Page 8 of The Wand of Lore

He rode back into the village to find a stable for his horse, the noble Sir Henry, and was pointed to The Fallen Tree Inn for his night’s lodging. Once he saw the building, he wondered whether calling it an “inn” might not be an overstatement, given how small it was. It seemed unlikely to be able to accommodate more than one or two passers-by, though he supposed that wasmore than enough for the few visitors this sleepy village was likely to encounter. Like much of the village, the inn was made of stone and had vines crawling up the sides. The windows on the bottom floor were arches, in contrast with the second floor which was lined with rectangular windows, and the roof was thatched. A blue and white awning hung over the entrance, and when Vaylor walked under it, his head grazed it and a pool of cold water splashed through a rip and down the back of his neck.

He was still grumbling as he entered and approached a woman sitting behind the counter.

“A room for you, sir?”

“Yes, for the week, if the place lasts that long.” Given his intent to write to his father with the change of plans, he could leave now or even first thing in the morning and head to the next village to demand their tax payments or arrest some other unsuspecting peasant. The crown was always pleased when he sent local riff-raff to the stocks and pillories, but he wasn’t quite ready to say goodbye to Gwenneth yet. A week should be long enough to get word to his father that the crown’s assessment was incorrect and the witch was not to blame for the Devil’s Plague, and in the meantime, he could keep an eye on the witches, just in case. Perhaps he might even have to visit them again.

“You must be Marvin. You have a visitor who has been awaiting you.” The innkeeper was a tall, thin woman, with narrow cheekbones and fluffy eyebrows, and she gestured to a corner of the dim room. Vaylor didn’t see anyone at first, just shadows. But the shadows shifted, and a thin-lipped man emerged. His face had an unnatural array of sharp edges, and a tidy tuft of beard hung from his chin, cut at hard angles so that it looked almost artificial. An equally angular mustache adorned his upper lip, all visible even under the cloak the man wore over his head.

“Greyson,” Vaylor muttered, then went to meet him in the corner furthest from the prying eyes of the innkeeper. Greyson was King Eger’s advisor who used to beat young Vaylor for supposed transgressions. It was Greyson who ensured that Vaylor didn’t talk too loudly, or track dirt through the castle, or offend his father in any way. Greyson was the advisor charged with ensuring that Vaylor never forgot his original sin of killing his mother. He was like a nanny, but without cheer or love or affection.

“Have you achieved your mission?” Greyson asked in a low growl.

“I only just arrived,” Vaylor responded, pulling back just slightly. Even as an adult, he still shrank from this man who had so terrorized him as a child.

“How long does it take to arrest a witch? Even the goblins don’t spend so much time executing orders, and they’re about the dumbest creatures alive.”

“You’re here bearing the actual signet of the king and could do the job with more authority than I have if you weren’t busy skulking in the shadows. Anyway, I’ve met the witch, and I don’t think she is responsible for the Devil’s Plague. It’s someone or something else.”

“Boy, you think your decisions can overrule those of King Eger? Should I tell your father you’re no better than a usurper, intent on taking the kingdom from him? Just like you took everything else?”

“That’s enough, Greyson. I’m here to do my job, and I’ll do it well.”

“Just in case you harbor any doubts, your father sent you this scroll.”

Vaylor took the rolled-up parchment from Greyson and opened it slowly, in no rush to read the contents.

Vaylor,

There are reports that the Devil’s Plague is beginning to spread beyond the village. I do not expect much of you, and you will likely prove less valuable than the stable dung stenching our castle grounds. At least the dung fertilizes the gardens. What do you do? I ordered the stable master to eliminate the odor or forfeit his life as I do not tolerate stable dung.

Arrest the witch, and bring her alive here to the castle. If you stop this plague, remember, I will reconsider your place in the family. Prove you have some worth to us and repay the debt of your birth, and I will welcome you home as a son and a prince.

Fail, and don’t bother coming home. Your title of Prince remains revoked until you complete your task. I want that witch alive. Any failure to obey and you will face the same end as all who betray their country and king.

Greyson will stay in Loews Hollow to keep an eye on you.

King Eger the Great, Ruler of Innsbrook

Vaylor rerolled the letter, walked over to the fireplace, and tossed it in the flames.

Greyson leered at him. “Shall I report back on your insolent disregard for your father’s message?”

“You can tell my father the witch is as good as arrested, and as for you, stay away from me,” said Vaylor, a dark expression on his face. He stormed to the desk without a word to the startled innkeeper, grabbed the key sitting atop the counter, and headed up a stairwell in the back to find his room. He didn’t look behind him, but he imagined Greyson sitting unmoving, a dark smile stuck on his face like a taxidermied beast.

He would make a public announcement tomorrow in the village square that Gwenneth was guilty beyond any reasonabledoubt and he had no choice but to arrest her. But, curses, under what authority? His father’s refusal to allow him to use the title of Prince, or even identify himself as speaking with the authority of the crown, was counterproductive and petty. Even so, this witch must be particularly important to him if he was willing to reinstate Vaylor’s birthright in exchange for her. He would have to rally the village, convince everyone that she was a menace to society and most certainly responsible for the plague, and offer to arrest her and take her to the castle for punishment. For the good of the people, of course. Then his father would get off his back, and maybe he could live a peaceful life, without his father’s constant berating, and without the trivial tasks he was forced to perform to earn his bread, as if he were some common beast.

As for the witch? She would suffer a terrible fate. The king’s witches were held in captivity, restrained, used for their power, and then discarded when they had nothing left. Luckily for Vaylor, this was a closely guarded secret, or the villagers might be less inclined to surrender Gwenneth. Then again, desperate villagers made excellent mob participants, and witches made even better scapegoats. Regardless, it was a stroke of luck that the king kept his witches secret from the kingdom so only inhabitants of Gorenth Castle and a few in the surrounding city of Gorenth knew their dark fates. It would make it easier to convince the village folk that they would find relief from the Devil’s Plague, and fair and measured justice from the king, by relinquishing their witch. Vaylor shrugged aside the nagging memory of Gwenneth’s body resting against his, and how strong he felt cradling her slender figure. There could be no distraction when his own redemption was so close at hand. The king wanted witches to do his work, and Vaylor was but his humble servant.

Chapter Nine: Gwenneth

Gwenneth started walking along the southern road with her pack slung over her back. She was already late; the sun was cresting overhead, and she had a way to go before she reached the next town of Aldersbridge where she hoped to find an inn where she could rest for the night. She had never been so far before, but many others had regularly ventured there for market day. The sisters had long dreamed of taking their wares to Aldersbridge, but Gwenneth always backed out in fear.

“We can’t risk it. It’s much bigger than our Loews Hollow, and nobody will know us. One superstitious cretin and we’re dead,” she had told her sister.

“We can’t stay locked up here forever. And besides, people in Loews Hollow don’t have extra coin for the potions that make them smell pretty or the little trinkets you’re so good at enchanting. We have to go. Don’t you want to see the world?” her sister would respond.

“We’ll see the world when you’re older. I’ll not risk your life after Mom left me in charge of you. She trusted me.” And that was that. The sisters never left Loews Hollow.

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