ancient caduceus, wound across her wrists and towards her fingertips.
‘Shall I accompany you?’ A young woman stepped out of the shadows, leading two horses. As she spoke onehorse pushed forward, nuzzling Kreshkali’s shoulder. The woman laughed softly, holding the mare back.
‘Stay here, Jaynan. You’ll have your hands full minding these two, especially if things get…lively.’ Kreshkali stroked the mare’s neck, flipping stray lengths of black mane over her crest. ‘I won’t be long.’
‘There are at least five of them,’ Jaynan said, pointing at the bootprints.
‘At least.’ Kreshkali smiled. She rolled up her sleeves, removing silver bangles from her wrists and tucking them into her saddlebag.
Jaynan leaned forward to kiss Kali’s cheek. ‘Be safe, my love.’ She handed her a long staff of polished wood inlaid with copper runes.
Kreshkali flipped her hood up and headed towards the tavern. The horses nickered after her as clouds obscured the moon, sending a blanket of darkness over the deserted street.
Archer laughed. The tavern smelled of rancid meat, sweat and sour ale. He called for beer and found a table near the back of the large room. A fire hissed, the blazing logs warming the filthy rushes and soot-covered walls. The tabletop was crusted with food, ash and spilled wine. Deep gouges, from sword and axe, rent the surface. Archer leaned back in his chair, taking it in.
Several other men were seated by the entrance. All were hooded and hunched as if in hiding, except for the barman. His chest swelled under a dirty white singlet, the hair on his back and shoulders sticking up like boar bristles.
Archer filled his pipe and took a deep drag. Before he exhaled, he froze.
In the chair beside him appeared a hooded figure.
Archer felt his heart pound. A magician’s trick, he said to himself. Nothing to worry about.
‘Where’s the amulet?’ the figure asked.
Beneath the table Archer fingered his dagger, sliding it from its sheath.
‘Where’s me gold?’ he countered.
The woman lifted a coin purse from her cloak and placed it on the table.
He nodded, setting an azure-crystal vial on the table. ‘It’s a trade,’ he said.
Idiot! He had her now. He planned to cut her, take the gold, keeping the prize for himself. Rogg had said it’d be too risky, his brow beading with sweat when they’d bickered over it. Archer stood firm. Witch or not, she was only a woman, and he could handle any woman.
I might even have some fun with her before she dies, or after.
She turned to him. ‘Really?’
He spat. Demon psychic. He hadn’t counted on that.
She let her hood slide back, revealing electric blue eyes and a shock of spiky blonde hair.
‘And what’s that?’ she whispered, her face close to his. She put the vial in her pocket, tilting her head towards the keg.
‘We ran into some trouble, but we got his blood.’
‘You what? ’ Kreshkali shrieked, her eyes boring into him.
‘You said you wanted the blood of the witch-child.’
‘I said I wanted to protect the blood of the witch-child.’
Archer swallowed the bile in his throat. It seemed he’d guessed wrong. No matter… He sprang, blade slicing towards her neck. Rogg leapt for the gold.
With her left hand, the witch caught Archer’s wrist, snapping the bones. His blade clattered to the floor. With her right, she pointed the staff at Rogg, immobilising him where he stood. His fingers stoppedinches from the coin purse, his thick tongue sticking out of his mouth as though he’d been strangled.
The other men jumped, one leaping towards her, the rest running away.
She raised her staff again, dropping them all to their knees, her voice screeching through the tavern.
Horses trumpeted outside.
Archer stared at her, mute. His limbs were paralysed, blood flowing freely from where the bones protruded. He watched it pool across the table, filling the grooves like tributaries dripping to the floor.
His vision blurred as she leaned
‘Shall I accompany you?’ A young woman stepped out of the shadows, leading two horses. As she spoke onehorse pushed forward, nuzzling Kreshkali’s shoulder. The woman laughed softly, holding the mare back.
‘Stay here, Jaynan. You’ll have your hands full minding these two, especially if things get…lively.’ Kreshkali stroked the mare’s neck, flipping stray lengths of black mane over her crest. ‘I won’t be long.’
‘There are at least five of them,’ Jaynan said, pointing at the bootprints.
‘At least.’ Kreshkali smiled. She rolled up her sleeves, removing silver bangles from her wrists and tucking them into her saddlebag.
Jaynan leaned forward to kiss Kali’s cheek. ‘Be safe, my love.’ She handed her a long staff of polished wood inlaid with copper runes.
Kreshkali flipped her hood up and headed towards the tavern. The horses nickered after her as clouds obscured the moon, sending a blanket of darkness over the deserted street.
Archer laughed. The tavern smelled of rancid meat, sweat and sour ale. He called for beer and found a table near the back of the large room. A fire hissed, the blazing logs warming the filthy rushes and soot-covered walls. The tabletop was crusted with food, ash and spilled wine. Deep gouges, from sword and axe, rent the surface. Archer leaned back in his chair, taking it in.
Several other men were seated by the entrance. All were hooded and hunched as if in hiding, except for the barman. His chest swelled under a dirty white singlet, the hair on his back and shoulders sticking up like boar bristles.
Archer filled his pipe and took a deep drag. Before he exhaled, he froze.
In the chair beside him appeared a hooded figure.
Archer felt his heart pound. A magician’s trick, he said to himself. Nothing to worry about.
‘Where’s the amulet?’ the figure asked.
Beneath the table Archer fingered his dagger, sliding it from its sheath.
‘Where’s me gold?’ he countered.
The woman lifted a coin purse from her cloak and placed it on the table.
He nodded, setting an azure-crystal vial on the table. ‘It’s a trade,’ he said.
Idiot! He had her now. He planned to cut her, take the gold, keeping the prize for himself. Rogg had said it’d be too risky, his brow beading with sweat when they’d bickered over it. Archer stood firm. Witch or not, she was only a woman, and he could handle any woman.
I might even have some fun with her before she dies, or after.
She turned to him. ‘Really?’
He spat. Demon psychic. He hadn’t counted on that.
She let her hood slide back, revealing electric blue eyes and a shock of spiky blonde hair.
‘And what’s that?’ she whispered, her face close to his. She put the vial in her pocket, tilting her head towards the keg.
‘We ran into some trouble, but we got his blood.’
‘You what? ’ Kreshkali shrieked, her eyes boring into him.
‘You said you wanted the blood of the witch-child.’
‘I said I wanted to protect the blood of the witch-child.’
Archer swallowed the bile in his throat. It seemed he’d guessed wrong. No matter… He sprang, blade slicing towards her neck. Rogg leapt for the gold.
With her left hand, the witch caught Archer’s wrist, snapping the bones. His blade clattered to the floor. With her right, she pointed the staff at Rogg, immobilising him where he stood. His fingers stoppedinches from the coin purse, his thick tongue sticking out of his mouth as though he’d been strangled.
The other men jumped, one leaping towards her, the rest running away.
She raised her staff again, dropping them all to their knees, her voice screeching through the tavern.
Horses trumpeted outside.
Archer stared at her, mute. His limbs were paralysed, blood flowing freely from where the bones protruded. He watched it pool across the table, filling the grooves like tributaries dripping to the floor.
His vision blurred as she leaned
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