The Warlord

Chapter 22: Evelaen

Serestine is far behind me, and yet not a word of the little witch has reached my ears. I am sure my queen has already realized why I have left, but for her to not send out any scouts to bring me back for the past few days... either she understands my reasons or I am dead to her. The latter hurts my heart and my logic, but it is the most likely. Perhaps she thinks I have gone on a fool's quest; maybe she is right.

A fierce gale rips through the air, chilling my skin. Around me, the stalks of grass ripple and bow, cutting at my legs and hindering my path. A few miles ahead are the Perished Lands, and farther than that, foreign harbors leading to other continents. I might find more information there; sea gossip is mostly exaggerated but reliable at the core.

I stumble on for a few more hours, the elements of the world ripping at my skin and clothes, as if they want to stop me from continuing. Maybe it is the whispered curse of the Perished Lands, where the very earth itself tries to bar non-witches from entering. Ahead of me, a lean and dreary forest looms, its trees literally bending over in accordance to the wind. I wrap my shawl around me tighter as I trudge into the shadowed woods. Briar Forest. They say faeries and elves dwell here; the creations of the gods superior to humans in ability, but not in numbers. We drove out the magical creatures from our cities ages ago, and now they survive in minuscule pockets dotting the continent. However one of them is more than enough to overpower a wandering traveler, and might be a match for an elite warrior. I unsheathe a dagger and ready my sword, my knuckles turning white in response to my tight grip.

The very wind itself falls quiet when near the ground, though it still rages above at the tree tops. I try to tread as lightly as I can, but I can only get away with the faintest crinkle of the leaves. If there are any magical creatures here, they already know that they have a visitor.

Halfway through, I unsheathe another dagger, and steel myself for any oncoming fights. Suddenly, a faint, sloshing sound reaches my ears; something hitting the ground in slurred, long intervals. I leap amongst the trees, stealthily, quietly, approaching the possible target. Slowly but surely, a humanoid figure comes into view between the trunks and branches of the forest.

I slow into a cautious walk, readying my two daggers. My breaths become shallow and almost nonexistent as I creep closer and closer. The figure is holding a container and dumping out some sort of fluid from within, the contents splattering all over the leaf-littered floor. It wears a thick cape and hood, and I can only make out the bottom half of its legs. I send out my magic in small, tiny tendrils, trying to feel out the aura of this being. Just as my power is a hairsbreadth away from touching them, a prickle so sharp and sudden makes me back away and let out a whispered cry of surprise. It is enough to alert the creature.

Its head turns sharply towards me and it drops the container, letting it fall into the very contents it contained. I barely have time to launch my dagger and bring my magical shields up before it sends a blast of darkness in my direction, dodging my dagger. My shield holds strong as its magic comes in contact, but I take a step back at the unfamiliar force and power. It might be a tough opponent.

I am about to throw another dagger at it, but suddenly it stops, and the forest falls still again. It cocks its head, and slowly walks towards me. I fall back into a defensive stance, bending my knees and holding my balled hands out in front.

"You have the scent of my master on you." A light, feminine voice comes from the shrouded figure. It takes its hood off, revealing a dark-skinned young girl, about the same age as the little witch, but emanating a power much older and wiser. I am about to ask what it is, but then I see the peaks of demon horns emerging from beneath the curly hair.

"A familiar," I breathe, lowering my stance and loosening my grip on my dagger. "Your master has gone missing. A young witch, barely past the witchling age, with short, dark hair and brown eyes, correct?" The familiar's face breaks into worry as she nods. "I am in search of her. She is direly needed."

At this something hardens on the familiar's face; something cross and sharp. "Needed for what?" 

I grip my dagger and ready my magic as I say, "She is needed to reach Heaven and negotiate peace for Serestine."

Turmoil wars on the familiar's face, and her eyes drop for a second, finding the royal crest half-hidden by my cloak on my armor. "She hates the queen, warlord. But peace for Serestine is something she yearns for." A momentary pause, and I hold my breath. "She cannot reach that peace alone. I will help you find her." My heart rates slows to a comfortable pace and relief washes over me. "I sensed that my master went missing two days ago, and so I ventured towards a nearby town. I have been working there as a waitress, hoping to earn enough coin to travel to Serestine to search for her. But now it seems I will not have to." 

"Where is she? I have already scoured through Serestine, both aboveground and underneath." Familiars have a magical bond with their master, a contract laced between their souls. She can pinpoint where the little witch is, and she might prove to be useful as a fighter.

The familiar closes her eyes and slowly extends out her hands. I can faintly feel a witch-like magic coursing through the earth, reaching and extending and searching. The familiar gives a shocked gasp, her hands shooting to cover her mouth.

"This can't be! Warlord, we must act quickly! My master is being kept in-" A blast of dark magic hits the familiar right at her stomach, launching her a few yards away. I whirl around and hurl my dagger at the attacker before turning back to see the familiar crumpled on the ground, steam rising off of her clothing. She is not dead, but very close.

An acrid, disgusting scent of magic reaches my nose and I jump back, pulling out my sword and facing the attacker. Death-like magic, even more powerful than what the familiar fired at me when we first met.

"I would prefer if you would go down as your companion did. That would make my job much easier." A beautiful, ethereal man walks towards me, his dark robes fluttering behind him. He cocks his head at me, his chiseled lips curving into a tiny smile. "Can't you do me favor and help out a simple god like me by rolling over dead? After all, I can't have you finding out where we're keeping that little witch friend of yours."