The Rise of the Spell Caster

"Okay. That's good to know. Same plan as always?"

"Sure, why not?"

"Lead on, my darling," said Roger, and gave her a low bow.

"Such cheek. See you inside."

Roger nodded and ducked behind the boulder and disappeared from her sight. Roger would be in position once she was ready. He always was.

Glenda walked toward the town and rummaged through her spell component bag. She found what she wanted by feel alone. Each ingredient fed her a little of their essence when she wanted them to. She selected what she needed and crushed the herbs and small bones into her palm. She lifted her hand and poured the mixture into her mouth and slowly chewed it, careful with the bones.

The taste was beyond bitter and foul. The mixture sucked the moisture from her mouth with surprising quickness, but she chewed until the mixture was a soft mass in her mouth. She spat it into her hand and took a swig of water from her waterskin to wash away the taste and spat. She could sense no eyes on her as the gate approached, but the grimoire knew she was there. She felt its fear and smiled.

Through the gate she could see the start of the town buildings that had been hidden by the surrounding wall. Eastwold looked like any other coastal town. It had a port bristling with the masts of fishing boats. Near the boats would be the fishery and above that there would normally be dozens of circling and screeching gulls. Today the sky was empty, and she knew it was just another sign. Proof that witchcraft was being used. Animals have a sense about witchcraft. Far better than humans or even the fae. This was why Roger and she had made such a tremendous team. Glenda could sense witchcraft across miles. Roger could sense the reaction of animals in the area and pinpoint the source of disquiet.

And that bow of his sure helps, she chuckled to herself.

She passed through the town gate and walked down the deserted main street. She walked past empty shops and houses toward the centre of town. She could feel the presence of the grimoire now. Before it had merely been a sense of direction. Now she could sense the evil. The power of the tome was gaining strength, and she knew that meant it had created yet another circle.

She didn't know who had created the book, but it was infused with part of the soul of a powerful spell caster. She knew it was partially sentient. What she had learned over the decades was that the tome only allowed a witch to see what she needed to see when the time was right.

She had always been certain Gwydion had possessed it and kept it hidden from her scrying. She had questioned her repeatedly over the years about it. Since the Adventurer Academy events, the tome had been exposed. Glenda had never laid eyes on the book but had learned much about it from other witches during interrogation. All Glenda knew was it was called Witch Circles: How to Control Your Spell Caster and Use His Power and it was supposedly bound with leather made from human skin. Likely the skin from the spell caster whose soul was used to empower the damn thing.

She was a little apprehensive as she spied the town hall at the centre of the town. A large open square was in front of it, and empty stalls for selling food and items were placed haphazardly around it. Flies swarmed in thick clouds over rotting food and Glenda could smell the decay.

It's so unsettling to walk through such an empty town, she thought.

On that thought, she scanned the area looking for bodies. The town was empty, and she feared the worst but knew it was already far too late. Whatever circle had formed here had already done their damage. The first rituals witches used to claim power required human sacrifice. The more sacrifice the better.

Glenda stopped walking once she reached the centre of the square. She faced the double doors leading into the town hall and tried to guess how many people had lived here in Eastwold.

She didn't know it, but her lips moved when she counted in her head. She stopped at four hundred.

It's at least four hundred people. Maybe more if they struck during a trading day. She shuddered. She fucking hated witches.

In her head, she stopped the other counting she had been doing from years of practice. She had reached six hundred marking the ten-minute mark. She looked around quickly for any arrows suddenly shooting into the air and seeing nothing she grimaced and walked directly to the town hall. She stopped before the two doors and reached for her magic. She could feel the grimoire's concern and smiled to herself.

She chanted softly under her breath and willed magic into the chewed mixture in her hand. When she reached the end, she tossed the mixture up onto the roof of the building. She felt her spell complete and wrap around the building. It was a simple spell, not requiring a ritual, but it was complex in the range and scope of it. Everything within the building could no longer escape without significant magic of their own and they would have to know exactly what the spell did.

It was her own spell, crafted and perfected over the years. All it did was cause confusion in the mind of someone trying to exit the building, either by door, or window.

And now by tunnel, she mentally added remembering that time up north so many years ago that caused her to modify the spell.

Her spit bound it to her and allowed her to pass freely. Roger was included in that by some miracle. Grace had once told her that they had shared so much bodily fluid over the years that they were more or less considered one person by her magic. Despite her years of experience with magic, Glenda still felt like an amateur compared to the knowledge the fae possessed.

And Bitty and the gnomes seem to know even more than the fae.

The time spent at the Academy teaching Daniel and the witches had exposed a whole new element to magic to Glenda. Remaining foremost in her mind was what Daniel had spoken to her about quite a few times.

Daniel had said he could see the bond between Roger and I, didn't he? mused Glenda. He said we were already connected. That I should bind him to me.

Her heart fluttered at the thought. To her it was an evil concept born of her years destroying the horror of witches and their bound spell casters and what evil they would always accomplish. And always willingly.

I could never subject Roger to that. I would become what I hate most. But still, Daniel proved it can be something different.

Glenda dismissed these thoughts, took a deep stabilising breath, and walked right up to the doors and pulled them both open wide with a bang and strode inside, her robes swirling behind her with the speed of her passage.

Roger climbed over the house closest to the town hall. He had kept an eye on Glenda when he could. He quickly searched the houses he passed and found no signs of life. Plates of rotten food and drink lay on tables half eaten. In places, small fires had started and thankfully hadn't spread before running out of fuel to burn. He had been in towns with a witch circle before when all that had remained was one building surrounded by the ravages of fire. This town had been spared that fate.

Except the townsfolk are all dead now, he thought with anger. They had seen these signs before. It always turned out the same.

He watched Glenda enter the square and pause before the townhall. She looked around for any sign from him to stop, and when he failed to fire an arrow into the air she strode forward with purpose toward the main doors. He lost sight of her under the eaves of the building roof he stood on.

The town hall was unexceptional in that it looked like any other town hall in the realm. It was large enough to house most of the townsfolk for important meetings or celebrations. A small spire rose from the roof with a small bell inside it; rung to warn the townspeople or to gather them.

Roger ran lightly across a house rooftop closest to the townhall and leapt across the gap of fifteen feet. He landed without sound on the other roof and nimbly ran up to the spire and found the small entrance at the back. The spire was a common design and he had expected nothing less.

He could feel the grimoire below him. He wasn't exactly sensitive to magic but years of being partnered with Glenda had somehow loaned her skills to him. But he had to be close. Like now.

He slipped inside the spire and placed his feet down on the narrow stairs used to service the bell and its spire. A thin rope descended into the town hall, and he could hear whispering female voices. Witches. He gingerly crept down the stairs and paused as they ended in a small, windowless, and empty room. He crossed the room to the only exit and pressed an ear to it. The whispering was louder and coming from the other side. Just then he heard the front doors bang open loudly.

That was his cue.

He pulled open the door, pulled out his bow, lifted a hand to the string to find an arrow there. He pulled back and surveyed the room. Hundreds of decaying bodies of all ages were stacked up and discarded in the corners with cut throats. They were the sacrifices to the witches' magic. But his attention was only on the four young female adults who were standing on a stage around a lectern with the grimoire open and placed on top. They were glaring at the front doors and watching Glenda walk purposefully toward them. He always found it remarkable that witches looked like any other women. These girls were no exception. They could be mothers or daughters shopping in the square. Except their uncanny beauty was forged from their evil magic and from spells born of the grimoire.

But they were witches, and he knew intimately what they were capable of.

Glenda raised her hands and started chanting.

Glenda and Roger had long ago realised that words were not necessary in moments like these. They were witches. They needed to die. Words did nothing.

Roger gave the girls some credit. For new witches they had reacted far quicker than he thought they would. The snarled evil words that caused blood to spew from their mouths along with the white of shattered teeth erupted as a tangible presence and a vibration you felt in your bones. The evil and hatred on the faces of the women was a sight most people would see as their last. The blood pouring down their chins made it all so macabre. But Roger grinned as he drew his bow to its full extension. He put his mind on the arrow and willed it to be what he wanted it to be. He had done this countless times before.

Glenda was faster than the girls, of course. She created a shield he could barely see around her as black oily smoke shot from the witches toward her. The shield seemed to make Roger sense and love Glenda all the more. Glenda winced hard. Then the witches' spell splashed uselessly against the shield and a loud male moan was heard from the grimoire.

Roger released his arrow. It flew toward the four girls and then immediately split into four bright streaks of light. Roger felt the arrow take from his own strength and he staggered. The light arrows struck the girls in the sides of their heads and exploded out the opposite side of their skulls in a spray of blood, bone, and brains.

The four girls dropped lifeless to the ground. The grimoire screeched in his mind with anger and hatred.

Now they surely burn in Hades. By the gods, I wish I didn't know they did, but they do, and I know. Those poor bastards.

Goosebumps rose on his skin, and Roger grimaced and looked around the room. Glenda nodded at him signalling they were clear. The witches were gone. The bow in Roger's hand returned to a small piece of wood and he put it in his pocket.

Glenda helped Roger pour lantern oil over the bodies in the town hall. Roger kept glancing at the grimoire, still sitting open on the lectern. A shimmer was the only thing that gave away that Glenda had locked it inside a field of immense power.

Glenda had been shocked at the power behind the witches' single desperate attack. They had cast it far too quickly for her liking. The spell would have sucked the soul from her body. Of all the shields she could have selected at the moment of their attack, she had thankfully selected the one that would block the spell they had used. She had formed her shield with a tiny piece of her soul, and it had hurt beyond words. Her soul would replenish but it would take years. She hadn't hesitated. The grimoire was a deadly thing; boosting the power of witches beyond what should be possible. She could hear it whispering at her, even now. Begging to be picked up. Then demanding it. Then begging again. It was unrelenting and insidious.

Once the oil was poured, Glenda stood up tall and stretched with her hands pressed into the small of her aching back.

"You got this?" asked Roger.

"Yes, love," replied Glenda and pulled out a small, seemingly ordinary dagger.

Roger nodded at her. "Okay."

Brian and Jennifer had given her the blade unexpectedly before she had left Whitehaven. They said Syn had blessed it for one purpose. Glenda walked over to the grimoire and glared down at the open pages. She avoided trying to read it. It looked evil and the words moved on their own on the yellowed pages. Pages made from human skin.

The seductive whispers increased in speed and intensity. She was promised power, wealth, beauty, and immortality. The adoration of thousands would be at her beck and call. She only had to reach out and claim the book for herself. It wanted her to. Welcomed her. Encouraged her. Images of cheering and loving fans came unbidden to her mind. Strong men who would pleasure her.

"Sorry," she smiled at the book. "I already have my Roger. His love and adoration are all I will ever need. I don't want for anything else."

She raised the dagger, whispered a few words to Syn just in case it helped, and plunged it deep into the pages of the book over and over. A psychic scream erupted, and Glenda flinched at the painful sound. She glanced at Roger and saw him crouched down covering his ears and screaming. Glenda felt warm liquid fill and pour from her ears.

Blood, thick and smelling of the worst kind of decay, sprayed out of the stabbed pages. Glenda forced her mouth shut as the blood sprayed across her. Thirteen stabs per side of the open book completed, Glenda then used the dagger point to flip the book closed and drove the dagger down into it to the hilt and left it there. The screaming grew quieter, and the blood stopped pumping. Soon it was nothing more than a book. Blood dripped from the lectern to the stage.

Glenda felt a presence suddenly appear within the townhall. She looked about quickly, her hand darting into her component bag. She could see Roger pouring oil over the corpses of the town's people. The presence was hidden. Like when she travelled out of body. But this presence was old. Very old. Not human. Angry. Suddenly, she knew who it was.

Maeve? she thought. Why is she here so far from the Wilds and so furious?

Just as quickly as the presence had been felt by her, it streaked away to the west. Glenda took a shuddering breath, feeling she had escaped something horrible.

What was that about? she thought as she looked down at the grimoire. It can't be, but maybe?

Glenda grabbed the bloody book with a silk cloth and walked over and dropped it on the corpses of the slain witches. It landed wetly in the oil covering them. She nodded at Roger, and when he rose, they walked holding each other for support to the exit. Roger paused, knelt down, and quickly struck a stream of sparks with flint and steel. The bright sparks flew and landed in the oil, most extinguished but a few burnt true, and a loud woof of displaced air was heard as the oil ignited.

The flames raced across the oil and engulfed all the bodies and licked up the wooden walls. Curtains caught fire and the flames reached higher, hungrily devouring all within reach. Glenda nodded in satisfaction as the witches and the book erupted in flame.

Glenda and Roger exited the townhall and closed the doors. They walked to the centre of the square and sat on the ground and held hands watching the flames shoot out the roof of the building. In time, the bell in the spire fell with a loud clang and clatter and then all that could be heard was the flames. Black smoke billowed high into the air and blew away from them with the winds.

Glenda smiled, not realising how horrendous she looked covered in spattered blood. "Feel that?"

Roger nodded.

Glenda sniffed the air. "The evil is gone. What a relief."

"I'm glad that's over. That book has plagued us for decades."

Glenda merely nodded and thought about Maeve before taking his hand in her bloody one. She stared down at, knowing every mark and scar on his hand like it was her own. She loved this hand.

"Where to now?" he asked.

"Back to Whitehaven. We must warn the others about my vision."

A lone gull cried out and flew over the harbour.

Chapter Ten

DANIEL WAS PLEASED about one thing. Sure, he was trapped in the lands of the Light fae, but he was trapped in a luxurious room with his witches by his side. Titania had relented with Grace on one thing and had removed them from the Pit. It was still a prison, just not dark and cold as the Pit.

He lay in the dark listening to the soft breathing of his girls. Jasmine was on top of him as usual, pressing him into the mattress, and drooling on his shoulder. Amy lay against his right arm, and Amber against his left. His manacled hands lay under Jasmine.

His mind churned with questions. Nothing seemed to follow logic or reason. The Light fae never seemed right in the head to him. He wouldn't call them evil, but he only felt death around them. With Grace he felt life and hope. Most people felt the fae were beyond human understanding and whatever drove them was beyond instinctual to them and humans would never understand what was so clear to them. Daniel couldn't get past that they longed for war. They embraced it like children waiting for the harvest celebrations.

Grace had shrugged when pressed by him one day to help him understand.

"It is what it is," she had replied, playing with his nipples as they lay in bed at the Academy so many months ago. It tickled like crazy, but he always welcomed her touch.

"What kind of answer is that?" he had replied. Grace had a way of dodging questions. He had learned to keep pressure on her until she relented. Sometimes it worked.

Probably only when she allows it, too, he thought.

Grace reached between his thighs and gathered up his semi-hard cock and rubbed a thumb viciously across the head, still slick from their recent love making.

Daniel hissed at the intense pleasure her action pulsed through him. "By the gods, stop that!"

Grace giggled. That never got old to Daniel. Grace giggling could either be the worst thing you ever heard or the best thing. To Daniel, it made him smile. Alone, Grace and he had a special relationship. He loved his witches more than his own life, but with Grace it went beyond that into something he couldn't understand. Ever since he had laid eyes on her in that dingy Acron tavern, he had known they were destined to be together.

Well, maybe I never imagined lying next to her covered in sweat and tasting the lingering flavour of her sex in my mouth, but I knew she and I were connected somehow.

"I want a real answer, Grace. What drives you to war with each other every hundred years?"

Grace gently stroked his cock and Daniel felt himself harden under her expert touch. "Seriously, it is what it is. It's our nature. The fae make the cycles of life and death occur. Without our effort, life as you know it would cease to exist. Night fae magic touches all life and pulls it toward the door to death as all life must one day end and pass through the portal. The Light fae reach into that darkness and pull life into creation."