the gallows waiting for the Arbiter. The dragon was thankfully nowhere to be seen.
The witch had changed but only little. She still wore a white dress, this one cut to a length between the knee and ankle and more open to allow ease of movement and she wore heavy leather boots to protect her feet. Thanquil had to admit white truly made her more beautiful. A half-chested leather jerkin covered her breasts and a portion of her mid-section and her arms were bared save for leather bracers. Her mousey brown hair was now tied into a braid that hung over her left shoulder and her eyes were lit as though on fire. She paid Thanquil no mind as he approached; her eyes were for the Prince alone.
“That’s far enough, Arbiter,” the prince said as Thanquil entered the cleared circle, his escort dropped back into the crowd and he felt something thrown hit his leg. Looking down Thanquil saw his belt complete with sword, pistol and dagger. He quickly picked up the belt and set to fastening it around his waist.
Prince Naarsk cupped the witch’s face gently with his hand and nodded to her. The woman smiled back, said something to her daughter and turned to face Thanquil, striding forwards to meet him with her head high and her shoulders back. She carried no visible weapons but then, Thanquil supposed, she didn’t need to if she were as powerful as she claimed to be.
“He gives you one last chance to leave,” the witch said as she drew close, stopping almost within striking distance and easily within pistol range.
“I give you one last chance to submit to my judgement,” Thanquil shot back with a half grin that the witch did not return.
“He would have me kill you,” she continued as though he hadn’t spoken, “but he does not understand it would mean his own undoing. The Inquisition’s quarrel is with me and it will stay that way.
“I will beat you and I will have you thrown out and when you return with the others I will be gone. I beg you don’t tell them of my daughter, if they try to take her Naarsk will fight.” All this the witch said in a quiet voice pitched so no one but Thanquil would hear.
Thanquil had no intention of telling anyone about the witch’s daughter so long as she didn’t use her mother’s magic. “I make no promises. Was the marriage his idea?”
The witch smiled and Thanquil saw tears welling in her eyes. “He thought it might protect me.”
“A foolish plan.”
“His way of showing he cares. How many witches have you killed?”
“Somewhere between one and all of them.”
“That’s not an answer.”
Thanquil looked away. He wasn’t even sure why he was considering answering. “Thirty seven”
“And how manyinnocent people have you killed?”
“More.”
“Is that why you’re hesitating now?”
“What?”
The witch gave him a half-smile that reminded Thanquil of Jezzet and he felt his stomach twist into a knot.
“You’ve had your weapons for a while now,” she said. “You could have attacked me any time you wanted yet you hesitate. Why is that?”
As the witch spoke she turned and walked to her left and she changed. Verla Pre’lain was gone and now, standing before Thanquil, stood the image of his mother as she was when he was just a child. She wasn’t beautiful, none would ever call her that, but she had a strange matronly air that drew the eye and made him want to please her.
“That won’t work,” he said, glaring at the witch wearing his mother’s form. “My mother was a heretic too.”
“Perhaps that’s the point,” his mother said as she turned back and walked the other way. Again her form changed and this time she was old and crooked, her back stooped from years of hard use, her skin wrinkled and weather-worn, her hair as white as bone and as brittle as straw and her mouth all gums with only one remaining tooth. Now Thanquil once again looked upon the first witch he had ever hunted.
A haggard old thing she may have been but that first witch never
The witch had changed but only little. She still wore a white dress, this one cut to a length between the knee and ankle and more open to allow ease of movement and she wore heavy leather boots to protect her feet. Thanquil had to admit white truly made her more beautiful. A half-chested leather jerkin covered her breasts and a portion of her mid-section and her arms were bared save for leather bracers. Her mousey brown hair was now tied into a braid that hung over her left shoulder and her eyes were lit as though on fire. She paid Thanquil no mind as he approached; her eyes were for the Prince alone.
“That’s far enough, Arbiter,” the prince said as Thanquil entered the cleared circle, his escort dropped back into the crowd and he felt something thrown hit his leg. Looking down Thanquil saw his belt complete with sword, pistol and dagger. He quickly picked up the belt and set to fastening it around his waist.
Prince Naarsk cupped the witch’s face gently with his hand and nodded to her. The woman smiled back, said something to her daughter and turned to face Thanquil, striding forwards to meet him with her head high and her shoulders back. She carried no visible weapons but then, Thanquil supposed, she didn’t need to if she were as powerful as she claimed to be.
“He gives you one last chance to leave,” the witch said as she drew close, stopping almost within striking distance and easily within pistol range.
“I give you one last chance to submit to my judgement,” Thanquil shot back with a half grin that the witch did not return.
“He would have me kill you,” she continued as though he hadn’t spoken, “but he does not understand it would mean his own undoing. The Inquisition’s quarrel is with me and it will stay that way.
“I will beat you and I will have you thrown out and when you return with the others I will be gone. I beg you don’t tell them of my daughter, if they try to take her Naarsk will fight.” All this the witch said in a quiet voice pitched so no one but Thanquil would hear.
Thanquil had no intention of telling anyone about the witch’s daughter so long as she didn’t use her mother’s magic. “I make no promises. Was the marriage his idea?”
The witch smiled and Thanquil saw tears welling in her eyes. “He thought it might protect me.”
“A foolish plan.”
“His way of showing he cares. How many witches have you killed?”
“Somewhere between one and all of them.”
“That’s not an answer.”
Thanquil looked away. He wasn’t even sure why he was considering answering. “Thirty seven”
“And how manyinnocent people have you killed?”
“More.”
“Is that why you’re hesitating now?”
“What?”
The witch gave him a half-smile that reminded Thanquil of Jezzet and he felt his stomach twist into a knot.
“You’ve had your weapons for a while now,” she said. “You could have attacked me any time you wanted yet you hesitate. Why is that?”
As the witch spoke she turned and walked to her left and she changed. Verla Pre’lain was gone and now, standing before Thanquil, stood the image of his mother as she was when he was just a child. She wasn’t beautiful, none would ever call her that, but she had a strange matronly air that drew the eye and made him want to please her.
“That won’t work,” he said, glaring at the witch wearing his mother’s form. “My mother was a heretic too.”
“Perhaps that’s the point,” his mother said as she turned back and walked the other way. Again her form changed and this time she was old and crooked, her back stooped from years of hard use, her skin wrinkled and weather-worn, her hair as white as bone and as brittle as straw and her mouth all gums with only one remaining tooth. Now Thanquil once again looked upon the first witch he had ever hunted.
A haggard old thing she may have been but that first witch never
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