The Last Witch

Asher suspected the lodgings for outside company wasn’t in Dalvany’s town proper. He hoped some of the farmers further south would open their homes, but now knew that asking that of them would be too much on an already strained workload. That left only one other option though. He wasn’t the type to pray, but he would start if it meant he could stay away from Dalvany Manor.

There was only one official road between Valenda and Dalvany; a narrow dirt indent surrounded by thick pine trees, the shadows long and the terrain uneven. The carriage rattled along uncomfortably, knocking Asher from side to side, and there was no indication out of the little curtained window whether they were travelling for six hours to the manor, or seven to reach the town. Either way, it had already been a long trip, and there was still a long way to go. 

Navarre was the only other person in the carriage with him, both of them in a space that held less than four people. Asher didn’t want to imagine how cramped it would be in the rest of the procession. Even with just the two of them it was much too tight. No matter how much Asher shifted, his knee pressed against Navarre’s, and the contact was a little too firm to be comfortable. 

Navarre didn’t seem to notice. He was focused intently on papers piled in his lap, with small spectacles balancing on his nose. Up close, his age showed more obviously, with crows feet pinching at his eyes and lines creasing his forehead. They did nothing to lessen the stone-like appearance of his features. Instead, he looked even more like a sculpture carefully carved by a loving hand. The smallest dents in his straight nose, the firm line of his jaw, the lines of sinew running down his neck. He’d always had impossibly sharp features, even when they were teenagers, but age had only refined him further. 

Navarre glanced over his spectacles, and pale brown eyes locked onto him. Asher felt heat rush to his face, moreso when Navarre winked at him. 

He turned his attention to the window instead. Asher pulled the curtain back, then immediately regretted it as the sight beyond burned into his brain. They had reached the edge of the wild parts of the forest. The thick pines gave way to a flatter plateau, breaking up into shining clearings. On a strip of grass just beyond the road was a large, wooden beam propped up higher than the roof of the carriage. Four bodies hung from the beam, the rope wrapped around their neck, their heads crooked and their bodies limp. He pushed the curtain closed again.

‘Yeah, a lot of that these last few years,’ Navarre said. ‘Record when I started with the Guard we hung two witches a year, maybe? We’ve had six in the last few months.’

Asher didn’t say anything. He’d always considered the stories of the underlands to be more metaphorical than a real place, something that could let the most zealous of people guilt others away from wrongdoing. He didn’t believe it was a wasteland of corruption filled with evil little monsters, and he believed less so that living people were acting on the orders of those evil little monsters. Those stories of a prison world where the most evil of evil people existed… it had only ever been a moral scare tactic. Whatever crime these people were committing, claiming to hear the voices of demons wasn’t enough of a reason to execute anyone. 

‘People are getting panicked,’ Navarre said. ‘Dalvany’s Lieutenant will fill you in tomorrow.’

‘Panicked enough for “witchcraft?”’ Asher asked. 

Navarre shrugged. ‘Not my jurisdiction. I’d say some people are looking for some kind of scapegoat, and they’re getting a bit fanatical.’

Enough to hang people, Asher added silently. He made another internal note to check how much the public did know. Dalvany sat in a valley and Valenda on the mountain; it was easy to see the top turrets of the palace from the town centre, so people would notice it was gone. Also, people talked. He’d spent enough time patrolling the streets to know how fast news spread, and people weren’t stupid. The people in town would know very well what was happening up north, but someone would be working to contain it, and he needed to know how much was fact and how much was speculation. 

‘Something on your mind?’ Navarre asked. There was a mocking tone to the words, because of course he already knew the answer. 

‘Just thinking about what I need to do next,’ Asher said. If he took this one step at a time, then it wasn’t so impossible. There was an explaination to all of this. Somewhere. He would start by touching base with the Lieutenant, figuring out how much he needed to step in to help, and just how much chaos was about to break out. 

One step at a time. 

‘I’ll tell you how this is going to happen tonight,’ Navarre said. ‘I’m dragging you into the big leagues to get an idea of what’s left of the governing class. You’ll get a clear idea of how we’re doing things, and you can take that to everyone else tomorrow.’

‘So I’m the messenger?’ Asher asked. 

‘Pretty much,’ Navarre said. ‘Most of the people in town don’t like us palace types, and you’ve got enough experience in both to not see those same palace types stick their nose up at you.’

‘Experience?’ Asher echoed. ‘Because I went to Beau Jordeaux?’

‘That’s part of it,’ Navarre said. ‘It got my recommendation.’ He winked. ‘But —and don’t freak out— your father plays a part in it.’

Asher’s stomach churned. Suddenly so many questions had been answered. Why he specifically was sought out, and where exactly they were going now. 

‘Don’t start,’ Navarre said. 

‘I didn’t say anything.’

‘No, but you’ve got that look on your face,’ Navarre said. ‘Quick fact about Lord Barque, the man makes a cobweb look futuristic. If you had any other name, you wouldn’t have been thought about. Add on that your a Telkite – I know, I know, you’re not — and it’s a concoction of you being a “tekksie” and holding a noble standing that’s going to keep that old grouch off your back.’

Asher glared at him. The thought of using his father’s reputation sent a slimy feeling across his skin. It was dishonest, and it was cheap. Even if it was there just to appeal to old tradition, it only made everything else feel unnatural. Perhaps his promotion to Lieutenant was just to stop the son of the King’s General from being a simple grunt. Perhaps he joined the city watch in the first place because no-one said no to the son of the King’s General. It didn’t matter how much work he put in, or who his father actually was, what either of them wanted. As long as it didn’t look disgraceful to people he didn’t know. 

On top of that, he would have to brace for comments about his connection to Telkesi.

‘Chin up.’ Navarre knocked his knee against Asher’s. ‘It’s about to get a lot worse yet.’

‘Thanks,’ Asher muttered. ‘So we’re lodged at Dalvany Manor then?’

‘It’s the only place that can hold so many visitors,’ Navarre said. ‘Besides, these are royals and they’re not going to sleep in any old inn. It means you’ll have to suck it up for a night or too.’

‘Thanks for the heads up,’ Asher mumbled. At least he had a moment to prepare. He was a professional; he could handle this.