Arthur Daigle's Blog - Posts Tagged "witch"

This is part one of the Dana Illwind and Sorcerer lord Jayden story Pseudonym:

Over many months Dana had come to admire Sorcerer Lord Jayden. His courage, his wisdom, his dedication to his few friends, all these and more had earned her respect. Jayden had also proved his skill in battle against monsters and men, the distinction between the two not always clear. At this moment, however, she was most focused on his weight.

“Careful,” Maya said as she helped Dana carry Jayden down the cobblestone road. The two of them held the sorcerer lord between them, an already difficult task made worse by Jayden’s wounds. His right arm was broken and he had several broken ribs. He was barely conscious, but even the slightest touch on his wounds made Jayden wince and cry out in pain.

Kaleoth frontier soldiers ran by in their gray and green uniforms. They were heading to the destroyed bridge over Race Horse River where a far larger army had tried and failed to invade Kaleoth not an hour ago. Jayden and Dana had destroyed the bridge, but their victory had come at a terrible cost. Dana and Maya had carried him to the nearby city of River Twin, but Jayden’s wounds were so bad he’d never recover from them.

“We need help!” Dana shouted. “My friend is hurt! He needs a healer!”

Most soldiers ran by, but a spearman stopped to look at Jayden. He frowned and shook his head. “I’ve seen men injured this badly before. I’m sorry, your friend won’t last the night.”

“Don’t say that!” Dana screamed. “You must have doctors for so many soldiers.”

“None who can treat such wounds,” the spearman replied. “You’d need a holy man’s help, and the nearest one is in the capital three days’ journey from here.”

Maya struggled to hold up Jayden. “If you can’t help him, can you help us get him to the witch? Maybe she can save him.”

The soldier’s face turned white. “I’ll have nothing to do with Witch Way. Better he died than that woman get her hands on him.”

Dana nearly drew her magic sword when she heard him say that. Only the knowledge that setting Jayden down could worsen his wounds prevented her. “He was hurt saving your people!”

“Then honor him and his sacrifice by not letting Witch Way near him.” The spearman ran after the other soldiers, leaving Dana and Maya carrying Jayden alone.

“Don’t worry,” Maya said as they struggled down the street. “I’ve heard stories where to find the witch. We’ll get there by morning. He’s strong, Dana. He’ll make it.”

Dana didn’t reply as she helped Jayden down the street. To their left and right were brick buildings a story or two tall, shops and homes. People looked out their windows and came onto the street, a few staring in horror at Jayden while others looked to the ruined bridge where soldiers fired arrows and crossbow bolts across the river.

“He’s going to make it, Dana,” Maya said as the crowd parted to let them pass. “Just a few hours and we’ll be there.”

A man dressed in badly tanned furs stepped in front of them. “Where are you going?”

Dana bared her teeth. “Move.”

Nearby people edged back except for one man who said, “Don’t do this, Porter.”

“Where are you going?” the man in furs repeated.

“Through you if I have to,” Dana said.

Maya looked at Jayden and said, “This man needs help. We’re taking him to see the witch.”

“My name is Mugs Porter, and I can help you reach her,” the man said. “I’ve got a pushcart we can load him on.”

Suspicious, Dana demanded, “Why are you helping us?”

“I owe the witch,” Porter answered. He took Jayden from Dana and Maya and set him on a small, dirty pushcart parked on the street. Porter lit a lantern hanging from the front of the cart and grabbed the handles. “Any who receive her help pay for it, some in gold, some in words, others in services. I bring her new clients.”

Porter took the handles of the pushcart and rolled it down the street so fast Dana and Maya had trouble keeping up with him. Men and women got out of his way. One man yelled, “We’ll remember this, Porter!”

“Ignore them,” Porter told Dana and Maya. “They’ve never been where your friend is, where I was. They don’t know what men will do when there’s no one left to turn to.”

“I’ll pay whatever price she charges,” Dana promised.

“That’s not how it works,” Porter told her. “Whoever gets help is the one who pays.”

Dana ran ahead of Porter. “This time I’m paying.”

Porter frowned. “Careful what you wish for. Witch Way doesn’t work cheap.”

Porter was silent the rest of the trip, understandable given how hard he was running with the pushcart. They left the city and went through farmland and orchards, then into wilderness. Houses were few and then absent, replaced by enormous pine trees and cliffs thick with vines and moss. Jayden was unconscious during the trip, a mercy given his condition. After two hours they reached a large masterfully built wood house nestled among trees ten feet across.

The house’s door opened and a young woman stepped out. She looked smug before she saw Jayden. “Greetings, and welcome to my—dear God! Get him inside, hurry!”

Dana, Maya and Porter lifted Jayden out of the pushcart. Moving Jayden made him scream in pain, cries that ended only when the witch put a hand on his chest and spoke strange words that soothed him. Together they brought him inside the house and set him on a large wood table.

“This is the fifth client I’ve brought you, witch,” Porter said. “My debt is paid in full.”

“You and I are done,” the witch said. Porter left without another word, leaving Dana and Maya with the strange woman. The witch snapped her fingers and pointed to a corner of her house. “Both of you, over there, and don’t touch anything.”

Dana didn’t want to leave Jayden’s side. The people of River Twin had reacted to her mentioning the witch as if the woman was a deadly threat. But she was also Jayden’s only hope, and Dana reluctantly led Maya back.

“This is bad,” Witch Way said. She was younger than Dana had expected, probably in her early twenties. The witch’s clothes were stylish black and looked new. Her hair was long and black, braided in a pattern Dana hadn’t seen before. “You did good to get him here so fast. The next hour would have been his last.”

“You can help him?” Maya asked hopefully.

“It’s going to be a close thing.” Witch Way studied Jayden’s wounds. “Broken ribs, the arm looks like it was broken from feedback from his own spell, and I don’t like the look of that concussion. This is going to take everything I’ve got and more.”

Witch Way stepped back and folded her arms across her chest. She closed her eyes and began to chant.

“What’s she doing?” Dana asked Maya.

“I don’t know. I heard the witch can save people who should have died, not how she does it.”

“No comments from the peanut gallery,” Witch Way snapped.

Dana and Maya fell silent. Witch Way continued chanting, a weird droning sound that went on and on. Not sure what to do, Dana studied her surroundings. The house’s interior was well made like the outside, every inch elaborately decorated with intricate animal carvings. Rugs covered the floors, thick curtains covered the windows, and colorful tapestries covered much of the walls. Furniture was copious and as decorative as the rest of the house.

Then there was the heart on the wall over the fireplace. It was made of granite, two feet across and beating like a living organ. Red light seeped through cracks in the heart, a dim glow that couldn’t compete with the cheery glow in the fireplace but was somehow more noticeable.

“Spirits of wind and fire, I beseech you,” Witch Way announced as she looked up. “This soul is in peril, his life nearing an end too soon, and I have been called upon to aid him. The power of my heart stone is not enough, proof your instructions on crafting it were useless. So once more I must turn to you for power.”

“This isn’t encouraging,” Maya said.

A high-pitched voice coming from the heart said, “Don’t I know it.”

Witch Way snapped the fingers on both hands. “Talk to the witch. I know your price and pay it unwillingly. I hereby recognize your union and authorize vacation pay. Now get off your backsides, lazy spirits.”

The stone heart beat harder and the glow from it grew brighter. Jayden stiffened before relaxing. Dana and Maya ran to him. He was breathing easily rather than gasping for air, but he was still unconscious.

Excited, Maya cried, “He’s better!”

“He’s getting there,” Witch Way corrected her. “Healing isn’t what witchcraft was meant for. A holy man could have done in seconds what I need all night to do. I’ve sped up his natural healing many times faster than normal, but even this might not be enough.”

“Is this why people in River Twin don’t like you?” Dana asked. “Do your cures sometimes fail?”

Witch Way laughed. “Oh, they hate me for any number of reasons, some fair and others not. Most of my problems are my own fault, like being a greedy, petty, vindictive, backstabbing harridan. And yes, my healing attempts can fail.”

“That’s more than I expected to hear,” Dana admitted.

“Or wanted to,” Maya added.

“Mother told me not to become a witch,” Witch Way said. “I ignored her. I wanted power, and this was the easy way to get it. I had to buy that power, trading parts of myself for it. The spirits demanded I accept the curse of total honesty, which sounded mild at the time. But as you can see it’s not to my advantage to speak the truth, especially when I don’t particularly like people other than myself.”

Witch Way gave the girls a cunning smile. “If I try hard enough I can share that burden with others, if only for a while. Two marriageable women traveling with a man, it makes me wonder. Do you love him?”

“Yes,” they said simultaneously. Dana and Maya both shrieked in surprise, and Maya clapped her hands over her mouth.

“I don’t love him the way you mean!” Dana shouted. She took deep breaths and tried to calm down. “I’m grateful to him for saving my family and town, and many other people. He’s handsome, and sometimes I think things, but I’d never actually do them.”

“I would,” Maya said, then shrieked again as her face turned red.

Witch Way laughed so hard she nearly fell over. Wiping tears of joy from her eyes, she said, “I’m a shallow, hateful person, but I have a good time.”

Dana pointed at Jayden. “Can we get back to talking about him?”

“Oh, yes, the sorcerer lord. Don’t give me that look, girl. It takes more than a change of clothes to conceal a man’s identify when his face is on a thousand wanted posters.” Witch Way curled a lock of her hair around one finger while studying Jayden. “He’s drawing a lot of power from my heart stone, but he’s hurt so badly that my magic could just be prolonging the inevitable. By morning he’ll be well again or be dead, fifty-fifty odds.”

Maya saw Dana’s pained look and put a hand on her shoulder. “It’s better than we would have gotten from anyone in River Twin.”

Dana took a deep breath and readied herself for the worst. “We need to talk about your fee. Jayden is in no condition to pay you, so I’m accepting the responsibility.”

Witch Way looked at Dana and laughed. Dana felt her face turn red, and she put her hands on her hips. Angry, Dana snapped, “I have gold. It might not be enough, but once he’s healthy we can get more.”

That provoked more laugher from the witch. Once she was done, she gave Dana a pitying look. “Oh you miserable child, as if I would work so cheaply. The spirits providing the extra power to heal your friend are charging a steep price. Even asking for their help is going to make them harder to deal with in the future.”

Worried, Dana asked, “Then what do you want?”

Witch Way walked over to a table and picked up a knife. Maya and Dana got between Jayden and the witch, prompting more laugher. “Do you think I was going to kill him? Silly child, if I wanted him dead all I had to do was refuse my aid. I’m going to cut off his coat and shirt to get a better look at his wounds.”

Dana didn’t move. “What’s your price for saving him?”

Witch Way rolled her eyes. “Total honesty. Why couldn’t the spirits have been satisfied with something else? I paid much for my powers, child, and I aim to recover the loss. I take whatever is most valuable from my clients. Sometimes it’s gold, other times land and always their honor, for no one leaves here with their reputations intact.

“Jayden is the only sorcerer lord on Other Place. A man who’s mastered the shadow magic of the sorcerer lords must know many secrets and hidden truths. What he has trapped in his head is worth a fortune to the right people. I know eight men who would pay in gold, jewels and magic to learn what the sorcerer lord knows. I can sell the information to each of them, netting eight rewards for one healing. That’s my price, girl.”

“I don’t think he’d agree to that if he was awake,” Maya said nervously.

“I know he wouldn’t,” Dana said. She shifted he hands off her hips and onto her sword hilt. The magic blade had hurt an iron golem and should be enough to intimidate the witch. “We can get you magic if gold’s not enough, but you’re staying out of his head.”

“You’re in my house, brat,” Witch Way snarled. “This is where I forged my heart stone, and it’s where my spells are at their strongest. Two doe-eyed girls smitten with a wanted criminal don’t scare me.”

The witch hissed words in a language Dana had never heard, strange and hateful sounds far different than the ones Jayden used when casting spells. Dana took a step closer to the witch, a move that ended when the rug under her feet bucked like a steer, throwing her and Maya to the floor. Tapestries and drapes twisted and knotted to form ropes that wrapped around Dana and Maya. They screamed as the makeshift bonds shoved them against the wall and then lifted them off their feet.

“That settles that,” Witch Way said. She walked over to Jayden and cut off his coat and shirt, throwing the red stained clothes to the floor. “Don’t worry, children, total honesty means I have to keep my word and save him, or at least try to. Let’s see, yes, he’s coming along nicely. The sorcerer lord should live, and will definitely keep breathing long enough for me to extract my fee.”

“You’re making a big mistake!” Dana shouted. She tried to squirm out of her bindings and failed. “If he lives through this he’ll be furious. He’s killed monsters ten times scarier than you.”

“Promises, promises,” Witch Way said in a singsong voice. She cast another spell and placed her hands against Jayden’s brow. “Let’s see what—”
**********************
The castle was dark and depressing, a home only in name. Prince Mastram, a youth of twelve, walked through hallways surrounded by people he didn’t know. Physically he was a sight to behold, dark haired, handsome and dressed in sable and silk, but he was lonely and frightened. Stepmother had dismissed most of the castle staff over the last two months and replaced them with her personal retainers. None of them looked at Mastram, none bowed, none smiled. Instead they went about their duties in sullen silence.

Breakfast had been a joyless affair like all meals were. Father didn’t talk. Stepmother doted on her two sons, her words sweet like honey to the boys and harsh as acid to everyone else. Food tasted bland to Mastram, father’s jester had no amusement that could reach him, and even his books offered no solace.

Mastram had nearly reached the castle library and the limited reprieve it granted from his suffering when the brightly dressed jester Kipling leaped over a servant and wrapped an arm around the prince. “Your highness, your grace, you charitable soul, how good to see you. I’d nearly missed you the way you blend in with the crowd, no smile, no laughter, not even looking up half the time, but there was a slight hint of joy as I saw you near your fortress against the world. What wonders tempt you today, oh prince, what secrets shall you plumb?”

“Another time, Kipling,” Mastram said. He tried to slip by the jester and failed. Kipling followed him like a remora on a shark, never more than three inches away. “I’m sorry, I’m not in the mood for company today.”

“Few men willingly spend time with a fool, but I have my uses.” Kipling leaned in close and whispered into Mastram’s ear. “Please, suffer my presence. You are in danger.”

Mastram glanced at Kipling, not sure what to make of that strange comment. He went into the library and was alone save for Kipling. Tall bookcases crisscrossed the room and held thousands of books on hundreds of topics. Kipling was right, this was his refuge in hard times. He’d come here often after his mother died. Lately he’d come every day after meals.

“I’m good at solving riddles, Kipling, but I need more clues to understand what you’re talking about,” Mastram said.

“My prince, I fear for your life,” the jester said. “The castle has become dangerous. Take it from a thief and hanged man that when I say trouble is afoot I know what I speak of.”

Mastram smiled at him. “Former thief, and you survived your hanging.”

Kipling smiled. “Minor details.”

“Speak plainly to me as you always have, and please, no more riddles.”

Kipling cartwheeled onto a table and crouched on top of it. “These days I save my riddles for entertaining your father, no easy task. Mastram, you know me better than most, and you’re friends with your tutor, Mr. Wintery. Besides the two of us, your family and the court officials, is there one person in the castle whose name you know?”

Mastram paused. His mind raced as he tried to put a name to the constant parade of new faces he’d seen lately. So few would even talk to him, a growing cone of silence that had been spreading for months. “No.”

“Nor can I, my prince. There was a time I could count on two hands and both feet how many men asked me to share a drink with me. Now I can think of none. The castle has been purged of friends and allies, your stepmother’s doing, I’m sure.”

“I had few friends to begin with,” Mastram said.

“That’s not true,” the jester countered. “Many hold you in high regard. With these books you found the location of an old sorcerer lord reservoir, and people drink clean water from it today as they once did long ago. You offer hope to those still hurting from the war, sharing wisdom and words of mercy, counseled justice rather than vengeance. You are loved elsewhere if not here, and God help me if there are more hateful words that those.”

Mastram sat in a chair, too dejected to search the bookcases for a novel that might offer hope in such dark times. Kipling sat next to him and put an arm around the boy’s shoulders.

“I try to reach them, Kipling,” Mastram said mournfully. “Father doesn’t speak to me the way he did when mother was alive. Nothing I do satisfies stepmother. Court officials ignore what I have to say.”

“Your father is a fine man in many ways,” Kipling said, “the best tightrope walker I’ve ever met, but no juggler.”

Mastram stared at him. “Father doesn’t perform stunts.”

“I speak only the truth to you.” Kipling took wood balls from the deep pockets of his colorful uniform. Mastram had often seen the jester pull items from his costume, so many that he wondered if magic was involved. The jester balanced on the edge of the table while juggling.

“Nobles come day and night, demanding gifts and privileges from your father. All kings suffer such annoyances, but your father owes these men for their service during the civil war. With the treasury depleted he can’t give them what they want, so he pits one against the other, saying he can’t give them land that others hold and gold owed to their neighbors. No finer tightrope walker was ever born, for no matter how many try to pull him left or right he keeps his balance.”

Just then Kipling dropped a ball. Matram’s jaw dropped. He’d never seen the jester make a mistake.

“But he’s no juggler,” Kipling said. “I’m juggling eleven balls, but your eyes are on the one that fell. Jugglers know that dropping even one ball makes the audience doubt you, something your father hasn’t learned yet.”

Kipling caught his balls and set them on the table. “We both hear the whispers, my prince, and everyone hears the screams as your father and stepmother fight. He owes her family a heavy debt for saving his kingdom. He thought marrying her would be enough, but it’s not. She wants her sons on the throne. By law the king’s eldest son must take his place, but she and her family campaign against you day and night.

“Prince, I fear the king’s resolve is weakening. He thinks if he lets one ball fall by casting you aside then no one will care, but we know better. A king who sacrifices his own son, that man is no king. Commoners won’t obey him, soldiers won’t respect him, other monarchs will despise him, but he can’t see that. He only sees the balls he’s still got in the air and hopes the audience doesn’t notice the one on the ground.”

“What can I do?” Mastram asked.

“Keep learning, keep studying and keep away from fights in court. Staying in the library does that. You may have to leave in a hurry. I’ll help you for whatever a jester is worth, and I know men who will do the same. But Mastram, and it hurts like a knife to the heart to say this, prepare for the worst. Dark times lay ahead, and you—”
********************
Witch Way cried out in agony and gripped her head with both hands. Dana and Maya winced in pain. The heart stone beat erratically for a moment before settling down. Only Jayden seemed unaffected, his breathes deep and even.

“What was that?” Witch Way asked as she staggered into the table Jayden lay on.

“How would I know?” Dana shot back. “It’s your spell!”

“It’s never done that before!” Witch Way yelled. She straightened up and looked at Jayden. “I’ve dredged secrets from countless men’s minds and never such pain.”

“What were we seeing?” Maya asked.

“I don’t…wait, you saw that, too?” The witch looked startled, then scared. “You shouldn’t have shared those memories with me.”

“Well we did,” Dana snapped. She struggled again to break free and failed once more. “I’m glad your healing spells work, because your memory spell is garbage. I saw a piece of Prince Mastram’s life, not Jayden’s. How could you see memories from a dead boy?”

“He’s dead?” Maya asked.

“The prince was exiled to the Isle of Tears, where royalty goes to die from cold and hunger.” Witch Way scowled and crossed her arms. “Spirits, what did you do this time?”

High-pitched voices coming from the heart stone giggles and laughed. “This disaster is on your head, not ours. Or should we say heads?”

The witch scowled again and looked at Jayden. “He can’t interfere with my magic if he’s unconscious. Unless, yes, he could have cast magic wards on himself, long lasting defensive spells that would work even if he wasn’t awake.”

Witch Way cast more spells and caused strange glowing shapes to appear over Jayden’s head. The witch frowned and pointed at one. “That’s a mind cloud spell to keep seers and wizards from detecting him with magic. Yes, that’s what’s doing it. Witchcraft is ancient magic, powerful if limited. Shadow magic of the sorcerer lords is nearly as old but stems from another source. His mind cloud and my telepathy spell are interfering with one another, dangerously so.”

Another shape loomed large over Jayden, a black armored snake that slithered through the air before locking its baleful eyes on the witch. Maya sounded terrified when she asked, “What does that one do?”

The witch made the floating images disappear. “Retribution spell, and a nasty one. If he dies the spell attacks whoever is responsible for his death.” Her voice changed from clinical observation to terror when she said, “If he dies under my care, it’s going to think I did it. I have to get out of here! The range on that spell is—”
************************
Prince Mastram was so deeply involved in a book on the history of the sorcerer lords that he didn’t notice the door to the library open. The jingle of armor was enough to get his attention, though, and he looked up to see four soldiers in chain armor and carrying swords. “What’s happened?”

“Come with us,” one said.

“Soldiers don’t travel armed in the castle unless there’s an emergency,” Mastram said, and once the words left his lips he realized there must be danger. Had a villain tried to assassinate the king? Were more rebels rising to contest the throne. Scared, he demanded, “Tell me what’s going on.”

“The king and queen ordered us to bring you to the main hall,” the soldier said. “They’ll explain their meaning there.”

The prince set down his book and left with the soldiers. They marched through castle halls now empty, the few servants quickly leaving their presence. As they neared the castle’s main entrance, Mastram saw more soldiers escorting weeping servants outside. He hadn’t seen such sorrow since the dark days of the civil war.

They reached the castle’s main hall to find the room filled with soldiers, court officials and lesser nobles. Mastram’s father sat on his throne, handsome and strong, his expression stoic. Stepmother cradled her youngest son on her lap. She was richly dressed, and had an expression of satisfaction. She only looked like that when she’d hurt someone.

Prince Mastram’s heart beat fast. This felt wrong. Something terrible had happened, and he feared the jester’s warning was true judging by the cold looks he was getting from everyone in the room. Mastram went before his father and kneeled.

“I come as ordered, my father and my king.”

“One but not the other,” the queen said sweetly.

“Does the queen question my loyalty?” Mastram asked in horror.

“Enough,” his father said. He waved for the chancellor to approach. The man was another new addition to the court who’d bought his position by providing gold the king needed to pay soldiers during the civil war.

The chancellor stepped forward and unrolled a long velum scroll. Reading from it, he said, “Be it known to all the kingdom and beyond that charges of infidelity have been laid against the late queen, investigated and found to be true.”

Mastram gasped. His voice was a whisper when he asked, “Father, how could you?”

“Evidence has come to light that the former queen was in an illicit relationship with a man or men of unknown origin, one of whom is father to Prince Mastram,” the chancellor said. “Prince Mastram is hereby declared illegitimate, a pretended to the throne and no relation to the royal family. He is ordered banished to the Isle of Tears, to remain there for however long he may live.”

“Mother loved you more than life itself,” Mastram said. “To speak ill of her when she stood by you through dark times, when her family sacrificed so much for the throne.”

“A pity they have no more to sacrifice, no soldiers, no gold, no land,” the queen said playfully. “If they did, they could buy you a few more days in court.”

“I said enough,” the king told her, a mild rebuke that made her scowl. “This command is to be carried out immediately.”

“Unhand me!” a voice cried out in the back of the main hall. It was Mastram’s tutor, Mr. Wintry. He was short and old, neither of which kept him from forcing his way to the front of the crowd. Mr. Wintry wore his best clothes, old and unfashionable as they were, and dropped to his knees before the throne.

“Your Majesty, I beg you, hear the petition of a man loyal and long in your service. Mastram is good and loyal, even if you refuse to call him a son, and doesn’t deserve such a death.”

“He is no longer welcome here, nor are you,” the king said.

“Then let him leave with me!” Mr. Wintry begged. “You hired me from the Vastan Institute of Magic and Technology to teach your son. I will pack my belongings and leave at once, taking the boy with me. He’s clever and good with languages. He could be a great teacher there in Charlock Kingdom, so far away that you would never hear of him again. I have no son, you know this, and teaching Matram has been the closest I’ve come to fatherhood. If he can’t be your son, let him be mine.”

The offer brought cries of outrage from the court. Mr. Wintry ignored them and said, “I can formally adopt Matram into my family. He will lose all claim to the throne, but he will live.” Mr. Wintry looked up, glaring at the queen when he said, “You get what you want without anyone dying.”

“And risk you training him to become a wizard, to one day return and claim a throne he has no right to?” the queen asked. “Your schemes are as obvious as they are treacherous.”

The king offered no response. The queen’s outrage grew, and she shouted, “This was agreed upon, and paid for in my family’s gold and blood!”

“Leave the room,” he ordered her. The court fell silent, and in a rare turn of events so did the queen. “I know my debts and pay them, but I have limits.”

The queen left with her son and her foul temper. Once she was gone, the king stared at Mastram in silence. Long minutes passed before he spoke. “Mr. Wintry, your offer is…unique, and one I had not considered. I believe the offer is genuine, but my queen makes a valid point. There can be but one line of succession or my kingdom risks a new civil war only years after barely surviving one. I cannot have nobles scheme to place a false heir upon the throne.”

The king stood up and pointed at Mr. Wintry. “Your services here are at an end. Guards, collect his belongings and escort him to the castle gates.”

“Men will hear of this,” Mr. Wintry said when armed men seized him. As he was led away, he shouted, “You will lose the loyalty of those who love you!”

“I need time more than love, for I have seen love die,” the king said.

The king opened his mouth to speak, not getting the chance as Kipling the jester slipped through the packed room to reach the throne. “My Liege, if wisdom is held in so low regard then perhaps a fool’s words might have effect.”

“You test my patience, jester,” the king told him.

“I test your love, for I am old enough to have seen you treat this boy with tenderness, and I am fool enough to not care what price I pay to say it.” Kipling walked up to Mastram and kneeled beside him. “You pronounce a death sentence, exile in name only. The king’s word is law and even I am not fool enough to challenge it, but I can join him in this fate.”

“Kipling, no!” Mastram shouted.

“Please, your majesty,” Kipling implored. “We’ll both die there, starve or freeze, take your pick, but until that day comes we’ll dance and sing and maybe laugh. Be fair, your majesty, you won’t miss me. When was the last time you laughed at my jokes?”

“When was the last time I laughed at anything,” the King said, a statement rather than a question. He’d needed time to consider Mr. Wintry’s offer, but his response to Kipling was lighting quick. “The Isle of Tears is reserved for nobles. Mastram is not my son, but his mother was of noble birth. The punishment is justified. You, Kipling, are a commoner and former thief, the only man to survive a hanging.”

“Cheap rope will do that to you,” Kipling said without shame. “Surviving a death penalty is what first drew your attention to me. Quick wits and nimble hands sealed the deal.”

“Then I break that deal,” the King said. “You are correct, jester, you no longer entertain me. As you are manifestly unfit for your job, you may leave with whatever belongings you have, but the Isle of Tears is forbidden to you. And I am certain you are responsible for the disappearance last week of two of my wife’s retainers.”

“The assassins she sent after the prince?” Kipling asked without fear. Mastram gasped at the accusation.

“My queen is ever hasty in her actions, quick to anger and slow to consider the consequences,” the King said. “Where are their bodies?”

Kipling folded his arms across his chest. “I paid good money to make sure no one would ever learn the answer to that question, including me. Good luck finding them.”

The king seemed unbothered by the jester’s response. Instead there was the barest hint of a smile on his face, the first sign of happiness Mastram had seen from his father in years. “You always did like the boy more than me. There was a time I would have praised such bravery, but saving him then condemns him to far worse now, and opens me to the very condemnation Wintry claimed. Better he had died a prince, but you forced me to do worse.”

Soldiers drew their swords, but the King waved them off. “Don’t kill him. Kipling, you provided a sufficient answer and put the queen in her place, acting as a much-needed reminder that she is not ruler, and that her schemes can be undone more easily than she thinks. Punishing you would embolden her to further mischief. Still, it is another reason not to keep you. Guards, exile the jester from my kingdom.”

“I—” Kipling began, but guards seized him and pulled him from the room. “You only had one ball to keep in the air, one worth having, and you let it drop.”

Mastram was afraid, but he surprised himself by being more concerned for his father than himself. He studied the court members around him and saw little reaction to what his father and the jester had said. “You and Kipling both accused the queen of sending assassins after me, yet none here seems troubled. What manner of men fills the court?”

“Ones I trust,” his father answered. “I saw my kingdom ripped asunder by treachery and lies. I refuse to see it happen again. I ask nothing more of these men than their loyalty. Let them have their faults so long as they do what they are told.”

Mastram watched as the last friend he had in the world was dragged off. With no chance to save himself and no one else to save, he spoke with the confidence of a condemned man. “I knew stepmother was trying to replace me with her sons. I feared you would find a reason to cast me away, but never in my worst nightmares did I think you would betray mother’s memory.”

“I do what I must,” his father said. “The kingdom still balances on a razor’s edge with enemies within and without. In time I can fix what is broken, but I must pay for that time. I have sacrificed my honor, my good name, my pride and the lives of countless subjects. I lost much and could yet lose everything. To avoid that I must make one last sacrifice, saying words I know are lies and ending the life of my son, less of a loss when I have two more. ”

He stared hard at Mastram before saying, “I thought this would be harder. Guards, take him away and leave me in peace, for I—”
*****************************
Witch Way’s screams could have woken the dead as she fell to the floor. Dana and Maya winced, for they felt some of the pain she did. The heart stone went into wild spasms as its light faded before recovering slowly. Only Jayden seemed unaffected. Instead he looked stronger, healthier, his wounds nearly gone.

“That…shouldn’t…have happened,” the witch gasped.

“Make it stop!” Maya cried out.

“Seriously, stop!” Dana yelled at the witch. “You’ve healed him enough. Keeping him here hurts you and us. You’re not even getting the secrets you want.”

Tears rolled down Maya’s cheeks. “These are just memories from a dead child.”

Suddenly Dana gasped and looked horrified. “Maya, what if they’re not?”

Witch Way crawled to the table and pulled herself up to her knees. “What do you mean?”

“What if the spell worked?” Dana asked. “I’ve heard stories about Jayden the same as everyone, and they all date from ten years ago to today. Nobody knows where he came from. He just appeared in the kingdom years ago, no family, no friends. And Prince Mastram has been gone for a long time.”

The more she thought about it, the more it made sense. Jayden had told her months ago that he’d once been known by another name. Goblins in Fish Bait City said Jayden had come there as a boy, part of a royal expedition. Jayden had known the interior of Baron Scalamonger’s mansion. Prince Mastram in the visions had also been studying the sorcerer lords, which would explain how Jayden could translate their spell tablets.

All three women stared at Jayden. Witch Way was the first to speak when she said, “I am going to get into so much trouble over this.”

“We have to get him out of here before he wakes up,” Dana said. “He’ll kill you if he figures out what you’ve done.”

“There’s no ‘if’ to it,” Witch Way said. “When I view memories from my clients they don’t just remember them, they experience them as if they were happening again. He just relived the worst parts of his life.”

“I don’t see this ending well,” Maya said.

Witch Way grabbed Jayden by the shoulders and tried to lift him. “My spells are linked to the heart stone in my house. Taking him outside will break the connection. Ooh, he’s heavier than he looks, all muscle by the feel of it. Come on, help me move him.”

“We can’t!” Maya cried out.

“We’re still tied up!” Dana yelled.

Witch Way looked at them, a puzzled expression on her face as she said, “I’m not making good decisions today. Wait, do you feel tha—”
******************
The cold air matched Mastram’s mood. No longer a prince, he was a criminal dressed in sackcloth, his black hair a mess as a strong wind blew in his face. The longboat he was on rose and fell on the rough sea, the overcast sky adding to the sense of woe. Eight sailors manned the oars and an equal number of soldiers stood guard in case someone tried to rescue him. There had been three attempts in the two months since Mastram was declared illegitimate, one by peasants, another by renegade soldiers and the third by harpies, all three failures. These soldiers were here if others should try.

They’d been at sea for eight day traveling to the Isle of Tears. Mastram had no idea where it was, as the isle appeared on no maps and was shielded from magical attempts to locate it. They’d passed several small, rocky islands, some inhabited and others not, and a strange black pyramid that moved through the water faster than the longboat. Still they traveled, sailing far from the coast and any chance of escape.

Hours later they reached their destination. Mastram wondered why the island was used only for executions, for it looked large enough to house many people. The shorelines were rocky and inhospitable, and there were few trees or plants, but he knew ways even such foreboding land could be made productive. Deeper inland were mountains with narrow ridges that jutted up like the bones of a dead monster. The only sign that anyone had ever lived here were brick piers reaching into the icy waters of a natural harbor.

As the longboat neared the harbor, Mastram saw a soldier draw a dagger. His officer saw it, too, and shouted, “Sheath that blade!”

“It’s a mercy compared to what we’re doing to him,” the soldier protested.

“It is the king and queen’s command, and you will obey!” the officer snapped. “Touch so much as a hair on his head and I’ll leave you here in his place.”

The longboat docked at a pier without further incident, and soldiers placed Mastram ashore. The officer stood up and unrolled a scroll. “By order of the king and his beloved queen, Mastram, pretender to the throne is thus banished to the Isle of Tears without chance of pardon or commutation of his sentence. Any who attempt to remove him from this place or offer him aid is guilty of treason and will be put to death. Here you shall remain forever.”

Without further adieu the longboat departed, leaving Mastram alone. It didn’t bother him. He’d been alone for years in a castle packed with people. This desolate island made his solitude more complete, nothing more.

He wondered briefly what to do. No one knew how long condemned men lived on the Isle of Tears, only that when boats brought new victims there was no sign of those who’d come before them. Would he last a day? A week? A month? Mastram had to wonder which would be better. Any thought of giving up soon vanished, though, for he would not give his enemies the pleasure of surrendering. If death came for him, he would fight it.

Surviving the night would be the first challenge. Cold could kill faster than thirst or hunger, so he needed shelter from the coming night. Mastram searched the shore for buildings or even ruins. The brick piers were proof that someone once lived here. Sadly they were the only evidence. Maybe powerful winter storms had swept the isle clean.

With no help at hand, he headed further inland. The ground was rocky and had little plant life, none of it edible. There were no trails leading from the piers, forcing him to pick his way between large stones. Here and there patches of soil supported tough grasses. Ahead he saw caves in the side of a rocky cliff. Most were far too high to reach, but one was low enough he could climb to it. With no other options available that would be home.

Mastram climbed up to the low cave and crawled inside. The roof was surprisingly high and the floor more even than he’d expected. He’d visited a few caves in the past and found them awkward and cramped. In comparison this was spacious. He traveled deeper into the cave to a spot that still received light from outside but was out of the wind. Mastram cleared away sand and small stones from the ground. He didn’t have to dig far before he hit a perfectly flat floor.

“This is surprising,” Mastram said to no one. “Hmm. I wonder if talking to yourself is proof you’re going mad. I hope not. I’ve been here less than an hour.”

Mastram cleared away more stones and sand. The floor extended in all directions and was as flat as a board. He reached the side of the cave and found larger piles of debris. Clearing that took more time, but the reward was worth the effort when he found the floor and cave wall met in a ninety-degree angle. He dug at the edge of the opposite wall and found the floor and wall met the same way.

It was a mystery that had to wait. Mastram mounded up debris around the cave entrance to further block the wind. It was a poor shelter but should keep out the worst of the weather. Wind began to whip around him, carrying sand that stung his face. That hurt, but it inspired him. He dug around the edges of the cave and found four corners.

“This isn’t a cave,” he said. “It’s a room. I didn’t see it before because so much sand has been blown in that it obscured the edges.”

He checked the back of the room and found a passage leading out. There was less sand here, and to his surprise there was light from holes in the roof. He followed the passage until he came to more rooms. Some were filled with debris while others were nearly empty.

He looked for clues who had built this place. Finding paper or velum was out of the question when both would rot in the damp air, but maybe there were bits of furniture or rusted tools. A clever person could determine much about a man by studying the junk he left behind. That had been one of Mr. Wintry’s stranger lessons, but his tutor had showed Mastram how scraps of armor, broken pots and other garbage people cast aside said a lot about them.

In this case it said nothing. There was no broken furniture or metal goods. He found bits of broken pottery barely larger than sand grains. Mastram frowned and rubbed his chin.

“Storms must have blown in water that rotted perishables, and the wind and sand ground down whatever survived the water. That would take decades or more. Whoever built this mansion died long ago. Strange that no one moved in.”

Further study turned up more mysteries. The walls were thick, some made of brick and others natural stone carved into rooms and passages. Building this mansion would have been hard work, and construction materials must have been imported. Yet in the end the effort had been wasted, for the thick brick walls were pierced in multiple places, and rooms dug from the rocky isle were broken into as well. Indeed, most of the rooms he found had holes in them, some as large as a man. The mansion’s fall had been violent and thorough.

Mastram found his despondency momentarily gone, replaced by curiosity. He’d always asked why and dug deeper when faced with a puzzle. Back home he’d spent endless hours finding answers to Kipling’s riddles with the dedication of a dog chewing a bone to reach the marrow. Questions were personal challenges to him, a test of his wits and perseverance. A prince never gave up.

That thought nearly made him stop, the memory of what he had been and what he’d lost stinging, but he pressed on. Princes didn’t give up. They didn’t stop when the odds were bad and enemies numerous. By law he was no prince, but he’d show his enemies and his father. A man could live here if he knew what he was doing and didn’t give in to despair, and that was what Mastram intended to do. Morning would find him alive, as would next week, next month and next year.

Mastram’s exploration turned up a stone staircase leading up. He followed it, slipping briefly on debris covering the steps before safely reached the top floor. It looked like he wouldn’t be visiting the place often, for much of the roof was gone, leaving it open to the sky. There were bits of walls rising from the wreckage, and what looked like empty sea bird nests. Mastram wondered if the birds only came here to breed or if previous prisoners of the isle had eaten them all.

Not far from the stairs were the ruins of a large room with a stone throne at the outside edge. Mastram studied it and found worn down letters cut into the throne. He rubbed away sand filling the words and smiled when he recognized the language.

“This is the writing of the sorcerer lords,” Mastram said. “That’s the owner’s name, his rank and ancestors. This was the home of Jayden The Fell Hand of Doom. I read about him. He was one of the powerful sorcerer lords. Hmm, not powerful enough to save himself from his enemies.”

Mastram cleaned off the throne and sat on it. “I guess this happens to all dynasties in the end. They grow strong and expand their influence, but in time fall and are replaced by others. It nearly happened to my family.”

The room had plentiful signs of battle, like fallen stone columns, jagged holes cut through thick walls and lots of black granite chips. That was interesting. The sorcerer lords had written their spells on granite tablets instead of paper. He poked through the rubble, finding a few larger pieces of granite but none that fit together.

Then he saw it. He’d missed it at first, nearly buried by sand and broken bricks, but behind the throne was an intact spell tablet. The edges were worn down, the white marble lettering was chipped, but it was legible. Mastram’s heart beat faster at the sight. Spell tablets were rare! Few were ever found, and those disappeared into private collections. This treasure could have been found ages ago if someone had bothered searching the isle. How many riches were here, waiting for a man with the patience to dig them out?

What if he could use the tablet? It was a fascinating question. Mr. Wintry had taught Mastram much, including a love of languages, but the prince hadn’t learned magic. Mastram could read the tablet and understood it, but the writing paused frequently and was replaced by small diagrams showing what looked like hand gestures.

“It says aklamasan morashal rathan,” Mastram translated. “Then it says the exact same words twenty more times. The hand gestures change each time you say it.”

It was an interesting puzzle, and with nothing else to do he tried solving it. His first try failed, as did the second, the fifth and the fiftieth. Daylight was fading and he should find a place to sleep, but the prince was tenacious. The problem seemed to be the hand gestures. He could make the silly looking patterns with his fingers, but how long was he supposed to maintain them?

Night approached and he was still trying. He sat on the throne using the last of the light coming through the sundered roof to try one last time when he felt a jolt go from his elbows to his fingers. The spell had worked! Unfortunately it only made a tiny spark that drifted away.

“That was anticlimactic,” Mastram said as he watched the spark float across the room. “Maybe this is a spell for beginners. It might explain why no one took the tablet.”

Boom!

The spark expanded into a massive fireball that engulfed half the room. Mastram screamed and fell off the throne, then scrambled behind it. The flames died away, doing little damage to the already destroyed room. His heart beat so hard he thought it might explode. He’d nearly killed himself!

“Very dangerous business, magic,” he gasped. “Not sure I should try again.”

He headed for the staircase, traveling only a few feet when he saw filthy creatures with long hair and dressed in rags come boiling up from the stairs. Mastram fled the stinking mob until he had his back to the stone throne. He didn’t try using the spell he’d just learned, lest it burn him and these foul creatures.

“We saw you make a fire,” one of the creatures croaked. “Please, can you do it again?”

“We’re so cold,” pleaded another.

Mastram hesitated, trying to tell who or what he was facing. He was afraid, but the unruly mob didn’t come closer. He approached the nearest one and asked, “Who are you?”

“Baronet Silas Fieldcrest,” the filthy figure said. Mastram was close enough to touch the poor person when he realized the claim was true. He’d assumed these were monsters coming after him, but they were men wearing dirty and torn sackcloth, their hair long and tangled, their beards caked in filth. More members of the ragged mob introduced themselves. Knights, earls, lord mayors, sheriffs, guild masters and more stood before him, sixteen in all.

“Forgive our appearances,” Fieldcrest apologized. “We were left here weeks ago, and I fear we’re lesser men for our time spent on the isle. Tell us, stranger, who are you?”

One of the men exclaimed, “Even in the darkness you should know your prince!”

Men cried out in horror. Many bowed their heads. Mastram said, “I am prince no more. My family disowned me.”

Fieldcrest stared at Mastram before dropping to his knees. “Then all is lost. Before my exile I asked my sister to seek you out and beg you to intercede on my behalf. Many of us did. We’d heard you were the kindest member of the royal family and might take pity on us. If you’re here then not only are we doomed but so is the entire kingdom, for no one else listens to petitions for mercy.”

“I didn’t know others had been sent here, much less so many,” Mastram admitted. “What were you accused of?”

“Treason, larceny, failure to uphold the law,” Fieldcrest replied. “The charge laid against us varies, but behind each one is the fact that we had what others wanted. Land, money, livestock, positions of authority, all coveted by those who had royal favor.”

Another man grasped Mastram by the hand. “The queen’s family and the king’s new favorites demand compensation. They gave much to the crown during the civil war and said we did little. We defended our good names and wouldn’t give up our homes, our livelihoods, so it was taken from us.”

Fire burned inside Mastram as great as the magic he’d so recently summoned. He demanded, “When did this happen?”

“This year,” Fieldcrest told him. “Royal officials travel the land removing those who the king doubts and installing his favorites in their place. Trials are quick and secret, guilt guaranteed and punishment swift. I’d heard it happened to another nobleman only days before the same fate befell me.”

Mastram gritted his teeth and narrowed his eyes. Kipling was wrong, for his father had proven to be terrible at balancing the demands placed upon him. What his father had excelled at was hiding the evidence of his wrongdoing if no word of this had reached the prince. The loss of so many friends and familiar faces at court made more sense now. The newcomers had reason to help hide this injustice, and might have benefited from it, for their jobs had once gone to other men.

Fieldcrest got up and placed a hand on Mastram’s shoulder. “We must go. The Isle of Tears is a place of execution in more ways than the king knows, for two predators roam the isle. There are passages they can’t fit in, refuge from their attacks.”

Overhead the clouds parted to reveal a full moon that bathed Mastram and his fellow victims in welcome light, just enough to see the two monstrosities sneaking up on them. Men screamed and scattered as the nightmarish pair shambled toward them. To his horror, Mastram knew exactly what they were, for his studies under Mr. Wintry included the sorcerer lords who once called this land home.

These were estate guards, abominations built by the long dead sorcerer lords. Each one had a golden scarab attached to the pile of driftwood and bones that comprised their bodies. They had the form of men, but twisted, malformed things with long dragging arms. Under the light of the moon Mastram recognized where the bones in those horrible monsters had come from. Some were from seals, others sharks, and some were from men.

“Run!” Fieldcrest shouted.

Mastram held his ground as the wretch things approached. Estate guards were only as strong as the bone and wood they could find to make their bodies from, and these were poor specimens with brittle bones and half rotted wood. They shuffled toward him, making sure they were between their prey and the stairs leading to safety.

“You face an enemy worthy of you,” Mastram said, a warning the beasts ignored. He chanted the words he’d learned from the tablet, weaving strange symbols in the air with his hands as his foes raised their twisted arms to attack. He finished the spell when they were still fifty feet away, sending a tiny spark toward the pair. One recognized the spell and ran to the left while the other took the blast head on. Boom! When the flames died away the first monster was gone and the second had lost both legs.

Mastram marched toward his enemy while the other men watched in awe. The first estate guard was dead, its scarab melted in the fire, while the second tried to drag itself away. Mastram grabbed a large broken brick off the floor and swung it at the estate guard. Brittle bones snapped. Narrow branches of driftwood broke. The estate guard tried to block his swings and failed.

Men joined him with large stones they seized off the floor. They surrounded the beast, pounding it from all sides, breaking it to pieces and pulling it apart. The gold scarab tried to flee, but Mastram saw it run. He struck it with the brick, snapping off three of its gold legs, taking off another leg with the next blow and finally crushing it to pieces.

Mastram screamed in defiance. Fear, shame, doubt, these burned away as rage swelled in him, hatred greater than any he had ever known. The suffering he’d experienced was nothing compared to what was happening elsewhere in the kingdom. His father and stepmother had inflicted inexcusable crimes on their own people, and it was going to stop even if he had to—
************************
Witch Way was on the floor, both hands covering her face. Maya cried and Dana stared at Jayden.

“Please, stop,” Maya pleaded.

“What do you think I’m trying to do?” Witch Way mumbled and rose to her knees.

“Do it faster,” Maya begged. “Look at him, he’s in agony.”

Jayden was still asleep but not at peace. He clenched his fists and his muscles tensed. His lips pulled back in a snarl as he ground his teeth together.

“That’s not pain,” Dana corrected her. Months traveling with Jayden had given her insight into his moods. “That’s rage.”

Witch Way’s terror grew as she backed up to her heart stone. “Son of a—”
************************
Clams and fish. It was a boring diet, but enough to keep men alive. Mastram wouldn’t let his fellow prisoners die, demanding they go on in the face of what had seemed impossible to endure weeks ago. They stayed strong because they had hope. They had a sorcerer lord.

The ruins yielded further treasures now that they were safe to explore. No doubt most of the riches had been stolen when the original owner had been killed. Still, they found gold and a few weapons, and Baronet Fieldcrest discovered another spell tablet. Mastering it had taken time, a commodity Mastram had in abundance.

Safe, fed after a fashion and armed, they had only to wait. Patience was a virtue Mastram was finding hard these days. He yearned to save his people, and it galled him how long he’d have to wait to do so. Even with two spells he was weak. Once he was free he’d need to find more spell tablets, more gold, more of everything, for overthrowing a king was a task many tried and most failed. It would take decades, but he would do it. He would pay back his father and stepmother for the crimes they’d committed.

The wait was intolerable, but not eternal. After long weeks they saw the longboat approach the Isle of Tears with more victims of the king and queen. There were only four soldiers this time. Perhaps these prisoners weren’t so important that men would risk their lives to free them.

Baronet Fieldcrest came up alongside Mastram where he and the other prisoners hid near the piers. The prisoners were dirty and thin, but they’d found daggers in their search of the ruins and had used them to shave. “Careful, prince. We need the boat intact.”

“Never fear, friend,” Mastram replied. The longboat was large enough for them all to escape. Once they reached land the prisoners would scatter, going to friends and family, gather them up and leave the kingdom.

“You’re sure you won’t come with us, prince?” Fieldcrest asked. “I know of distant lands where you could live unknown to all.”

“It’s a generous offer, but I can’t accept.”

The longboat came to the pier and stopped. The same officer who’d brought Mastram to the isle stood up and unrolled a scroll. “By order of the king and his beloved queen, Tallet Mistrof and Anthony Albreck are thus banished to the Isle of Tears.”

Mastram stood up and approached the longboat. “I would ask a favor, though. Don’t call me prince. Prince Mastram died on these rocks.”

It was overly dramatic, but Mastram knew he couldn’t use his name and escape discovery. He’d adopted the name of his long dead host who had generously provided two spell tablets. Jayden had a nice sound to it, and a historical connection to the old sorcerer lords.

The officer on the longboat stopped reading from his scroll when he saw Jayden approach. A soldier pointed at him and told a sailor, “He’s still alive. You owe me a beer.”

Jayden cast a spell called the entropic lash, forming a black whip that could melt through nearly everything. Sailors manning the oars cried out in terror. Soldiers drew their swords, as if that would help. Jayden savored the opportunity to make them feel the fear they’d inflicted upon so many others before he swung the whip at—
********************
Jayden’s screams echoed through the woods outside Witch Way’s house. He thrashed so hard he fell off the table and landed on the floor before shooting to his feet. Covered in sweat, shaking in uncontrolled rage, he announced, “Someone is going to die!”

“I can explain,” Witch Way said hastily.

Jayden turned toward her. He opened his mouth, but the words died when he saw Dana and Maya tied up against the wall. For a moment he looked surprised, then his rage doubled as he faced Witch Way.

“That’s a little harder to explain,” Witch Way admitted.

Jayden cast a spell and formed his magic whip. Witch Way paled at the sight of it, but only for a moment as her own anger swelled. “You’re feared in many lands, but in this house we’re on equal footing. Make an enemy of me and you won’t leave here alive.”

“You page through my mind like a book, exposing my greatest shames, bind my friends, and now you threaten me? I’ve killed men for less.”

Witch Way snarled a spell that made the drapes and tapestries holding Dana and Maya let go and lash out at Jayden. He swung his whip and wrapped it around the bindings, burning through them before they could touch him. His next swing missed Witch Way’s head by inches.

“Spirits of wind and fire, grant me your power!” Witch Way commanded. “My life is in danger. I’ll pay time and a half, so don’t be stingy!”

“Done,” a high-pitched voice said. The heart stone beat faster than ever, and red light from it poured onto the witch. Under its influence her next spell was far stronger. Tables, chairs, beds, every piece of furniture animated, their wood legs becoming as fast and flexible as a deer’s nimble limbs.

Chairs charged Jayden as he exchanged his whip for a magic sword. He drove the blade through the first chair, which reared up and kicked like a horse as it died. He hacked another animated chair apart, then a third. Jayden’s next spell formed a shield of spinning black daggers. The table he’d been laying on charged him and went headlong into the blades. The shield spell buckled and failed, but not before reducing the table to woodchips.

“That was a gift from my mother!” Witch Way screamed.

“Good,” Jayden growled.

Dana had been in plenty of battles alongside Jayden and knew she had one advantage he didn’t: people ignored her. It was natural when she was a girl and he was a sorcerer lord. Men and monsters focused on the obvious threat and treating her like she was invisible.

She grabbed Maya’s hand and let her to the edge of the room. “Come on.”

Dana and Maya skirted around the battle, dodging broken pieces of furniture that crashed into the walls. Maya shrieked when the witch caused gouts of fire to leap from her fireplace, an attack Jayden avoided by using an animated chair as a shield. The chair cried out like a living creature when it burned.

“Where are we going?” Maya asked.

“Just follow me,” Dana assured her. They went around the fight, keeping down and trying to stay behind cover. Maya shrieked when a shadowy hand as big as a man slammed an animated bed into the wall next to them. The bed braced its back legs against the wall and pushed the hand back. Jayden leaped upon the bed and cut it in half with his sword.

“I’m going to regret this in the morning,” Witch Way said before casting another spell. Shadows lengthened around her before a horrifying red skinned monster rose up from the darkness. It had the shape of a man, but with eyes and gaping toothy maws scattered across its grotesque body. “Sid, I’ve got a job for you, double pay.”

“I can guess what it is,” the monstrosity said from its mouths. It lumbered after Jayden, shoving aside broken furniture to reach him. Jayden met it with sword in hand and a roar of defiance. The monster tried to wrap both arms around him in a bear hug. Jayden ran straight at it, and at the last second brought his giant shadowy hand in from the side to knock the monster over. Once it was on the ground he stood over it and swung his black sword again and again, cutting the monster to pieces that boiled away.

Dana finally reached her target with Maya. The two stood next to the fireplace and the beating stone heart over it. Dana drew her sword and held it high as Witch Way caused iron nails to pop out of her floorboards and rise up in a lethal cloud.

“Retribution spell,” Dana reminded the witch.

Witch Way scowled and let the cloud of nails drop to the floor. A surprised look crossed her face, and she turned and saw Dana and Maya next to her heart stone. Then the witch saw Dana’s sword. She held up both hands and said, “Wait, what are you doing?”

Dana swung her sword at the fireplace to prove its danger. Her sword had damaged an iron golem and had no trouble slicing through the brick fireplace. She then pressed the tip of her sword against the stone heart and said, “Hands in the air, or the rock gets it.”

“No! It took a year to build that thing!”

“Then stop fighting.”

Witch Way pointed at Jayden. “Tell him that!”

Jayden’s shadowy magic hand grabbed Witch Way around the waist and lifted her off her feet. He pointed his sword her and said, “You claim to be my equal within these walls, so let’s take this fight outside.”

Dana had seen Jayden consumed by rage before, a terrifying sight. Getting him to calm down would be difficult. She ran over and grabbed Jayden by the arm.

“Jayden, I know this woman is evil,” Dana began.

“Not helping!” Witch Way shouted.

“But she saved your life. No one else nearby could have helped you. People warned me about her and I brought you anyway. I was desperate and you were dying. What she did was inexcusable, but I’m asking you not to kill her.”

Jayden stared at the witch. He was breathing hard and looked like he was seconds from attacking. Dana needed to do more.

“Maya and I saw your memories along with the witch,” Dana told him. Jayden’s fury was replaced with confusion. He stepped back and lowered his sword. “We know what you went through as a child and why you fight the king and queen. I’m so sorry. You deserved better.”

“Should we bow?” Maya asked. “He is royalty.”

Jayden looked down. “Don’t bow. Don’t kneel. Don’t tell me you’re sorry. I’ll take contempt over pity, for I’m worthy of scorn.”

“Jayden,” Dana began.

“I failed!” he roared. “I watched my father descend into evil. No one else could have saved him. No one else had the connection to him I did. I didn’t know the words to reach him. Countless villains masquerading as allies badgered him, pulled at him, never letting up for a minute as they tried to make his soul as ugly as their own. They succeeded and I failed, and countless lives have become infinitely worse.”

“I know you’re hurting, but you have friends who can help,” Maya reminded him. “You did then, too, Mr. Wintry and the jester. Um, what happened to them?”

Jayden’s anger was replaced with a depression every bit as great. “I’m told Mr. Wintry passed away three years ago. He waged a campaign of words against the king and queen, telling every man of influence what villains they are. Father and stepmother never understood why their diplomats suffered such hostile receptions in foreign lands. Kipling might still be alive somewhere, an old man by now. The last I’d heard of him, he’d stolen a month’s payroll for the army and fled the kingdom.”

“Why didn’t you go to them for help?” Dana asked him.

“I wanted to. Countless days went by where I yearned for their advice or a friendly voice in dark times, but if anyone saw us together they would guess the truth, meaning death for me and them.”

“Surely the king must know you escaped,” Maya said. “You stole a longboat.”

Jayden shook his head. “Waters around the Isle of Tears are treacherous, and storms are frequent. Losing a small boat there isn’t surprising or cause for concern. Other ships sent to the isle would expect to find only bones rather than men, so our absence wasn’t noticed.”

“Your hair was black in those memories,” Witch Way pointed out.

Jayden saw one of his bags on the floor and took a small bottle from it. “Hair dye. It does more than you’d think to disguise me.”

Witch Way laughed. “The mighty sorcerer lord dyes his hair?”

Dana glared at the witch until she shut up. With the witch silenced, she said, “The king and queen are responsible for their own actions, not you. They had the loyalty and love of good men. They threw that away for followers with dog-like obedience. What happened wasn’t your fault, and nothing you could do would have changed it. You were only a child.”

“I was a prince,” he said bitterly. “And now I’m a dead man. I warned you once that if my true name became known it was a death sentence. The king and queen will send armies after me if they learn I still live. You, Maya and the witch know the truth. I trust you and Maya, but my secret isn’t safe with the witch.”

Dana sheathed her sword and approached Witch Way. “You’re cursed with total honesty. Whatever you say has to be the truth, and you have to keep promises. Promise that you’ll never tell anyone what you’ve learned tonight.”

Witch Way hesitated. Dana pressed her hard, saying, “Do you want this fight to start again? Either he’ll kill you or you’ll kill him, and then his retribution spell will kill you. You’ve already lost much. Don’t add your life to the list.”

The witch heaved a dramatic sigh. “Fine. Prince Mastram, in return for my life I’ll never tell another your secret. Many will know that Sorcerer Lord Jayden came to me for help, so telling clients I saved your life is good advertising. I can’t break this promise even if I tried. Does this satisfy you?”

Jayden dispelled the magic hand holding Witch Way. “Your can keep your life, witch, but what you’ve done demands a response. I won’t harm a hair on your head, but my vengeance shall be brutal.”

Dana and Maya grabbed their things and helped Jayden out of the witch’s house. The fight had taken a lot out of him, and he only went a short distance before sitting down. The sun began to rise, welcome light after such a difficult night.

“I never realized how hurt he was,” Maya said from a safe distance. “Inside, I mean. Imagine having your own family turn against you. I always wondered what it was like to have a father and mother, and his were awful.”

“He’s blaming yourself for everything that’s gone wrong in the kingdom,” Dana said. She’d known that for all Jayden’s bravado he was a mess, but she’d never thought he was so badly damaged. How could she fix this?

Dana had thought they were done with Witch Way, but the witch came near Dana and said, “I’m sorry. You have no idea how rare it is for me to say that. Jayden or I would be dead if not for you. Probably me. I brought it on myself, like all my problems.”

“Your house is ruined,” Maya said sadly.

“My heart stone is all that matters. Those are hard to build, and costly in power and promises.” Sounding more worried than apologetic, Witch Way asked, “About Jayden’s threat. Exactly what did he mean?”

A tiny spark drifted by them and went through the open door of the house. Witch Way’s face turned pale. “He wouldn’t.”

“He would,” Dana said.

Boom! The house exploded in a fireball that destroyed what little had survived the recent battle. Pieces of the heart stone landed nearby and shattered when they hit the ground. High-pitched laughed echoes across the forest as the spirits in the heart stone made their escape.

“He did,” Maya said.