The Warlord

Chapter 7: Lorelei

I race through the underground passage, letting the dirt muffle and absorb my frantic footsteps. The fear is still ripe in my chest, not only from the encounter with the two slave traders, but also from the fact that I was found out. This is my first time going into a town alone; my coven is stationed farther away from Serestine, in the Perished Lands, where no man dares to roam. Tonight is the night I must leave. The royal guards will most likely come knocking at my herb shop's door, asking to question me about the incident. My heart gives a bitter squeeze at the thought of the mark on my back being revealed to the world, after all, the last time someone saw it things did not go so well.

I swiftly climb up the carved out dirt steps before crawling out from the trapdoor in my cottage's floorboards. The afternoon has just ended, so though there is still light, there might not be enough time to get everything ready. Shutting the trapdoor behind me, I race to my room and grab whatever boxes I can find. My altar goes first, the petals and statues and candles disappearing into a sealed wooden chest. I toss all of my supplies into various containers, and carefully place each of my jars of dried herbs into a canvas sack. Folding and filing four pairs of extra clothes, I stuff everything, including a bedroll and a skein of water, into a leather messenger bag charmed with shrinking tassels, a number of storage seals, and spells of weight alteration. Buttoning the front flap into place, I tuck away two hunting knives and a pouch of chalk in the outermost pocket. 

Shouldering my bag, I adjust my cloak and head to the center of the cottage. Taking a spare piece of chalk, it only takes a few moments for me to scratch out an insignia on the floor. Most of the families in Koraness are likely at home, eating dinner and talking, so no one will notice a faint ripple of magic going through the woods. I crush the chalk into powder and smear it across my hands before kneeling and slamming my palms down onto the center of the insignia. A light flares as I direct my magic into sign, letting it weave through the marks and fuel the spell. The world around me is nothing more but pure white light, and I can vaguely feel the earth let out a few tremors as my magic passes through the ground and into the air, encasing my cottage. Just a little more... A final spurt of energy to complete the circular insignia, and then I am kneeling on the forest floor, my house vanishing into a shimmering crystal. It drops to the ground, and for a moment I want to take it back with me to the Perished Lands, but I know that its magic can be tracked. With a sigh I let the earth spirits engulf it, and it crumbles into the ground, consumed by dirt and grass and decay.

"Are you sure they wanted to take you to the Slave Trade?" A voice cuts through the forest, and I freeze, panic tingling my body. "Or was it the Witch Trade." In an instant, the strange royal guard that saved me in the alley appears in front of me, arms crossed, hood down. Trembling, I stare up into the perplexed, cold face, and fear jars my mind. I was rescued by Serestine's warlord.