knew for sure she wasn’t just a medicine woman, a soul like that ruled the village, not served it.
Morghien accepted the beer and raised it in a toast to the farmer. The man gave a gruff grunt and looked away, but Morghien saw his shoulders relax a little and guessed the gesture had had the
desired effect.
‘So stranger, why are you in these parts?’ the witch asked with a deliberate lack of edge to her tone.
Without meaning to, Morghien glanced out the window. The shadows were long over the dirt path leading up to the tavern, the ghost hour wasn’t yet upon the Land.
‘Can’t a man be just passing through?’
The witch gave a knowing smile. ‘Could be, but we’re not on the way to much here – and anyways, you ain’t a normal sort o’ stranger.’
Morghien gave a snort. ‘Coming from a witch with a husband?’ he said softly, looking over at the thin man who’d returned to his seat at the bar.
The man’s deep-set eyes and narrow beard made him look something rather more sinister than a tavern-owner, but he placidly endured Morghien’s attention and raised his drink in toast
without comment.
‘Can you see me bein’ welcome at temple even for my own marriage?’ the witch asked levelly.
‘Perhaps not,’ he conceded, ‘but when it looks like a dog and barks like a dog . . .’
‘It’s a bloody dog,’ the witch finished, ‘and oddity that you are, call me bitch and see how welcome you feel then.’
Morghien grinned. Getting under the skin of others was something of a speciality of his. Often it still resulted in adding to his collection of scars, but folk became sloppy when they were
annoyed and sometimes they let slip things they shouldn’t. In his line of business that was usually worth a little trouble.
Without warning, the witch reached out and touched two fingers to the back of Morghien’s hand. He snatched it away, but was too late to stop her sensing something and the witch’s
annoyance was replaced with curiosity.
‘Didn’t your mother ever tell you that was rude?’
‘Sometimes rude isn’t the worst outcome.’ She leaned forward and peered into his eyes. ‘There’s a whole mess of somethin’ inside you and that tells me I
should know your business here before you get a friendly welcome.’
Morghien hesitated. Having expected a threatening tone of voice, it wasn’t what he’d got at all.
Hah, I’ve spent too much time with soldiers, always trying to piss the highest. Witches don’t need to bother there.
‘Ghost hour’s coming,’ he commented, sipping his beer.
The witch’s eyes narrowed, then he saw a small spark in those grey eyes. ‘The watcher in the willows? Oh wonderful, some idiot with a handful of power thinks he can come and save
us.’
He didn’t rise to the bait. ‘I’m surprised you haven’t tried yourself.’
‘Some of us have more sense than power; you don’t know what you’re playin’ with here.’
‘Trust me; I’m not looking for a fight with anything or anyone.’
‘Then leave it be,’ the witch hissed, ‘no one round here walks the river-path ’cept when the sun’s out – I made sure of that and I don’t intend to let
you stir up any more trouble than we already have.’
‘Then tell me more than I’ve already heard,’ Morghien insisted, ‘because I intend to head that way as soon as I’m finished.’
The witch watched him like a cat for a long while, trying to read his whiskery face. He understood her concerns and gave her time to think. If what he’d heard was true, a careless hand
could bring horror down upon the village, but Morghien knew she’d not have seen anyone like him in these parts.
My own particular sort of fool, I am, but I know my limits.
‘I’m not here to play the hero,’ he said after a while, ‘I know when a risk isn’t worth taking.’
She glanced outside. The sky was starting to darken to a deep, cloudless blue. A pair of pigeons hopped from branch to branch in a large oak just
Morghien accepted the beer and raised it in a toast to the farmer. The man gave a gruff grunt and looked away, but Morghien saw his shoulders relax a little and guessed the gesture had had the
desired effect.
‘So stranger, why are you in these parts?’ the witch asked with a deliberate lack of edge to her tone.
Without meaning to, Morghien glanced out the window. The shadows were long over the dirt path leading up to the tavern, the ghost hour wasn’t yet upon the Land.
‘Can’t a man be just passing through?’
The witch gave a knowing smile. ‘Could be, but we’re not on the way to much here – and anyways, you ain’t a normal sort o’ stranger.’
Morghien gave a snort. ‘Coming from a witch with a husband?’ he said softly, looking over at the thin man who’d returned to his seat at the bar.
The man’s deep-set eyes and narrow beard made him look something rather more sinister than a tavern-owner, but he placidly endured Morghien’s attention and raised his drink in toast
without comment.
‘Can you see me bein’ welcome at temple even for my own marriage?’ the witch asked levelly.
‘Perhaps not,’ he conceded, ‘but when it looks like a dog and barks like a dog . . .’
‘It’s a bloody dog,’ the witch finished, ‘and oddity that you are, call me bitch and see how welcome you feel then.’
Morghien grinned. Getting under the skin of others was something of a speciality of his. Often it still resulted in adding to his collection of scars, but folk became sloppy when they were
annoyed and sometimes they let slip things they shouldn’t. In his line of business that was usually worth a little trouble.
Without warning, the witch reached out and touched two fingers to the back of Morghien’s hand. He snatched it away, but was too late to stop her sensing something and the witch’s
annoyance was replaced with curiosity.
‘Didn’t your mother ever tell you that was rude?’
‘Sometimes rude isn’t the worst outcome.’ She leaned forward and peered into his eyes. ‘There’s a whole mess of somethin’ inside you and that tells me I
should know your business here before you get a friendly welcome.’
Morghien hesitated. Having expected a threatening tone of voice, it wasn’t what he’d got at all.
Hah, I’ve spent too much time with soldiers, always trying to piss the highest. Witches don’t need to bother there.
‘Ghost hour’s coming,’ he commented, sipping his beer.
The witch’s eyes narrowed, then he saw a small spark in those grey eyes. ‘The watcher in the willows? Oh wonderful, some idiot with a handful of power thinks he can come and save
us.’
He didn’t rise to the bait. ‘I’m surprised you haven’t tried yourself.’
‘Some of us have more sense than power; you don’t know what you’re playin’ with here.’
‘Trust me; I’m not looking for a fight with anything or anyone.’
‘Then leave it be,’ the witch hissed, ‘no one round here walks the river-path ’cept when the sun’s out – I made sure of that and I don’t intend to let
you stir up any more trouble than we already have.’
‘Then tell me more than I’ve already heard,’ Morghien insisted, ‘because I intend to head that way as soon as I’m finished.’
The witch watched him like a cat for a long while, trying to read his whiskery face. He understood her concerns and gave her time to think. If what he’d heard was true, a careless hand
could bring horror down upon the village, but Morghien knew she’d not have seen anyone like him in these parts.
My own particular sort of fool, I am, but I know my limits.
‘I’m not here to play the hero,’ he said after a while, ‘I know when a risk isn’t worth taking.’
She glanced outside. The sky was starting to darken to a deep, cloudless blue. A pair of pigeons hopped from branch to branch in a large oak just
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