Page 67 of Witchlight
He reached down and removed an acorn from the fringe of forest where the raiders had just attacked—and then retreated. All the forces on the map were denoted by acorns or walnuts. “I want a patrol sent out,” Meriksaid, directing this at Loulou. “Tell them to comb the other part of the forest for the Threadwitch and the monk with her. I know not everyone is willing to go in there, but—”
“I’ll do it.” Ulga blurted this with far too much eagerness.
Merik studied her. Then Birdy, who less enthusiastically muttered, “Yeah, me too.”
They were neither of them great fighters or trackers, but they’d proven themselves loyal as any sailor, soldier, or guard that Merik had ever commanded. And loyalty was something he’d learned by now never to waste. “Hye,” he said slowly. “I will let you go, but not alone. Bring anyone willing to search with you. If you find them, bring them here. If you don’t find them, search for signs of why.”
“And me?” Sky asked, glancing sideways at Loulou—who seemed to have forgotten (again) that she existed.
“Rest up, Sky,” Merik answered. “You’re coming with me into the city.”
THIRTY-TWO
It was a Firewitch who came into Ragnor’s tent, and her Threads were like Owl’s, like Leopold’s, like the ancient creatures of the Witchlands who did not simplypossesselemental powers but were created from them.
A Paladin,Iseult recognized, and this one held a quiet, imposing power with her dark skin and gray hair pulled into a loose bun. With her salt-roughened red coat that somehow made her look more commanding because of its worn edges and occasional rips.
She gave Iseult a smile that wasn’t unkind so much as amused, her Threads shivering with subtle laughter. Like this whole thing was a joke, and she couldn’t wait for the punchline. She also carried a bowl of steaming stew, and if she minded the drudgery of the task, she showed no sign. She simply set the bowl on a lone desk beside a lone cot, then left again with a sailor’s rolling stride.
It was only as the Paladin slipped through the tent flap and torches outside flickered light across her hands, that Iseult noticed something on her thumb: a jade ring.
Suddenly, Iseult knew exactly who this woman was.Admiral Kahina, leader of the Red Sails.She had controlled the fates of Safi and many Hell-Bards in Saldonica, and she only let them safely escape the Pirate Republic once Safi had agreed to a deal.
Anything I want, I will one day collect from you.
Safi had a scar around her thumb to mark that bargain.
How such a woman had come to have a ring or lead the Red Sails, Iseult couldn’t possibly guess. But she also knew better than to underestimate anyone with a witchery as powerful as a Paladin’s.
“You may have my tent for a time,” Ragnor said once Iseult returned her attention to him. “I have work in the city that will take many hours. You should rest, if you can. The linens”—he waved to his cot—“are fresh, if you wish to sleep.” He moved to pass Iseult, his Threads alighting with new focus for whatever task lay ahead.
And in the brief span of two seconds, Iseult had enough time, enough nearness, to kill him. She could reach for the sword at his hip and stab him.
Instead, she faltered. Instead, she failed and only said: “W-wait.”
Ragnor paused, ten paces away. Iseult could still make a move, if she was quick. If she was quiet.
Still, she did not. “It isn’t plague,” she told him.
The Raider King frowned.
“You’ve sent raiders out to kill people with black lines on their body—but it’s n-not plague. They’re cleaving.”
The Raider King blinked a slow acknowledgment, a gesture Iseult had seen Aeduan make countless times. “Yes,” Ragnor replied, the word carefully uttered in Nomatsi. Then: “That is what the plague always was, Iseult det Midenzi. This city has been poisoned for as long as the Well has been dead.”
Iseult’s posture wavered. “But then, if the plague is caused by dead Wells—why do you want tocleaveall the Wells? That will only spread the poison farther.”
“Will it, though?” Ragnor’s question was not harsh, so much as impatient. “There is much for us to discuss and share, but I cannot do so now. I promise, however, that all your questions will be answered—and I think you will then see that we are not enemies in this fight. We are simply tools who refuse to be discarded.” With those words, he finished his march from the tent.
The flap swung shut, sealing out winter and Threads and the noises of life beyond. Iseult’s body felt separated from her mind. Her Threads, if she could have seen them, felt as if they were somewhere three feet to the right. She had already faltered; she had already lost.Why didn’t you kill him? Aeduan will die. Safi will die.
“S-stasis,” she gnashed out, prying so tightly at the heretic’s collar her nails dug into wood. Cold, smooth, imprisoning. “You know why you are here. You know what you must do.” The Raider King and his Firewitch Paladin were moving beyond her magical range, but four people stood guard outside the tent. Another fifteen people patrolled just beyond, each with the disciplined, united Threads of soldiers bound in duty.
Why didn’t you kill him? Why did you falter?
She forced her hands to release the collar and her arms to return to her sides. Then with feet she barely felt on the amber rug, she made herself spin and examine the tent.
The cot had linens and a wool blanket fine enough to have come fromthe imperial hunting lodge. A brazier coughed meager smoke toward a gap in the tent’s ceiling. No wind stole the smoke, only the natural force of warm air grasping for cool.
