The Channeling (Rise of the Witch Guard Book 3) Read online

  “No! You have to listen,” cried the Healing Wench.

  “We will hear no more of your lies! For the crimes of practicing witchery without a license; for practicing secret witchery among the people of the village; for living among the people disguised as a Wench; for taking and keeping a husband when by law all witches must live alone in the woods; for causing one cow’s milk curdle and dry up; for hexing an entire brood of piglets to die over a dispute regarding the production of a prize winning pie; and for the crime of cursing a local villain with impotence and forcing his root to wither and seed fail except when cleaving to his wife in the confines of their own home; for all these various High Crimes and Misdemeanors, as well as for practicing a type of witchery deemed illegal by the Kingdom’s Magic Council and the White Tower Certification Board, the punishment is this Wench is to be taken alive and burned at the stake until dead!” the Witch Hunter shouted over the top of the protesting woman’s pleas.

  Falon, whose expression had been turning ever more incredulous as the various list of crimes was extolled, couldn’t help from coughing with embarrassment when the terms of the impotence curse was called. But she sobered quickly enough once the list of crimes was declared.

  Bucket and Ernest came pounding up just as she regained her bearings.

  Falon pointed at the Inquisition and the Wench at the stake. “They’re going to burn her for practicing illegal magic,” Falon said indignantly.

  “That’s not my fault,” protested the Wench, “he was the one that asked me to apply the curse in the first place! Said he was afraid of his wife leaving him! And as for the pies, Goody Emilla deserved it for getting her husband to rule in her favor as the judge of the pie contest. Everyone here knows that I make the best pies within walking distance of three villages—it was justified retribution for cheating!”

  “So you admit it! You admit to using magic only a witch can use. But not only that you have copped to the use of the very basest forms of black magic,” cried the Inquisitor to the small crowd of villagers gathering around and nodding or shaking their heads, “this is the very reason why the Kingdom outlaws the use of magic unless a woman is a registered witch living well outside the village limits! Innocent pigs were slaughtered over a pie making contest, milk was curdled, and a poor man was coerced by his wife into seeking out illegal black magics—magics which he never could have obtained if this Wench here,” he thrust a damning finger in the hidden Witch’s direction, “hadn’t been a secret law-breaker!”

  Heads nodded around the circle of village watchers, but then the little flames of fire started to rise up from the wood piled at the Witch’s feet. With a puff of the wind, smoke billowed up into her face and she began to cough.

  Diffidently, a village elder stepped forward. “With respect I’m the Headman of this here village, Sir Wizard,” the Elder began respectfully, “and we all know that the Wench done got her skirt caught on a nail by doing what she oughtn’t have. But we here don’t really think she needs to die for it. Just give her the knotted rope or bury her in a pit for a week and a day or some-such; surely you can do something that doesn’t require killing her. I mean, who’s going to make potions for the sick little wee bairns or heal the broken bones when a man—”

  “Death!” thundered the Wizard, and the glowing lines of force emanating between the other wizards intensified and then started to rise in the air up to their head levels. “My good man, I don’t know if you’re a secret supporter of this criminal or just confused but there is only one punishment for a Witch that goes beyond the pale!”

  Several people looked alarmed and one man stepped forward, looking truly desperate. “Well at least get her to take it off before you burn her!” he cried. Falon was uncertain for a moment whether the man was referring to the wench’s curse, or to her clothes—neither would have surprised her at this point.

  The Inquisitor looked at the man witheringly. “Suffer not a witch to live! A woman who practices her illegal magic must be stopped immediately; to let her continue to practice her black arts on you would be a violation of everything this kingdom holds dear,” he declared.

  “Then can you at least take it off?” the man asked, causing the woman beside him to shout with fury and punch him in the arm.

  The Wizard paused and looked at him, his hands making gestures and speaking words that were nearly inaudible from Falon’s position.

  “I’m sorry, villain,” the Wizard said harshly, “the kind of foul magic she used on you is one of the most binding and required your active consent to have it placed before it could be cast. As such, only if both you and the caster consented to its removal would such a thing be possible. I cannot remove it from you.”

  “No!,” the villain with the impotency curse cried, his voice cut short as his wife grabbed him around the neck, squeezed and started shouting at him.

  “I should have left you years ago!” shrieked his fat wife, a woman with burn marks over half her face.

  Falon could sense power starting to be drawn to the woman at the stake and, for a moment, she wondered if the Witch…or Wench…or whatever she was would be able to break free. But then the White Tower endorsed Witch Hunters started chanting loudly.

  “Your magics will avail you not, foul temptress!” declared their Leader. “Raise the anti-magic shell!”

  Slowly, the lines of force rose into the air forming a pentagram in the sky, casting a shadow over the witch at the stake.

  “No!” she said with despair.

  The wizard cackled as the flames reached the level of the bottom of the woman’s feet, when the wizard danced a little jig.

  “You may be able to raise a curtain over the moon!” cried the Witch, even though it was daylight and as far as Falon could see there wasn’t actually any moon or moonlight to be used. “but one day you’ll get what’s coming to you for burning poor working women. Even if I have to wait in the grave, I’ll see—”

  “Gag her!” the lead Inquisitor said coldly, and a moment later only incoherent sounds—and the furious eyes of the woman—were left to scold him.

  Several people in the crowd started weeping as the former village Healing Wench and illegal practicing Witch twisted and screamed as the fire grew.

  “Now then, for the crime of harboring a secret witch, the Kingdom allows me the power to level a fine. That’ll be ten silver per household or else we’ll burn your houses just like we burnt this evil wench,” yelled the Leader.

  Villagers gasped and turned pale. “But, Sir Wizard, we are a poor village…we don’t see that kind of coin even in a year! If you can lower it a little—” the elderly Headman said urgently.

  “We will consider payment in kind on a case by case basis if the family cannot afford the coin,” the Wizard said with a lascivious smirk on his face as he looked at several of the more attractive members of the crowd.

  “This is blackmail,” Ernest gasped beside her just as the squad of former Raven militia under Sergeant Uilliam huffed and puffed up beside her.

  “What’s going on, Sir?” asked the leader of her personal fighting tail and war band, Sergeant Uilliam.

  “It’s not blackmail—it’s semi-legal extortion and completely legal murder,” Falon said bleakly. At first it had sounded like maybe the Wench had indeed gone bad, but after listening to everything she didn’t think the woman deserved to die—at least not for the crimes listed.

  She turned to Uilliam. “What’s going on here is that they’re planning to kill her over some spoiled milk, a few dead pigs out of revenge for a rigged pie contest, and a limited impotence curse that a straying husband asked her to put on him before his wife left him for good,” Falon said sourly. She felt bitter and unresolved but ultimately helpless as this travesty of justice took place.

  “Thou lot have a strange way o’ doing things,” Uilliam said.

  “This sucks,” said Ernest.

  “What do you want us to do?” asked Uilliam, calming down now that it was obvious that it wasn’
t bandits they had to deal with.

  “What do I want?” Falon asked sullenly turning back to look at the Inquisitor watching the still screaming Wench with a satisfied expression. Her face hardened. If the woman had appeared truly guilty or deserved her fate for other reasons, she could have moved on. Maybe even if the Witch Hunters hadn’t appeared so eager she might have been able to let this pass. But right now all she could see was her mother’s face—or even her own if she was discovered. Because no matter how unwilling she had been when Tulla first forced her to learn magic, the fact remained Falon herself was now a secret unregistered witch living amongst the people.

  How much of a hypocrite would she be if she left an innocent woman…well maybe not entirely innocent, as the Wench had admitted to killing those pigs in, according to her, a justified fit of pie revenge? What kind of hypocrite would Falon be if she just let her burn when she could do something about it?

  Screwing up her courage, Falon turned to the men around her. “I think I want to rescue that woman before she dies,” she said unhappily, almost hoping that they’d tell her it was impossible so at least she could say she tried..

  Uilliam looked surprised and Ernest’s jaw dropped. “Are you out of ye mind, Falon!” Ernest demanded.

  “Okay,” said the Sergeant at the same time.

  “That’s Lieutenant Falon to you,” she retorted at Ernest.

  “I don’t care if you’re a lieutenant; are you really thinking about ordering us to attack official wizards carrying out official kingdom business?” he cried.

  “So what if I was?” Falon shot back. “And you can call me Sir Falon if you’re going to keep asking me if I’m crazy.”

  “I didn’t say that you’re crazy, you did—although right now it seems pretty apt. Wizards…those are real wizards,” Ernest protested in a lowered voice, “I know that your mother is a witch but you can’t just go around—”

  “We’re in,” Uilliam interrupted Ernest’s and Falon’s back and forth commentary.

  “What?” Ernest’s head shot around and Falon blinked in. surprise. She’d been too focused on the boy her own age.

  “I said me and the boys are in,” Uilliam answered Ernest but his eyes were on Falon’s own “we’d all be dead if it wasn’t for you. So if thou want us to attack some Wizards to save a Wench or a Witch or whatever she is, we’ll follow,” he said and then added, “although I hope there is a plan.”

  Falon was taken aback, and her mouth opened and closed like a fish.

  “So what did thou want us to do?” asked the huge Raven man.

  “We’ll cover our faces with bandannas to hide our identities—and break that woman free,” said Falon after a moment.

  “That’s crazy talk; we’ll all be slaughtered by magic before we could even get within range,” Ernest said with a worried edge to his voice, “and even if we try to run they’ll just hunt us down later. This is a really bad idea, Fal.”

  “We’ll pretend to be bandits or local confederates, maybe relatives, here to free the Witch. Since no one can see our faces they won’t know the difference,” she declared over Ernest’s objections, “just a basic snatch and grab.”

  “And if the Wizards try to stop us as wizards are wont to do?” asked Uilliam.

  “Finally some sense. What he said—what he said,” repeated Ernest, pointing at the large statured former Raven militia leader and Falon’s current head sworn man.

  “We’ll try to knock them out and tie them up but if they resist…” Falon closed her eyes and took a deep breath. This walked far too close to the line separating warfare with murder for her stomach. But with Uilliam and the Ravens looking at her like she was the woman with all the answers, she felt hemmed in. She was committed and had to do this, however crazy it sounded. Something inside her said that this was the right thing to do and if she didn’t even try then she’d change. Slowly. Imperceptibly, maybe. But one day she’d wake up and not recognize herself.

  Opening her eyes, she met Uilliam’s level look and swallowed before firming her mouth and jutting out her jaw. There was no going back whichever way she turned.

  “If they resist or look like they’re going to stop us from getting away, then…” she paused and nodded sharply, “if that happens, slaughter the Inquisitors.”

  Now she was committed. If anyone in authority ever heard of what she’d just said, she’d be branded a rebel insurgent and a traitor for certain. But she couldn’t care. Burning women at the stake—well anyone, really, man or woman—was just plain wrong. Maybe if they were really evil and really using black magic on people then it would be deserved, and even if it wasn’t right she wouldn’t life a finger to stop it from happening. But a few pigs? All of this over a pie?

  No way. Not today, and not on her watch. And if they didn’t like it well then they shouldn’t have made her a Knight or put her in charge of a fighting company.

  Chapter 23: Making the Plan

  Not being a complete fool, Falon dismounted, had Ernest manage the reins of her horse as well as Bucket the donkey extraordinaire, and then told him he could either cover them with his bow and arrows or take off with both horses and return to camp. At the moment, she didn’t much care which choice he made.

  “I’ll stay,” he said mulishly.

  “I didn’t think you’d want to risk it since you don’t agree with this. You’re free to do whatever you want,” Falon said.

  “I’m not a coward, Sir Falon,” he said fiercely putting heavy emphasis on the ‘Sir’ in her title, “no matter what you think!”

  “I never said you were,” Falon stared at him. “You thought it though,” he glared, “you think I don’t know that poor witch got a bum deal just the same as you do? By the gods I wish I could help her. But attacking a king’s servant as he’s carrying out the king’s law? I know your mother’s a witch and I know this woman doesn’t deserve this. So I’ll fight because you asked me to, because it’s the right thing to do…or at least not an entirely wrong thing…and even if you leave me holding the horses, I’ll shoot my bow don’t you doubt it. But what you’re doing here breaks the law and is the same as asking to be branded an outlaw a rebel or a traitor or worse if you’re caught, ‘Sir’ Falon.”

  “Breaks the law…” Falon echoed, and suddenly her mind was filled with the blood soaked misdeeds of the leader of their army Prince Marshal William Stagg.

  The way he broke his word to Prince Hughes after losing his duel, murdering the Baron of Frost March in cold blood, and then knighting her to keep her quiet—even though she never asked for a thing—and who knows what other heinous acts he had authored. If she was breaking the law then she was only following in his footsteps.

  She pursed her lips. “Then I guess we’ll just have to make sure we don’t get caught,” she said faintly.

  “Oh, I give up,” Ernest threw his reins-holding-hands in the air, causing the two steeds to startle and snort before settling back, “just go do what you’re going to do. You always do anyways.”

  Falon turned to the Ravens. “Let’s do this. We’ll approach at a walk, nice and easy like we’re here to see the spectacle, and get as close as we can. As soon as they challenge us or we get within arm reach, we charge, but hopefully they won’t notice we’re up to no good until it’s too late.”

  All around her, Falon’s sworn men nodded grimly.

  She could tell despite their Sergeant’s tough talk, the thought of going up against a bunch of wizards was making their bowels loose.

  “Let’s roll out, boys,” said Uilliam attaching his bandana around behind his neck and tying it tight, “remember: faces down to hide the bandana until we can see the whites of their eyes.”

  “Uh…you might want to skirt around so that you come out facing them from a direction other than where the army is marching from. It’s just a thought,” Ernest said, splaying his hands, “but then again what do I know?”

  “But that will take extra time,” Falon protested, worried for the wench o
n the stake.

  “You’re the Knight here and I’m just a lowly warrior, Sir Falon,” Ernest said with an edge to his voice.

  “Fine. Thanks,” Falon fumed turning on her heel and stalking away, “follow me, boys—I mean everyone without a bum leg!”

  Ignoring the muffled exclamation behind her, she started walking around the clearing surrounding the village so as to circle around so that it looked like she was approaching from off the road. Not that it had anything to do with that no good, hot-tempered, worrywart Ernest Farmer!

  Chapter 24: To Slaughter or not to Slaughter?

  “The witch seems to be weakening,” remarked Uilliam, doing nothing to keep Falon from worrying that everything they were doing might all be for nothing if they didn’t move faster. Earth and Field, what possessed her to listen to a word Ernest Farmer said anyway?

  “Walk a little faster,” Falon said and, putting words to action, she increased her pace slightly from a quick walk to a fast walk.

  Then they were there.

  “This is the spot; let’s approach,” Falon said, reaching down to loosen the straps of the boot on her left foot. Her hand absentmindedly touched the hilt of her sword for comfort.

  Thankfully both villagers and witch hunters were too focused on the spectacle of a woman being burned to death to pay much attention to Falon and her militia until they were nearly where they needed to be.

  “Greetings, strangers,” said the elderly Headman, eyeing the weapons carried by Falon and her people with alarm.

  “You have nothing to worry from us, good man,” Falon said courteously, but her instinctive act of meeting the elder’s eyes revealed the bandanna covering everything from her nose down to her chin and the elder backed up in alarm.

  “Pardon me, elder,” Falon said, stepping forward confidently.

  Looking with wide eyes from their masked faces to the weapons and armor they were carrying, he gulped and abruptly motioned for the villagers to keep their distance from the armed warriors suddenly in their midst.