowspear’s manacles to a steel chain. It ran through a thick iron ring hammered into the cave’s ceiling, then over to a hook set into the far wall.

Slowly, drawing the process out, Hawk began to pull the chain tight. They were going to torture him, Bowspear realized suddenly. He began to struggle, trying to slip his arms free of the manacles. He could barely breathe, barely think. Panic filled him, and he began to flail his limbs like a drowning man.

Hawk gave the chain a long jerk, and Bowspear felt his arms fly up over his head. Hawk gave a second jerk, this time hauling Bowspear upward. He dangled by his wrists six inches off the floor. The heavy iron manacles bit into his wrists, and blood began to trickle down his arms.

“Her pleasure,” Hawk said with a smile, “is almost always fatal.”

Harlmut quickly assembled twenty of his guards, then personally led them into the city in search of the assassin. It had been many years since he’d been to the Temple of Ela, but he remembered the way well enough. With quick gestures, he sent half his men to one side of the building and half to the other, surrounding the temple. Only when they signaled their readiness did he step forward.

“Come out, Haltengabben!” he cried.

Instantly, she appeared through the front doors. She’d been watching them, he realized. If their actions concerned her, she did not show it. Her features remained smooth, calm, impassive.

“What is the problem, Harlmut?” she asked in a soft voice.

“An assassin tried to kill one of my guests in the market this morning,” he said. She would have no way of knowing how much he knew, so he might as well go for everything. “Witnesses spotted him fleeing here. You will surrender him to me now.”

“An assassin! Here?” She shook her head, looking bewildered. Harlmut wasn’t surprised— of course she would deny it. “Surely you are mistaken.”

“Do you have any visitors staying here?” he demanded. “Anyone new to Grabentod?”

“Well …” She hesitated. “There is one man visiting us, though I haven’t met him yet. If you’d like to interview him, I see no harm in that. I am certain he’s not the assassin you’re looking for. He’s a trader from Grevesmühl, and he’s offering rare spices that we use in some of the temple ceremonies.”

Harlmut motioned to four of his men. “Get this trader,” he said. “Bring him out to me. But take caution—if he’s the assassin, he may prove dangerous.”

“Aye, sir,” they said.

Haltengabben turned to lead the four soldiers inside. When they disappeared from view, Harlmut began to pace, a trifle nervous. He had a feeling he wouldn’t like whatever they found.

A few minutes later, one of the guards returned, wearing a disgusted look on his face.

“He’s dead, sir,” he reported to Harlmut. “Killed, it looks, by his own hand.”

Sighing inwardly, Harlmut accompanied him into the temple, through the entry hall, into the altar room, then into back rooms. He should have expected something like this. Haltengabben knew enough to cover her tracks.

He found her standing in the doorway to a small guest chamber, shaking her head as though in disbelief.

“I cannot believe it,” she said softly to Harlmut. “Suicide in the temple … it’s unheard of.”

He brushed past her.

The assassin had hanged himself with a rope. The man’s black tongue protruded from his mouth, and his eyes bulged hugely in their sockets. On the desk sat a pair of knives.

Harlmut picked one of them up and held the blade to the light. A greasy gray liquid covered the blade … it had been coated with something, some poison. Mari had been right.

“Cut him down,” he said to his men. “Take the body outside the city and burn it.”

“Such a shame …” Haltengabben said.

“It’s suicide, then,” he said, looking at her.

She met his gaze unflinchingly. “So it would seem.”

“I trust you won’t allow this sort of visitor in the Temple of Ela again.”

“Of course not,” she said. “I have no idea how he could have gotten in here. His credentials must have been forged.”

“Of course.” Harlmut stared at her until she shifted uncomfortably. “Come to the castle this evening,” he said firmly. “I think it’s time we spoke. I’ll have dinner prepared for just the two of us.”

“Very well,” she said. “I am honored, Harlmut.”

After Harlmut left, Haltengabben stormed into her office and slammed the door. She felt like hurting someone. Very carefully, she controlled her rage.

He’d cost her a very expensive assassin. She’d have to make reparations to the Grevesmühl branch of the Temple of Ela to compensate for their loss.

He’d been sloppy. He’d almost been caught, and he’d led them to her. If he’d talked … she didn’t take chances. She’d had to kill him.

Dinner tonight … she could imagine what Harlmut wanted. Her support never came cheaply. But with Bowspear gone, it couldn’t hurt to listen to what he had to say.