The Witch Hunters, Book 1: The Prophet of Ash

They had been waiting outside the back of the building for what seemed like an age before sounds of violence and mayhem inside reached them. Siegfried wanted to go in immediately, but Dietrich put a firm, patient hand on the young man’s shoulder.

“We’d get in the way, sir. Let them drive the fellows inside to us. We need to be patient.”

“Aye,” said Gerda from the perch in a nearby tree. Her crossbow was to her shoulder, and a few spare bolts were lined up on her lap for quick access. “Just ready your bow, sir, and we’ll clean up the scraps.”

“Shouldn’t we be trying to take them alive?” Siegfried asked.

“I won’t be,” replied the dwarf. “We’re in a hurry, sir. Gozer’s a day away, and Klara got rid of the pup. We can’t follow the rest of that party if we’re looking after prisoners.”

“Eisengrim wouldn’t want us to kill any needlessly,” the Prince protested, though he was not sure why. As little as he liked it, Gerda made a very good point. Unless Martin Bauer was found in this building, this all was just a secondary concern. There was potentially a wider threat which would need to be hunted down immediately, and there were few enough of them as it was, without leaving one or perhaps even more behind to take any that surrendered back to the Capital…

“Fuck!” Siegfried growled.

“I won’t tell the old bull if you don’t,” Gerda said, grinning wickedly. Siegfried looked to Dietrich, but the pale, worn down man had a look of defeat on his face already. He offered a half-hearted shrug to the Prince, and readied his sword and round shield. The Prince cursed silently, and notched an arrow in his bow as the sounds of combat drew closer to the door they were all watching from the safety and concealment of nearby tress. They were only twenty feet or so from the back of the house.

“I’ll take the first,” Gerda said, her voice developing an edge. “You can peg the next, sir. Dietrich, you hold any others back while we reload.”

There was barely time to acknowledge or question the dwarf, before the rear door was pulled open and two ragged, frightened men stumbled out of the house. Gerda put a bolt through the first man’s chest and he dropped dead into the muck immediately. His companion stopped dead, stared down in horror at his friend for the second Siegfried should have needed. He had been trained since the age of eight with the bow under his Royal uncle’s own Master of the Hunt. This should have been an easy kill.

Siegfried let loose his arrow, aiming for the man’s centre of mass. It was only after the missile went through the man’s pelvis did the young Prince realise how badly his hands had been shaking. The man’s face turned white as he crumpled to the ground, and began screaming.

Oh god.

Siegfried dropped his bow, and started thrashing his way through the bushes. He could just hear Gerda screaming at him to come back, and the hem of his cloak pulled at him suddenly, but he pushed on, fumbling for his dagger as he went. He felt sick, and wanted to vomit but he needed to do this first. He needed to fix this. The man’s screams were worse than anything the twenty-three year old boy could have imagined.

The man saw him coming, and his eyes somehow widened further. Through his writhing on the ground, his hand found his sword and began trying to tug it from his cheap leather scabbard. The Prince reached him. There was no time for thought. The screaming had focused him to a degree he could never have believed possible before. He pinched the screaming man’s wrists together with his free hand, but then paused. Where on earth should he use his blade? The Prince began to panic then, at last. The man had stopped screaming, or was at least trying to. He started babbling, spittle and acidic breath washing over the Prince’s face as he started to beg for his life, working through the awful pain the young man had put him in.

“Please sir! Please! I’ve a family! I’ve a family!”

Dietrich was standing over them then, furious. He had sheathed his sword, and now carried a knife in his right hand. “Look away, sir!”

The Prince offered no protest. He obeyed immediately.

“No! NO!”

The body Siegfried had pinned down writhed, began to kick and struggle. Siegfried closed his eyes, pressed down with as much weight as he could. A scream started, but was cut off. The thrashing stopped, and the body became still.

“Get up,” growled Dietrich.

Prince Siegfried threw up. He heard Dietrich swear. The hunter at least waited until he was certain the Prince had finished before he roughly pulled him up to his feet.

“Useless bloody pup! Get back to the fucking bushes!”

“I’m sorry,” Siegfried coughed. He started to stagger back towards the cover of the bushes, while Dietrich brought up the rear, when he heard Gerda cry out. There was a loud cracking noise, which grew progressively louder as the seconds passed. The Prince looked right, and stopped. Behind him, he heard Dietrich curse. “Oh my god…”

The trees further along the edge of the woods were dying, or at least, that was the thought which immediately sprung to Siegfried’s mind. It seemed to be the only idea that could make sense, though he had seen dead trees before in the woodlands of his home. This was like that, after a fashion, though faster than what was possible. He watched the leaves fall like rain along the edge of the clearing, before the branches began to follow. The trunks grew pale, began to twist, their barks cracking while beneath them the smaller bushes fell apart. It spread as the Prince watched, death leaping from tree to tree, bush to bush, until he noticed that even the grass was turning brown and dying.

“Magic.”

Siegfried nearly jumped at the sound of Dietrich’s voice. The thin man had sheathed his knife and was in the process of drawing his sword. He had a look on his face that sent a shiver down the Prince’s spine.

“Gerda!”

“I see it!”

“Then come on!”

Dietrich broke into a run, his sword and shield ready. Gerda leapt from her tree, the crossbow bolts scattering to the ground, forgotten, as the dwarf rushed to catch up with him. Siegfried watched them rushing down the side of the house with a terrified detachment. At the very back of his mind he knew what to do, but his damned limbs, and his stomach, wouldn’t cooperate. The taste of bile was in his mouth, the scent of blood in his nose. He couldn’t hear his heart just then, though this seemed like one of those moments that it should be hammering in his ears. A chill came over him, and he was dimly aware of motion. Forward. He was walking forward. His mind and senses reeled even as his body drew his sword. Up ahead he watched Dietrich and then Gerda disappear around the side of the house and the sensation of impact on his feet told him he was running, now. The edge of the house was rushing to meet him. Siegfried finally became aware of the hammering of his heart. This was it. He turned the corner, and nearly crashed headlong into Dietrich. The man was staring up at something, slack jawed. Siegfried looked too, and almost screamed.

The woman was old, clad in a filthy pink dress which billowed about the lower half of her withered, scraggy body. She hung in mid-air, descending slowly to the ground like an angel in the holy plays Siegfried had seen performed as a child. Just above her, leaning over from a balcony, the Prince saw Klara, staring at down at the same thing that held them all in awe. This was impossible.

The woman reached the ground, her bare feet landing almost daintily on the dirt and dead grass. The cacophony of annihilation from the trees and the plants stopped suddenly, as she breathed a sigh. She noticed the three hunters then, gasped in fright, and took a step back from them.

Siegfried felt he should say something, but the woman raised her hand. There was a flash of light, and for an instant something that resembled an orange, blazing snake had appeared in the air before them. It leapt from the woman’s palm. Siegfried watched it surge towards him helplessly.

Dietrich raised his shield and the sight was gone. Dietrich gasped, cursed, and Siegfried nearly fell as the pale man was thrown back against him. There was another flash, and a surge of force hit them both as it rippled from the shield through their bodies. The Prince felt his feet lose contact with the ground, and then he and Dietrich were crashing down into the mud, skidding from the force of the impact, rolling about in a confused, tangled mess.

The back of Siegfried’s head hit the dirt, and things began to slow. The house looked to be a ridiculous distance away now, but he could still see the woman, her hand extended while a cruel, triumphant grin spread across her dirty face. She turned then, her attentions focused on Gerda.

The dwarf was stumbling backwards, her hands shaking as she held her crossbow. The string was pulled back, but she had not fired. Siegfried could not understand why, until her thought he saw a glint in the trembling hand that hovered over the crossbow. It wasn’t loaded yet. Siegfried watched the bolt fall from Gerda’s hand, and thought he could just hear the girl scream.

The woman took a step towards the dwarf, her face malicious. She pointed one finger at Gerda, and the snake began to form in the air just before it. Siegfried felt the tremor in the ground from the dying trees behind him.

It was then that the very house seemed to shake. The wall behind the woman exploded outwards in a flurry of smashed planks and shattered glass. The roar tore the air as something massive devastated its way through the building. There were horns, and a glittering hammer. Eisengrim…

The woman turned, too surprised to be afraid until she saw the minotaur barrelling towards her. She screamed, and tried to turn her flaming snake.

Eisengrim lashed out with his hammer. It struck her above the shoulders, and her head did not exist anymore.