"That's because it does not exist save through my will and magic." I placed it on the table, where it skittered in small aimless circles.
The Captain tried to touch it, but it passed through his hand. "Incredible. It looks so real."
"It's nothing. Any sorcerer's apprentice could do better, but it took a master to create a phantasmal horde of goblings."
I allowed the Captain and Wyst of the West a moment to absorb the information.
"The goblings aren't real?" the Captain asked.
"That's impossible. I've seen the damage they've done myself. Their rampage hasn't been illusion. Just ask the good people they've terrorized. Look at the land they're ravaged."
Wyst frowned. His lower lip stuck out, and I wanted so very badly to run my forked tongue across it.
"How can something not real cause any damage?" said the Captain.
This would be the most difficult part, to teach these men that real and unreal, just as dead and undead, were merely a matter of degrees. Organizing my thoughts was difficult with Wyst of the West so close. Fortunately, I'd prepared in advance.
"I didn't say their rampage was imaginary. Merely that they are, in essence, no more real than this lizard I have made. Which I shall now unmake." I snapped my fingers, and the lizard vanished.
The Captain's eyes lit up. "You can unmake the horde?"
"This lizard was a weak illusion. The goblings are much stronger. So strong that even reality has been fooled into accepting them as true."
"So they are real."
"As real as a dream."
The Captain sighed. "I'm getting a headache."
"They are a dream," I explained, "but it is a dream shared by the world. And when every man, every beast, every tree, and every rock shares in the same illusion, then a dream can become reality. To a point."
"Well, if they're real enough to kill and ravage I fail to see how knowing any of this will help."
Wyst of the West agreed. "Yes, witch. You said this would be of help, didn't you?"
He looked into my eyes, and I didn't turn away this time. I had to smile, but I hoped it came across as vague and mysterious rather than beguiled by his dark eyes.
"Yes, the magic of the horde is potent, but there is a flaw. Even a shared dream is still just a dream. And dreams, like any illusion, can be dispelled by strong enough doubt and, in this case, a little magic. I can place just a drop of enchantment on your men's weapons. Enough that the slightest cut will unmake the dream."
Again, the Captain's eyes lit up, but he was ready to be disappointed this time. "But?"
"The men must know in their hearts, without any doubt, that what they find is but an army of phantoms to call upon the magic."
"An army of phantoms that are nonetheless real enough to devour them alive," the Captain said.
"There will be men. Those lacking enough imagination to even truly believe a shared dream. Others with too much that they suspect the whole world just a dream. Such men, properly armed, will be the horde's undoing. If there are enough of them."
"And exactly how many will be enough?" the Captain dared ask.
"More than you will have," I replied honestly, "but as the goblings are as close to real as phantoms can be, they can also be fought and killed without magic. Those few capable of unbelieving the horde will simply be more efficient. If you're fortunate, the unbelievers shall be enough to turn the tide."
"You don't sound very confident."
I could make no promises, and I let the men know it with a somber face. The Captain was not as enlightened as I'd hoped, but now was a good time to make a traditional witchly exit without saying another word, leaving my audience both a little wiser and a little more befuddled.
Wyst of the West stood between me and the door. He stepped aside as I passed close. I thought him repulsed by my mask of ugliness, but he kept looking me in the eye. Repelled people never did that. Then again, rarely did I look in someone's eyes, but I couldn't stop myself. Sunrise had been right. Those eyes, those ears, those shoulders, that dark, delicious flesh, and that pure, brave soul. Those were my reasons for being here.
Those reasons nearly spoiled my departure, but I found the will to turn from that pleasing face. I walked out the door, very proud of myself for making it with my witchly dignity intact. I paused outside to gasp and shudder free of the tingles left within me.
Only then did I realize I'd forgotten my limp and my hunch. Such mistakes were unforgivable, but they paled beside the absence of my familiar and my broom. They were supposed to follow me out of the office. Now I faced a dilemma. Either go back and retrieve them, thus destroying whatever shreds remained of my dramatic exit, or return to my tent without them. The door opened while I debated. Newt walked out. Penelope floated behind him.
"Sorry," he said. "I was so busy holding down my dinner, I didn't notice you leave."
Penelope jiggled an apology of her own. The Captain's dusty floors were certainly a terrible distraction for the poor dear. It was her broomly nature.
I forgave them. I'd suffered my own diversions in Wyst's presence. Penelope drifted into my hand, and Newt took his place at my side. I hunched deeper and dragged my leg as if raising it off the ground would cause it to snap off.
I made it only eight sluggish steps before the White Knight's voice called to me. "Hold, witch."
A desire to run seized me. I didn't know which direction. Away seemed wrong. Toward him seemed wrong too.
"Yes?" My voice crackled from a dry throat, very witchly and entirely unintentional. I kept my back to him.
"I just wanted to thank you." I thought I sensed a nervous tone in his words, but I was no master of human behavior.
I turned my head enough to glimpse his fuzzy silhouette from the corner of my eye.
He cleared his throat. "These people are fortunate to have you."
I offered no reply
"You've given them a chance."
"They always had a chance," I said. "My contribution merely lessens the likelihood of a massacre. Victory shall be hard won still. Men will die, and they will likely die in vain."
His tone became somber. "Yes. I know."
Witches don't look at death itself as good or evil. Like any force of nature, it could be neither and both. But these people were under my charge, and I had no desire to see them throw away their lives as dinner for a horde of phantoms.
Wyst of the West said nothing. He turned and walked away. I did the same, allowing myself some small pride for maintaining a witchly demeanor.
Newt chuckled. He wanted me to ask what he found so amusing, but I wasn't interested. This didn't deter him. He chortled and snickered all the way back to the tent, and when I didn't ask why, he finally offered his opinion without solicitation.
"You should just bed and devour him and get it over with. It's going to happen sooner or later. Putting it off is just diverting your attention."
I didn't want to get into this argument. It wasn't that I dismissed his opinion. It was just something I didn't want to hear.
"It's more than infatuation," he continued. "I'm not saying normal impulses aren't involved, but I think there's more to it. Fish swim. Tigers hunt. Goblings eat. You seduce. It's your nature. It's what you're designed for."
I stared ahead and offered no comment.
"I would imagine you're very good at it. Carnal relations, I mean. And this White Knight can't have much experience. Your passion alone would probably kill him. Then you could devour him, and we'd all be spared those embarrassing scenes in the future. Not to mention your grumbling stomach."
It was true my stomach did grumble ever so slightly in Wyst of the West's presence. I'd hoped none had noticed. I hurried to my tent to get something to eat as quickly as my false limp allowed.
Newt kept his bill shut for the rest of the evening. He merely sat in the corner and chuckled in a galling manner. I would've scolded him, but I was too busy sating my appetite. I devoured three rabbits and two pheasants whole. Fur, feathers, bones, organs, everything. I ate until I could eat no more, until I felt as if another bite would surely split my belly open. Yet my hunger remained, and all the pheasants and rabbit flesh in this world would never satisfy my appetite. Only Wyst of the West could do that.