The Hag's Contract

Twenty-One

The journey back to Grabentod was nothing short of a nightmare.

Hawk led them up into the mountains behind the Hag’s camp and through a small pass that would have been treacherous by daylight. By night, it was almost impassable. The horses stumbled and skidded on crumbling shale, patches of ice, and loose rocks. Only by dismounting and plodding at a snail’s pace did they finally reach another high wide cave. At Hawk’s request, the men mounted again, and headed toward the cave mouth. This cavern had torches burning inside, and Evann glimpsed dozens of goblin warriors lining the walls.

“Pay them no heed,” Hawk said. “The Hag has a truce with them. We may pass at will through their territory, as they may pass through ours.”

Swallowing nervously, Evann obeyed. He saw how his men clung tight to their reins, gazes fastened on the rough stone floor ahead of them.

And so they rode through the heart of the mountain, passing close enough to a goblin city to hear the ringing of a blacksmith’s hammer, hideous croaking voices raised in song, and sounds of axes clanging against axes—military drills or sport of some kind, he supposed.

From time to time Evann stole quick glances up side tunnels, and each time he glimpsed small groups of goblins watching them from the shadows. They wore steel helms with horns on top and mismatched plate armor, and carried wicked looking axes in their gnarled, bony hands.

Hawk might have free passage through here, Evann realized, but he had no friends. These goblins would just as soon have killed them all.

Toward morning, they emerged from a smaller cave, one just large enough for their horses to slip through. It was dawn outside, and the sudden sunlight and sharply colder air brought Evann up short.

They’d been riding all night. Now, he realized, looking at the mountains around them, they’d emerged close to the southeastern corner of Grabentod. Home! He could have cried with relief.

Drawing a deep breath, Evann led his men forward. Suddenly he wanted to get as far from the goblin caves as possible. The Hag had doubtless already missed Hawk … and if she sent the goblins after them, he knew they wouldn’t stand much chance.

“I’ve been here before,” Hawk said, riding up next to him as their horses picked their way down the slope toward the foothills below.

“Oh?” Evann glanced over at him. Hawk looked drained, with huge dark circles under his eyes and new, deep-etched lines around his mouth and forehead. The Hag’s magic had taken its toll on him, Evann thought grimly.

Hawk nodded. “We used to hunt here. There’s an abandoned farmstead ahead, just beyond that hill. We can rest safely there.”

Evann glanced back. “The goblins, though … surely we need more distance to be safe.”

“They won’t venture into Grabentod,” Hawk said firmly. “I don’t know why … but they won’t. The Hag tried to get them to attack your lands for years, but they always refused.”

“Ah.” Evann considered that bit of information. If they were safe here, then they should make camp. He felt worn to his bones, and his men looked exhausted, almost ready to drop.

Evann nodded. “Lead the way,” he said to Hawk. “We’ll spend the day here.”

Hawk spurred his horse, and its plodding steps quickened a little, following a narrow trail down.

Half an hour later they reached the abandoned farm. The main building consisted of crumbling stone walls, none more than four feet high, surrounded by high scrub brush and a scattering of twisted pine trees. It had a barren, desolate feel, as though nobody had been here in many years.

Evann dismounted, surveying the scene. It would do, he thought, once they had a fire going. Here there would be no ghosts to bother them.

Quickly giving the orders, he helped Hawk drag Uwe’s litter into the ruins. The boy did not look good. His eyes were deeply sunken, his cheekbones were swollen, and his skin looked more like clay than flesh and blood.

“I’ll tend to him,” Hawk said. “I have some knowledge of healing. See to your men and camp.”

“You’re sure?” Evann asked.

Hawk nodded briefly. “I’ll do all that’s needed.”

It took an hour to set camp properly. At last, with two sentries posted, a large fire in the middle of the ruins, and the horses fed and tethered and under warm blankets, Captain Evann returned to Hawk’s side.

“How is he?” he asked.

“Not good,” Hawk said grimly. “The trip through the mountain was too much for him, I fear.”

Uwe suddenly stirred and moaned. A little color had come back into his cheeks.

“He looks a little better,” Evann ventured.

“It’s the fever. It’s put color back in his cheeks.

We’ll keep him close to the fire today and hope it breaks…. He may live to see another day, but I would not count on it.”

Evann nodded grimly. Of all his men, Uwe might have been the most expendable … but in many ways he had been Captain Evann’s favorite. Evann had seen a lot of himself in Uwe, and he’d hoped to raise him right.

“We’ll pray for the best,” he said.

Over Mari’s protests, Candabraxis rose and went into his workroom. She followed him.

“You must rest!”

“I don’t have time,” he said. “There is too much to do … there is too much I have to accomplish!”

He gathered up an armload of jars and set out for the stairs. At the doorway a sudden pang stabbed him in the stomach, and he gasped in pain. Two of the jars fell free, smashing on the floor and scattering dry powders everywhere.

“I told you!” Mari said, grabbing his arm and pulling him back toward his bed. “You can get up tomorrow, if you feel up to it. Not a moment sooner!”

“But—”

She shook her head firmly. “Not another word. I’ll call the guards and have you restrained—if I have to!”

Candabraxis took a shuddering breath as another pain stabbed him. This time he managed to hang on to his jars, though.

“Maybe I’d better,” he muttered. There would always be plenty of time tomorrow….

Evann spent most of the day helping Harrach hunt for meat, and together they brought down a stag. The camp had roast venison for dinner.

Warm and yawning, his belly full, Evann sent his men to bed and walked first sentry duty himself. The cold, clear night seemed to hold promise. Uwe, somehow, still managed to cling to life. They had rescued Hawk. There was no apparent pursuit from the Hag or the goblins. He nodded. Everything had turned out well enough. Now, if they could only get their king back …

Around midnight, he awakened Harrach for sentry duty and then turned in. Evann fell into a deep sleep almost instantly.

Then, suddenly, he awoke with the certainty that something had gone wrong. He didn’t know what told him aside from an unmistakable feeling deep inside.

The fire burned low, providing a dim flickering orange light. He listened, but heard nothing out of the ordinary, just the soft snores of the men around him. Reddman paced outside the farmhouse on sentry. It was nearly dawn.

Rising, Evann padded softly around the camp. Everyone was present. Kneeling beside Uwe, he touched the boy’s forehead to check his fever— then recoiled in shock.

The boy’s flesh was cold as ice…. Uwe was dead.

That had to be what had awakened him. He felt a deep wrenching inside, as though a part of himself had been torn away. Another friend lost on this mission. It had better prove worth the expense. King Graben had better be freed.

“What is it?” Hawk asked, sitting up suddenly beside Uwe.

“He’s dead.”

Hawk threw off his blanket and checked Uwe, too. Then he sat back and shook his head. “There wasn’t anything we could do for him,” he said softly. “I sat up with him part of the night, holding his hand when I heard him cry out in his sleep. At least he felt no pain. This was a better death than the Hag would have given him.”

“We’ll bury him at first light,” Evann said, voice suddenly husky. “Then …”

He found he couldn’t continue. Rising, he went out to walk alone, away from camp, and wait for the sunrise.

“I’m sorry, lad,” he whispered, half to himself. “I’m so sorry.”

They spent the morning hours cutting a grave in the frozen earth for Uwe. They laid his body out properly, as a warrior deserved—with hands folded across his chest, the hilt of his sword between them. Then they covered the grave with loose rocks. It was hardly the funeral cairn the boy deserved, Evann thought, but it was the best they could do so far from home.

“He was a friend and a comrade who died too young,” Harrach said. “The gods will look after him.”

That seemed like a fitting close. Taking a deep breath, Evann tried to put the events of the morning behind him. He had lost many men over the years, friends and relatives both, but seldom had their deaths hit him as hard as Uwe’s. It seemed so needless.

“Let’s go,” he said gruffly, turning toward camp. “We have a long distance to go today.”

“Forty miles on horseback is easy enough,” Hawk said eagerly. “We can be in Alber tonight.”

Evann glanced at him a trifle angrily. “We just buried a friend. We’ll get to Grabentod in good time.”

“Of course,” Hawk murmured. “That was thoughtless of me. I’m sorry … years trapped in the Hag’s service have cost me my manners, I’m afraid.”

“It’s nothing,” Evann said. He made a dismissive gesture with one hand.

Even so, Evann wondered … Death is a universal among soldiers, and a soldier shows respect at a companion’s funeral even if he wasn’t a friend. It is one of those things everyone does. To a man of the sword, it is as much an instinct as breathing.

Eagerness to return to civilization after years with the Hag, though … he could see how that might make Hawk want to rush. He might have felt the same way himself after being so long from home.

The next day, around noon, Candabraxis awoke. In his mind, he still saw the spell that he wanted to create to protect Castle Graben. It was a massive rune, surrounding and incorporating all of the castle walls and towers and buildings, a rune so large and powerful that not even the Hag herself would be able to penetrate it.

Rising, he found Mari asleep in a chair by the door. Good, he thought, it will make work much easier without her interfering. He felt stronger today. He knew he could make it outside without her help.

He went into his workroom. First things first: his hand. The wound felt sore today, a dull constant ache, but not at all as sharp.

He rolled up his right sleeve, unfastened the bandage, and carefully began to peel it back. Blood had stiffened the cloth, but fortunately it wasn’t stuck to the wound.

Wincing, he saw the long jagged cut, carefully closed with a seamstress’s tiny, meticulous stitches. It had already begun to heal … and it would be quite a scar, a long white line running from the tip of his thumb to the heel of his palm. Slowly he flexed all his fingers. Yes, he thought, he could work with only a little discomfort.

He found a clean bandage and redressed his wound, adding a few lotions from his own stores to speed the healing process.

Then, changing into clean gray robes, he began gathering up the tools he would need. Mari, he found, had swept up the herbs he had dropped yesterday and put them in new jars. He smiled. She was a good woman, had worked hard, and deserved to sleep.

He, on the other hand, had work to do….

Parniel Bowspear hung, suspended by his arms, shivering and half naked, from a hook in the ceiling of the Hag’s cave. His hands and wrists ached, and sharp pains shot through his shoulders. His tongue felt thick and fuzzy; breath came in quick rasps. He prayed he’d die soon.

A cackling laugh broke into his thoughts. Raising his head slightly, he gazed down at the Hag through swollen, bloodshot eyes.

“Kill me and be done with it,” he tried to say. All that came out, though, was a low, gasping moan.

“What say you, my pretty-pretty?” the Hag asked in mockery. “You want down?”

“Kill… me!” He felt a brief triumph that those words had come out clearly.

“Very well, pretty-pretty.”

The Hag crossed to the wall and released the rope tied there. It snaked up, through the ring in the ceiling, and Bowspear fell to the floor with it.

He couldn’t move his arms. He whimpered. He’d never felt so much pain in his life.

“Oh, you’ll scream,” the Hag said, advancing on him, the serpents attached to her lower body hissing in delight. “I’ll have my pleasure first… and if you satisfy me, you’ll live.”

With the strength of twenty crones, she picked him up, and as she kissed him, her dank breath foul as the stink of a swamp, her serpents twining around his body in a crushing embrace.

Bowspear began to scream.