water
toward the old fortress walls. They hit like the surf on the beach,
crashing into stone and old mortar already riddled with tiny
fissures from years of neglect. The fissures became cracks, the
cracks became gaps, and still the waves came. Until the earth
shifted beneath the foundations and the stones slipped loose from
each other and the walls crumbled away.
There were shouts and curses from the guards
who fell with the walls, and from the bewildered mages who suddenly
found themselves at the center of a pile of spread-out rubble. But
the witches were eerily silent, turning as one to look up at the
tower for a long, drawn out moment. And then they gave an ancient
battle cry that raised the hair on Gillian’s arms.
And charged as one.
* * *
“Nope, nothing.” The distant, muffled voice
came from somewhere above him, right before something was slammed
down through the dirt, barely missing his head.
Kit swiveled his eyes to the side to stare at
it. It was wood, as thick around as his wrist and pointed slightly
at one end. A fine specimen of a stake, he thought, with blank
terror.
“Are you sure you saw him over here?”
That was the witch. Gillian. He tensed at her
voice, trying to force something, anything past his lips. He wasn’t
sure if he succeeded, but the stake was removed.
“Aye, although I don’t know why ye care,” the
other voice said. “He’s a vampire. He’ll just feed off ye
again.”
“He didn’t feed off me the first time,” the
witch said. “I told you, he was helping me.”
“Strange kind ‘o help that leaves ye pale and
sweating,” the other voice grumbled, right before the stake was
slammed down again--between his legs.
His alarmed grunt must have been audible that
time, because the witch’s voice came again, closer this time.
“Don’t move, Winnie.”
Kit lay there, his heart hammering in his
chest in rapid beats that his kind weren’t supposed to have. But
then, they weren’t supposed to panic, either. And that was clearly
a bunch of—
“Found him!” The witch’s excited voice came
from just above him, and there was a sudden lessening of the weight
of the earth pressing down on his limp body.
It took ten minutes for them to haul him out,
either because the witches had expended their magic destroying the
jailers, or because no one cared to use any on a vampire. Certainly
the sour-faced dwarf who finally uncovered his head looked like
she’d much rather just heap the dirt back where they’d found it,
possibly after using her massive stake one more time. But the witch
got hands under his arms and pulled him out of the hole in a series
of sharp tugs.
She laid him on the ground and bent over him,
her unbound hair falling onto his filthy face. “Are you all right?”
she asked distinctly.
Kit tried to answer, but only succeeded in
causing his tongue to loll out of his mouth. He tasted dirt. She
pushed it back in, looking worried.
“What’s wrong with him?” she asked the dwarf,
who was suddenly looking more cheerful.
“One too many stun spells, looks like to me,”
she said cheerfully. “And he didn’t get out ‘o the way fast enough
when the tower came down.” She poked at him with her toe. “Be out
of it for a while, he will.”
She moved away, probably off to terrorize
someone else, and the witch knelt by his side. “We can’t stay,” she
told him, trying to brush a little of the caked dirt off him. “The
Circle probably knows about this already, or if they don’t, they
soon will. We have to go while we still have a head start.”
Kit coughed up a clod of dirt from lungs that
felt bone dry. He strongly suspected that he’d swallowed a good
deal of it, too, but mercifully, the witch had found his flask and
filled it with water. He gulped it gratefully, despite the
unpleasant sensation of mud churning in his stomach.
It managed to rinse enough soil loose from
his vocal chords for a dry whisper. “You…came back,” he
croaked.
She
toward the old fortress walls. They hit like the surf on the beach,
crashing into stone and old mortar already riddled with tiny
fissures from years of neglect. The fissures became cracks, the
cracks became gaps, and still the waves came. Until the earth
shifted beneath the foundations and the stones slipped loose from
each other and the walls crumbled away.
There were shouts and curses from the guards
who fell with the walls, and from the bewildered mages who suddenly
found themselves at the center of a pile of spread-out rubble. But
the witches were eerily silent, turning as one to look up at the
tower for a long, drawn out moment. And then they gave an ancient
battle cry that raised the hair on Gillian’s arms.
And charged as one.
* * *
“Nope, nothing.” The distant, muffled voice
came from somewhere above him, right before something was slammed
down through the dirt, barely missing his head.
Kit swiveled his eyes to the side to stare at
it. It was wood, as thick around as his wrist and pointed slightly
at one end. A fine specimen of a stake, he thought, with blank
terror.
“Are you sure you saw him over here?”
That was the witch. Gillian. He tensed at her
voice, trying to force something, anything past his lips. He wasn’t
sure if he succeeded, but the stake was removed.
“Aye, although I don’t know why ye care,” the
other voice said. “He’s a vampire. He’ll just feed off ye
again.”
“He didn’t feed off me the first time,” the
witch said. “I told you, he was helping me.”
“Strange kind ‘o help that leaves ye pale and
sweating,” the other voice grumbled, right before the stake was
slammed down again--between his legs.
His alarmed grunt must have been audible that
time, because the witch’s voice came again, closer this time.
“Don’t move, Winnie.”
Kit lay there, his heart hammering in his
chest in rapid beats that his kind weren’t supposed to have. But
then, they weren’t supposed to panic, either. And that was clearly
a bunch of—
“Found him!” The witch’s excited voice came
from just above him, and there was a sudden lessening of the weight
of the earth pressing down on his limp body.
It took ten minutes for them to haul him out,
either because the witches had expended their magic destroying the
jailers, or because no one cared to use any on a vampire. Certainly
the sour-faced dwarf who finally uncovered his head looked like
she’d much rather just heap the dirt back where they’d found it,
possibly after using her massive stake one more time. But the witch
got hands under his arms and pulled him out of the hole in a series
of sharp tugs.
She laid him on the ground and bent over him,
her unbound hair falling onto his filthy face. “Are you all right?”
she asked distinctly.
Kit tried to answer, but only succeeded in
causing his tongue to loll out of his mouth. He tasted dirt. She
pushed it back in, looking worried.
“What’s wrong with him?” she asked the dwarf,
who was suddenly looking more cheerful.
“One too many stun spells, looks like to me,”
she said cheerfully. “And he didn’t get out ‘o the way fast enough
when the tower came down.” She poked at him with her toe. “Be out
of it for a while, he will.”
She moved away, probably off to terrorize
someone else, and the witch knelt by his side. “We can’t stay,” she
told him, trying to brush a little of the caked dirt off him. “The
Circle probably knows about this already, or if they don’t, they
soon will. We have to go while we still have a head start.”
Kit coughed up a clod of dirt from lungs that
felt bone dry. He strongly suspected that he’d swallowed a good
deal of it, too, but mercifully, the witch had found his flask and
filled it with water. He gulped it gratefully, despite the
unpleasant sensation of mud churning in his stomach.
It managed to rinse enough soil loose from
his vocal chords for a dry whisper. “You…came back,” he
croaked.
She
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