The Hag's Contract

Twenty-Four

Full of food and slightly drunk, Candabraxis returned to his room. No sense scrying on Bowspear now, he thought. He wanted sleep. Tomorrow would be soon enough.

He opened the door to his suite and went into his sitting room. The castle’s servants had banked his fire for the night, and though his rooms felt a little chilly, they didn’t have that icy edge he hated. He shrugged off his heavy cloak and hung it on a peg by the door.

Bed now, he thought, yawning.

He headed into his bedroom. As he did, a dark shape suddenly loomed out at him from the shadows.

Instantly awake, he leapt back. An assassin? Had one of the Hag’s creatures somehow made it through his protections?

It was only Orin Hawk, though. Candabraxis relaxed a little. What would bring Hawk here, to his private rooms?

“Did you want something?” the mage asked a little suspiciously. “I generally like people to wait for me in my sitting room.”

“Yes,” Hawk said, advancing steadily.

“What?”

Candabraxis continued to retreat. Something was wrong. There was a strangely hungry look in Hawk’s eye, almost a bloodlust. The wizard swallowed uneasily. A spell of petrification, he thought, would do the trick … something to stop Hawk without hurting him.

He began the spell as he backed into the wall. Still Hawk continued his advance. Candabraxis slid to the left, heading for the doorway.

Finishing the spell, he launched it at Hawk.

Instantly Hawk froze.

Relaxing, Candabraxis took a deep breath. What had gotten into the Drachenwarder? Why had he come here?

Puzzled, he circled Hawk slowly, then stepped forward to look at the man’s eyes more closely. There was something strange about them….

As soon as he was within a foot of Hawk, though, the man’s right hand shot out and grabbed him around the throat. Candabraxis, choking, pounded at Hawk’s arm, trying to free himself. The Drachenwarder’s grip was unnaturally strong.

Hawk’s eyes had begun to glow faintly red. He wasn’t human, Candabraxis realized. It was a trick of the Hag’s.

“Fool,” the creature posing as Orin Hawk hissed, tightening its grip. “You can’t stop the undead with spells designed for mortals.”

Candabraxis found his vision darkening, and he began to panic. His lungs ached. He felt like his throat was going to cave in. He flailed wildly, striking the creature in the face again and again, but with no effect. He had to breathe—

No! an inner voice cried. Discipline!

That was what his old master said would save him from any problem.

Patience.

Discipline.

Reason and thought.

The creature had to be undead. Clearly it had killed the guard last night, taking his blood. So how could it get past his protective rune?

With a charm … the same sort of charm he’d used to send Evann and the others into the Hag’s Domain. That had to be the answer.

With his last effort, Candabraxis forced his eyes down, beyond the arm of the creature, searching its clothing for anything that it might use to protect itself.

Suddenly his eye fastened on a talisman just poking out from under its cloak. It looked familiar—

He grabbed for it with the last of his strength. His fingers closed around it, and he ripped it away and threw it across the room in one sudden motion.

The creature howled in pain and released him. Spinning backward, it collapsed and began to writhe on the floor. The full force of the castle’s protective magic had struck it.

Gasping, choking, Candabraxis sucked in air like a drowning man. A wave of dizziness and nausea hit, and he had to catch himself against the wall to keep from falling.

Barely conscious, he watched the illusion surrounding the creature roll back. Its skin turned green and greasy; bits of bone showed through tears in its flesh. Its eyes, glowing with a sickly red light, slowly went dim.

As it lay there, it began to smolder, and suddenly tongues of clear blue flame flickered over its body, consuming it. Two minutes later, only an ashen gray smudge marked the spot where it had fallen.

Candabraxis staggered into his workroom and fell into a chair. His throat ached; he could barely breathe or swallow. But he was alive. That was all that mattered.

He’d been lucky, he realized, thinking of the slain guard. Shuddering, he closed his eyes. At least he’d prevented a horrible mistake from being made. Creatures such as this one needed to feed on human blood once each night to maintain their human appearance. It would have killed again and again, and kept on killing, as long as it: dwelled among them.

The celebration was just winding down when Candabraxis returned. Harlmut glanced at the wizard as he staggered in. His ashen face and disheveled appearance spoke volumes.

“Excuse me,” Harlmut said to Duke Leor, who was on his third pie of the evening, and rising, he hurried to the wizard’s side.

“We must—talk alone—” the wizard gasped in a half-strangled whisper.

Harlmut hesitated, then gave a quick nod. Steadying the mage with one hand, he ushered him into his private office.

After seating Candabraxis in one of the chairs, Harlmut poured him a glass of wine, gave it to him, and watched impatiently as the wizard tried to swallow it, only to choke.

“What happened?” he said urgently.

“Orin Hawk …”

“He retired right before you did, remember?”

Candabraxis shook his head. “No … that wasn’t Hawk, but a deadly creature that had taken his form.”

“What?” Harlmut said with a gasp. “Where is Hawk, then? And where is this—this creature?”

The wizard held up his hand, gesturing for patience. “It’s dead. I slew it. You see, Evann didn’t bring back Orin Hawk at all. He brought back this undead creature, a bloodspawn—”

“A what?” Harlmut had never heard of such a creature before.

“A bloodspawn. They’re very rare. I’ve heard of only one other instance in which they plagued men, and that was many years ago. They’re a form of undead creature from the Shadow World. They take the appearance of men in order to move among them undetected, but they have to feed on blood each night to keep their form.”

“How did it get in here?” he demanded. “I thought your spell protected the whole castle.”

“He used this.” Candabraxis opened his right hand. He held a talisman … one of the charms he’d made to protect Evann’s men when they entered the Hag’s Domain. “It allowed him to move freely through here, avoiding detection.”

“Are there more of these things loose?”

“I don’t think so. Have any more bloodless bodies turned up?”

“No …”

Candabraxis nodded. “Then we should be safe.”

“But we don’t have Orin Hawk.”

“No. My guess is that he never left the Hag’s Domain. The Hag figured out our plan, somehow, and made sure this creature returned with Evann instead.”

Rising, Harlmut began to pace. This destroyed all his plans. Without Hawk, Drachenward would have no reason to help them. Without Drachenward, they had no hope of getting King Graben back. He felt a growing hollowness inside. He could have wept.

“At least one good thing has come of this,” the wizard said softly. “You’re rid of Bowspear.”

Harlmut sighed. It was small enough consolation, he thought.

He poured himself a drink—brandy, this time— and downed it in one long swallow.

“I have to tell Duke Leor,” he said. He wasn’t looking forward to it.

To Leor, eating had become a subtle form of politics, another tool in his vast arsenal. It was amazing to him how much could be learned by sitting back in the course of a meal, watching those around you and listening while seemingly preoccupied with the food. Over the years he had discovered much valuable information that way.

When the wizard staggered in, looking half dead, his interests had instantly been aroused. He pretended to bury himself in a delightful boysenberry pie while he watched and listened.

Fifteen minutes after the wizard had been ushered by Harlmut into private chambers, the pair of them emerged, both looking gloomy. Bad news then, Leor thought. As they headed straight for him, he assumed it involved him in some way.

“Duke Leor,” Harlmut said in a strangled voice, “I’m afraid I have sad tidings.”

He shifted his bulk around to face them. “Yes?”

“Orin Hawk …” He hesitated.

“An impostor?” Leor guessed, gently dabbing the corners of his mouth with a napkin.

“How did you know?” the wizard asked.

“A guess,” he said. “One of the Hag’s undead minions, perhaps?”

Harlmut nodded. “We just discovered it and destroyed it,” he said.

Duke Leor only nodded. That made more sense, he thought. If the combined might of Drachenward had been unable to free Orin Hawk, it stood to reason that a small pirate kingdom like Grabentod had to fail on any such endeavor. At least this would save Drachenward the embarrassment of having to intercede with Müden on their behalf.

“I will leave with the morning tide,” he said. “Now, if you’d be kind enough to pass that flagon of excellent Anuirean wine?”

Numbly, it seemed, Harlmut served him.

“Very kind of you,” he said as he generously refilled his goblet. “An excellent feast, Regent Harlmut, I must say. Almost worth the trip itself.”

“Thank you.” Harlmut sank back in his chair, looking devastated.

And Leor, Duke of Drachenward, smiled in triumph.