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Chapter 33

 

“The witch DeTac your majesty,” the guard to the royal receiving room announced.

 

            Kryler’s eyes narrowed.  “Bid her wait,” He turned grey eyes back to the map laying on the gold gilded table.  He waited for the heavy wood door to click and leaned back in his chair glaring at the raven perched on the back of a crimson cushioned chair across from him.

 

The raven stared, unblinking, with pitch black eyes.

 

“The map is incomplete,” he said to the raven.  “Tell your master I need more.  I want an accurate topography, especially the areas around Tursa Lake.  I can not invade and wage war with this.”  He made a dismissive gesture with his hand.

 

The raven blinked once and took to the air, flying from a narrow arrow slit at the top of the receiving room.

 

“You allow enemy minions access to the castle now Kryler?”  DeTac’s dry cackle came from the doorway. 

 

Kryler scowled, eyes sweeping over the bent figure dressed in rags, stringy gray hair, and the cloudy white eyes.  “I did not send for you.”

 

“And yet I am here,” she struck a gnarled walking stick, as tall as she, hard against the marble floor.  The chair vacated by the raven slid easily across the marble tile and stopped at her feet.  She lowered creaking bones into the softness of the crimson cushions and once again cracked the cane upon the floor.  The chair slid slowly back until the witch was sitting across the table from the glowering king.

 

“What has set your mood afoul Kryler?” DeTac’s voice echoed like dry leaves. 

 

Kryler slowly shook his dark head.  “You are no longer castle witch DeTac.  You traded the title for spy when you left for Amstel two hundred years ago.  I have not the time, or inclination to update you.”

 

DeTac laughed.  The sound reminded Kryler of dead leaves chaffing in autumn.    She reached inside the dirty brown smock, produced a folded yellow parchment, and placed it on the table, blue veined twisted arthritic fingers rested atop it.

 

Kryler raised a brow.  “What is that?”

 

DeTac gave him a toothless grin, milky orbs directed at his face.

 

Kryler stood to keep from snatching the parchment from the old hag’s fingers.  He moved to the side table and poured a chalice of wine. 

 

“When are you leaving?”  He sipped from the jeweled vessel.

 

“So quick to see me gone?”  DeTac watched the king with sightless clouded orbs.  “I am awaiting a messenger.”

 

Kryler raised a dark brow in question.

 

“It is a personal issue.  Once the messenger arrives I will know how long I require hospitality.”

 

Kryler grunted and took another drink.

 

“Until then,” DeTac continued.  “I have information to barter.”

 

Kryler slowly walked back to his seat, knuckles white on the chalice.  “Barter witch?  You do not barter with your king!”

 

DeTac scowled.  “Will you listen to my proposal Kryler or lose this war for stubbornness?”

 

Kryler sighed.  DeTac was a hag now, he remembered when she was beautiful.  Erotic memories filled his head.  He shook them away.  “What are your terms?”  Kryler looked over the rim of the chalice.

 

“I am to be castle witch the duration of my stay.  Several things need my immediate talent.  Not the least of which is  helping you prepare for war.  When I go, you gift me 30 slaves.” DeTac tapped the parchment.

 

Kryler took a long drink to afford time to think.  DeTac was always more talented than the healing and crop growing spells required of castle witch.  What was she up too?  He set down the chalice and looked at the clouded white eyes.  “I have a castle witch.”

 

DeTac gave him a half smile.  “Not anymore my lord.  She died this very morning of the flux.  Tragedy.  Really.”

 

Kryler gave her a dark frown.  “She was no good anyway.  Our crops have not flourished in several seasons.  The duty is yours witch, but you must again swear fealty to me, this time with the oath chest.”

 

DeTac cackled and produced a dagger from the folds of rags.  A blood red ruby bitten by two silver snakes with intertwining bodies decorated the hilt, both tails came together to form the ten inch lethal blade.

 

Kryler scowled at the wicked looking blade.  The guard would answer for this.  No one was to come armed into his presence.

 

DeTac smirked as if she knew his thoughts and dragged the blade across the palm of her wrinkled hand, a red line of blood appeared.

 

Kryler beckoned the slave standing by the door.  “Retrieve the chest.”

 

The slave bowed low and ran on bare feet to the throne room.  Within seconds the slave reappeared carrying a sterling silver box.

 

The magic box, the “Oath Taker,” was a relic from before the last wars. It was exactly one hand long, one hand deep, one hand wide, with human finger bones set in the lid. It held the oath taker and their promise to the wielder of the box.  If one proved faithless to an oath, their lifeblood would seek release immediately from every orifice on their body.  It was a messy and painful way to die.

 

Kryler snatched the cask from the slave and opened it.  DeTac let the blood from her hand drip into its dark greedy maw.

 

“I vow to serve you faithfully King Kryler, as the Machlag Castle Witch, until you release me from service.”  The dagger disappeared back into the folds of her rags.

 

“And an oath of silence witch,” Kryler demanded.

 

DeTac squeezed dripping more scarlet into the box.  “I vow to keep your secrets.”

 

Satisfied, Kryler snapped the lid shut and set the chest on the table.  Very few people ever voluntarily submitted to the Oath Taker.  DeTac’s willingness to do so made him more than a little suspicious.  Her magic couldn’t be stronger than the relic, could it?  He pushed the thought aside.

 

“Now,” Kryler said and looked pointedly at the parchment.  “What is that?”

 

DeTac snorted and opened the dirty parchment, her palm completely healed.  A familiar face was drawn in charcoal upon the sheet.

 

“Who is that?”  Kryler asked leaning forward to study the likeness.  “He looks familiar.”

 

“The one of Prophecy,” DeTac said.  “Do you not see the likeness?  He is your blood Kryler.”

 

Kyrler grunted and leaned back in his chair studying the witch.  “Which prophecy?”

 

“The only one that counts,” DeTac snapped.

 

“How did you get a rendering of the man?”  Kryler smirked.

 

“He was brought to me by one of my spies, unconscious, poisoned.”  DeTac practically spat.  “By all rights he should have been dead, yet his life force hovered.”  She waived an arthritic hand in the air.  The wine ewer and a chalice drifted on the air from the sideboard to rest gently on the table.

 

Kryler leaned forward and poured her a drink, then refilled his own.  “Why didn’t you kill him?”

 

DeTac shrugged and lifted the chalice to wrinkled lips.  She took a long cool drink and lowered the vessel.  “I thought to make him a sacrifice to the Woetress.”

 

Kyrler’s laughter boomed off the vaulted ceilings.  “And you failed?”

 

“I did not fail Kryler,” DeTac scoffed.  “I was thwarted.”

 

Kryler sniffed.  “Who north of the Gray could possibly be strong enough to thwart your magic?”

 

“The Guardians,” DeTac said matter-of-factly.

 

Kryler sucked his teeth.  It was historied every man in his line was assigned a guardian.  A species of supernatural beings created solely to protect the royal blood.  But he saw no such evidence of a guardian in his life, or his father’s, even when he slid a blade into the old man’s heart.  “Nonsense.”

 

“Have you read the histories?”  DeTac asked.

 

“Bah,” Kryler said throwing a hand in the air.  “Scrolls written by story tellers.  Myth, all of it.”

 

“There are things you need to know,”  DeTac said taking a deep drink.  “Your line does still exist north of the gray in the form of the Wardex clan.  And this man,” she tapped on the parchment, “Cade Wardex, will be your primary rival in the conflict to come.  And you do not want to believe we witches of the south have rivals in magic, but we do.  Their prophecy tells of the wizards return for the upcoming battle.”

 

Kryler brushed imaginary lint from his device.  “Those men may be of my blood, but they are not family.  Traitors, a band of renegade traitors.  They no more have guardians than I do.  And wizards were extinguished in the last wars.  Were an entire generation of them born today, there is no one to train them.  That is why I stopped putting violet eyed slaves to death.  Power, without knowledge, is useless.”

 

DeTac cackled.  “How little mortals know!”

 

“Mortals?”  Kryler sighed.  “You speak as if you are not mortal witch.”

 

“I am mortal,” DeTac said.  “Wizard blood will bare its own fruit.  That is why I insisted you continue the tradition of killing the violet eyes at birth.  Destroying the line is the only way to eliminate the threat and negate their prophecy.  I’ve lived one thousand years killing every violet eye that crosses my path except the one who must serve our prophecy before she dies.”

 

Kryler looked incredulous.  “A thousand years?”

 

“Do not doubt me Kryler.  I am high priestess of the Woetress, and a powerful witch in my own right.  This is the tenth body I’ve claimed in my time on Runelar, and the life spell that binds it is almost done.  I go south to collect my eleventh.”

 

“The thirty slaves?”  Kryler asked.  “Are they part of the collection process?”

 

DeTac laughed.  “Would you question me on coven affairs Kryler?”

 

Kryler frowned.  Witches were a touchy lot, known to curse anyone who delved too deeply into their world or made them angry.  His own father was cursed by a witch with infertility after raping her.   His father went on a war path, torturing and killing every witch and every suspected witch he discovered hoping to break the spell.  Many of them moved south to escape his persecution, into the caves of the Lormar.

 

The castle was without magic for many years.  Until, a much younger and voluptuous DeTac showed up in the kitchen one day raving about the prophecy and encouraging Kryler to murder his father.  Not only encouraged but covered him with a glamor which allowed him to walk up to his father unseen and slide a dagger between his ribs. 

 

Kryler shook his head and refocused on the conversation.  “Why would you keep that body this long?  You must be in some pain.  Why not use the same spell on yourself as you gave me?”

 

DeTac sighed.  “Longevity spells can not be used on a soul bound with a life spell.  The life spell I perform is no easy task.  It requires several sisters of strength, all of which as you know are south of here.  The side effects and risks are unpleasant enough that I only perform the ceremony when it is absolutely necessary.”

 

Kryler shrugged.  “When do you go?”

 

DeTac’s white clouded eyes never left his face.  “When all is made ready.  Perhaps a fortnight, perhaps longer.  I hope to return in time for war.”

 

Kryler smiled.  “And when would that be witch?  I have said naught about when the war is to take place.”

 

DeTac gave a toothless smile.

 

“Do you have any useful information?”  Kryler asked.

 

DeTac shoved the rendering of Cade toward him.  “Memorize this face.  The outcome of the war will be decided by the two of you.  And beware the guardians.  Never before have I seen them so directly involved with this world and their wards.”

 

“I can not fight what I do not see,” Kryler grumped.

 

DeTac took a deep breath, “I hope to bring aid.  That is all I will say on the matter.”  She changed the subject.  “You are in league with the shifters?”

 

Kryler shrugged a heavy shoulder.  “It seems all the dark races are working together.”

 

“Be wary that,” DeTac cautioned.

 

Kryler lifted a shrewd brow and smiled.  “I am no fool witch.”

 

“And what of the warlords in the fortified cities?”  DeTac asked.

 

Kryler’s eyes narrowed, the smile turned to a scowl.  The free cities were a sore subject for the monarchs of Castle Machlag.  When the dark races were pushed south, many humans were trapped south of the Gray Mountains.  They claimed fortified cities and built several sets of nearly impenetrable rings of defense around them.  Each city was run by a human warlord.  While the dark races were fighting over the territory south of the gray, the humans dug in and honed a sharp military force.  Men, women and children over ten years of age, were trained in deadly combat.

 

Kryler, and the kings before him, were unable to crush the free cities and defend against the dark races at the same time.  Now that the dark races called a truce, he was planning to take the fortified cities with their help.  But the witch need not know it.

 

“They are of no consequence now.  And would have been defeated long ago if you and that band of hags you call a coven would have come to my aid.” he said.

 

DeTac ignored the jib.  It was an old argument.  The coven would not leave the safety of the caves for any king of Castle Machlag.  Not after the massacre of its sisters so many years ago. 

 

“And when you move your troops north,” DeTac cackled.  “What keeps the free humans from taking over your castles?”

 

Kryler lifted a dark brow.  “You dare question my military acumen?”

 

DeTac laughed at the reversal then turned serious.  “When this body dies the longevity spell that carries you will die with it.”

 

Kryler leaned forward eyes narrowed.  “What does that mean?”

 

DeTac sighed.  “It means you will age normally until I return.  Then I will perform the spell again.” 

 

“Then see you return in all haste witch,” Kryler said frowning.  “I’ve no wish to age a day more.”

 

DeTac nodded and took a long drink from the chalice.  “My first duty as castle witch is to kill the wizard seed you now call mistress.”

 

Kryler stood suddenly, his chair crashing to the floor, and leaned over the table until his nose was a hands breath from DeTac’s filmy gaze.  “You will do the woman no harm witch.  You will not come into my kingdom killing anyone I do not command.  And if you do, my father’s war against your kind will look like a very mundane prelude to the destruction I will reign down.  Besides,”  Kryler scowled.  “Your very own traveling companion is violet eyed.”

 

DeTac put the chalice on the table.  “You are under her thrall.  It is the way with that race.  Any man who beds wizard blood obsesses over her all of his days.  Whatever you’re feeling Kryler, it is not real.  It is a by product of being intimate with magic.  Better I let you age and die than be slave to the love you feel for the chit.”

 

Kryler snorted, righted the chair, and dropped his heavy form into it.  “I was intimate with you once witch.  I had no trouble getting over it.”

 

“I am a witch,” DeTac spoke as if to a child.  “I was taught the art of magic.  When I die the spells I have cast die with me.  Wizards are born with the gift.  Their magic endures until it is undone.  All they have to learn is how the gift manifests itself and how to wield the energy.  It can take decades, but occasionally a wilder will come into the power automatically, like a second skin.”

 

“Where does your power come from?”  Kryler asked.

 

“Which is why,” DeTac continued, ignoring his question.  “I have taken great pains to exterminate all of the wizard seed I contact.  In the past wizards were taken to the great tower and taught, now they must learn on their own.  That can be deadly to anyone around them, wilder or not.  And why your mistress must die.”

 

Kryler snorted.

 

“Do you not know why, after hundreds of years of exterminating the purple eyed spawn, they are still birthed?”  DeTac asked.

 

Kryler shrugged.  “I have more important fish to eat.”

 

It was DeTac’s turn to snort.  “Your dark knights bring you slaves from the free cities.  How many of them have produced violet eyed brats?”

 

“I could not know,” Kryler said.

 

DeTac cut him off.  “The free cities harbor wizard seed Kryler.  Your dark knights prey on humans foolish enough to leave the safety of their fortresses.  They bring them to the slave pens.”

 

“You kill perfectly good slaves for the color of their eyes.  I will not allow it.  Mikota is my mistress.  Harming her in any way will be a death sentence.”  Kryler growled.  “For you and your kind.”

 

DeTac lifted a gray brow.  “I felt her drawing power and felt the residual vibrations when she released it.”

 

Kryler shook his head.  “It is not possible.  Were she able to wield such power she would not be a slave.  She would be,”

 

“Mistress to a king?”  DeTac finished.

 

“She is mistress because it pleases me.  When I tire of her she will be given to the knights.”  Kryler’s stomach knotted at the thought.  “I will have your word DeTac.”

 

“You have it my liege,” DeTac smiled.  “Though you are a greater fool for it.”

 

 

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