“It felt as if obeying her commands was the very definition of morality,” he said. “How could we all be deceived so easily?”
“Deception is often at the heart of dark magic,” Magda said. “Contrary to commonly held belief, evil does not wish to destroy so much as it wishes to corrupt good, to turn those who hold life and liberty sacred against those very beliefs. Lies are their stock in trade, and dark magic can turn a simple lie into something else entirely.”
A crowd was starting to gather, some holding a variety of garden tools, but a few armed with swords. One man wearing a badge of office and carrying a stout staff pushed through the onlookers.
“What is the meaning of this?”
“Captain, gather your men and your horses,” Abigail said. Then she turned to the approaching constable. “I’m sorry for the disturbance. We’ll be on our way shortly.”
“You’ll answer my question or you’ll not be going anywhere.”
Abigail nodded to herself, reining in her desire to speak her mind, stepping in close to the constable. “My name is Abigail Ruatha and I’m in pursuit of a half-demon witch that has abducted Prince Torin,” she said quietly enough that only he could hear her.
He seemed incredulous until he noticed the Thinblade on her belt and then his face went pale and he stepped aside, nodding slowly.
“Captain, bring me Torin’s horse,” Abigail said, turning back to the Fellenden royal guard. “Take the rest of your men north along this road. When you overtake the two Sky Knights walking an injured wyvern back to the city, you will stop and offer them your assistance. Then you will accompany them, taking your orders from either of them. Is that understood?”
“Prince Torin is our charge; we’ll not abandon him.”
“And how well have you protected him so far?” Abigail asked, her temper slipping. “You can do no good against this witch … she’ll just charm you again and set you against everything you hold dear. Leave her to us and do as you’re told.”
The captain clenched his jaw but nodded while one of his men brought Torin’s horse forward, handing the reins to Abigail.
“Good man,” Abigail said, mounting the horse and offering Magda a hand up behind her. The crowd parted as she spurred the animal into a gallop. Once they reached the open range south of the village, Magda cast a simple spell that was answered by a roar in the distance.
“I’ll look from the air while you search for any sign on the ground,” she said, dismounting. “If you see anything, send up a whistler. I won’t be far.”
“Good hunting,” Abigail said, spurring her horse toward the thin forest running between the road and the foothills of a mountain range a league to the east.
The ground cover beneath the fir boughs was sparse and the few shrubs she saw were devoid of leaves. Under the shade, the air was cold but still and moist with the morning dew. Abigail guided her horse cautiously, searching for any sign of passage but finding none. The swath of forest was miles wide and crisscrossed with animal trails and a few hunting paths, none bearing any sign of recent traffic. As the morning wore on, she became convinced that finding them within the woods was nearly impossible given the sheer size of the area to be searched. On top of that, she had no idea how far the witch had carried Torin in her flight from the village, nor what other capabilities her enemy might possess.
Reluctantly, she guided her horse out of the forest and back to the road. She had just cleared the tree line when she heard Taharial roar in the distance. She spurred her horse into a gallop, racing south toward Magda, slowing when she crested a gentle rise.
Then she saw the enemy. The witch was standing in the open, atop a small hill beside the road. A goat was hogtied on the ground in front of her, and she was chanting while holding a dagger over the helpless animal. Torin stood behind her, seemingly oblivious to the events swirling around him.
Abigail surged forward, leaning into her horse’s neck and trying to coax more speed from him even as his strength waned. Magda released a bubble of liquid fire the size of a man’s head toward the witch, but the Sin’Rath ignored it, continuing to chant the words of her spell as the fire burst against a half-sphere shield covering the entire hilltop where she and Torin stood, dripping orange flames to the ground in a circle surrounding them.
Magda banked sharply, wheeling for another attack run when Peti shouted the final word of her spell and plunged her dagger into the goat, its bleating scream carrying on the wind until it exhausted its final breath. Moments later, sooty black streamers began seeping up from the ground, rising up over Peti’s head and coalescing into a whirling cloud of darkness. With a menacing cackle, she pointed at Magda, and the darkness shot forth with terrifying speed, lifting toward Taharial, striking the wyvern full in the chest and soaking into the beast like water into a sponge.
Abigail watched helplessly as Magda’s steed turned jet black, freezing solid as if he’d been turned to stone. A moment later, Taharial shrank out of sight, leaving Magda strapped to her plummeting saddle.
Unable to help her friend and mentor, Abigail turned her attention to the Sin’Rath, sending an arrow at her while still on the run, knowing full well that it wouldn’t penetrate the shield, but trying nonetheless. After her arrow shattered against the magical barrier, Abigail slung her bow and drew the Thinblade.
Magda pulled her release cord, the locking bolts popping free, allowing the saddle to fall away from her while she cast her featherlite spell and landed gently. Moments after reaching the ground, she unleashed a light-lance that was brighter than any Abigail had ever seen. The shield protecting Peti faltered, flickering out of existence a moment later.
Then Peti cast another spell. Abigail saw no visible effect until the ground around Magda started growing into a patch of barbed tangleweeds that wrapped around her, immobilizing her within seconds.
Abigail drew closer but the witch just cackled, beginning to cast yet another spell. Abigail was only a few dozen feet away when her horse stopped charging and started bucking, dancing and trying to throw her. She leapt clear in a desperate effort to control her fall but still hit hard, dropping the Thinblade and tumbling to the ground.
Shaking her head, she struggled to recover, unslinging her bow and nocking an arrow, but Torin was riding behind Peti, blocking her shot. She heard the witch laughing as they rode south. Still entangled, Magda loosed a spell at the Prince of Fellenden, a small sphere of translucent yellow light striking him squarely in the back but seeming to have no effect.
After retrieving the Thinblade, Abigail cut Magda free of the tangleweeds, each stalk turning to black smoke as it was severed. Magda was bleeding from a dozen places, but her eyes showed only rage.
“I’m going to kill that witch if it’s the last thing I do,” she said, stepping free of the thorny growth, “and then I’m going to find her sisters and rid the world of their taint once and for all.”
“I’m sorry about Taharial,” Abigail said.
“I don’t think he’s dead, but I can’t be sure.”
“I don’t understand.”
“The witch used a transformation spell,” she said, looking about and walking quickly to a small object on the road. She picked it up with a humorless smile. It was a perfect replica of a wyvern, cast in black metal. “If I can figure out how to reverse the spell, I think I can bring him back. Unfortunately, that will take some time and research to accomplish.”
“At least he’s not dead.”
“No, but he won’t be helping us for a while,” Magda said, wiping blood from one of the scratches on her arm.
“You take care of your injuries while I get our packs from your saddle,” Abigail said. “My horse was exhausted before they stole it, so they won’t get too far before they have to start walking. If we hurry, we might be able to catch up with them, provided they don’t vanish into the forest again.”