Page 2 of The Wand of Lore

Gwenneth stumbled under the weight of her sister. Drawing upon magic was always costly to a witch. Though the magic was funneled through the witch’s wand, she had to hold the magic in her body first, and this alone was exhausting. Additionally, the goddesses always took payment for access to magic in the form of energy. All witch magic came from the goddesses, and all witches suffered from fatigue that varied depending on the strength and duration of a spell.

How Gwenneth managed to stay upright, she couldn’t say.Home, she thought single-mindedly, almost dragging her sister. Their cottage was a little less than a mile away via a wooded trail on the outskirts of the village, and they would be vulnerable until they reached home.

“You there!” the sisters heard just as they reached the entrance to the forest.

Gwenneth turned, shielding her sister with her body, and saw John Frederington. John was currently serving as the leader of the Village Council, and though he was young to be serving in such a role, he was never shy with his opinions. He was known for always having an answer for everything, be it the scourge of dire wolves that had pestered their livestock several years ago, or the drought that had hit their crops particularly hard during the year of the dust.

“What is it?” Gwenneth asked with a scowl. The less time she spent talking to this man, the better.

“What brings you out of your trees and into the village?” asked John, squinting at the sisters.

“Why do you ask? Last I checked, we have every right to come and go as we please.” Gwenneth squeezed Nayla’s handbehind her, gritted her teeth, and stood up straight, hoping her exhaustion was not visible to John.

“Even still, villagers have to look out for each other. You witches should know when you’re unwelcome. Tell me, how long did you have to offer your body as a concubine for the Dark Prince to unleash the Devil’s Plague, witch?” He spat out the word “witch” as if it was a wad of chewing tobacco he was eager to dispel from his mouth.

Anger rippled through Gwenneth, but there was a reason she was known for her cool temper. She forced her hands to stay unclenched and took a deep breath. Acting rashly, no matter the provocation, could get them killed. But before Gwenneth could respond, Timothy Greene, the local barber, came running up to him.

“Council Leader! The visitor has arrived!” Tim was panting as he spoke, and Gwenneth couldn’t figure out why he had bothered running, as trailing him was a man on horseback trotting to meet them.

John glared at Gwenneth, then turned away.

“Who is that? Why would a stranger come toourvillage?” Nayla whispered from behind Gwenneth.

Gwenneth shook her head and squeezed her sister’s hand again, ignoring the fear in the pit of her stomach. Strangers almost never came through Loews Hollow, and with villagers growing increasingly hostile toward the witches, this man on horseback spelled trouble. She grabbed her sister by the arms, hoping to escape, but she was too slow, or the stranger was too fast. As he reined in his horse, he locked his dark eyes on Gwenneth. He had large, defined biceps visible even under his cloak and long tattoos swirling down his arms. He was easily the most attractive man Gwenneth had ever seen, that is until she looked up at his face and saw that it was drawn into a tight scowl.She turned and pulled her sister along the path toward their home.

Chapter Two: Vaylor

Prince Vaylor rode his steed through the small village. It was so small he wondered whether it should even be considered a village at all. There was a main street lined with ragged little shops and houses, a small box of a building he supposed could pass as a church, and a blacksmith’s shop emitting smoke and heat at the end. The blacksmith might have accounted for most of the village’s wealth, something he’d have to keep in mind the next time he was collecting taxes in this part of Innsbrook. His father, King Eger, might even be pleased with him if he rode home to Gorenth with a bag full of this village’s wealth. True, this kind of dirty work was usually reserved for goblins, but he took pride in his ability to get more out of a village than the goblins could with their grubby hands and small wagons. He shook his head, reminding himself to stay focused, and searched for a village hall where he might find the council leader who had summoned him. Or rather, summoned his father, he corrected himself. Best to stay humble.

He rode past a general store that was in such disrepair that Vaylor thought it would be a kindness to put it out of its misery and shut down; perhaps he would do just that come tax time. He had to admit, though, run down as it was, the villagewas not without its charm. The dirt paths were lined with purple and red chrysanthemums and other flowers he couldn’t begin to name, and it was set against a lush backdrop of a forest bursting with color, with rolling hills in the distance. Vaylor didn’t want to be in Loews Hollow, but even he couldn’t complain about the view. Outside the general store, two men were in vigorous discussion, gesticulating wildly as they spoke. They were the first people Vaylor had seen who did not appear to be going anywhere. They were at the store, and at the store they were staying, so he supposed they were as good as anyone from whom he could inquire about the village leader.

“It’s the witches, I tell you! They’re starting trouble here; angry they are with the rest of us. We should have run them off when we first caught wind of their devilish dealings,” said a thin man with red hair and a beard that engulfed his face.

“How can you be sure? They’ve been here their whole lives, and we’ve never had no problem with them before. This sickness could be anything. We have to keep an eye on them, sure, but there’s no telling who or what sent the Devil’s Plague. And the younger one is just a girl,” said the second man, who was plumper and had a head full of dark hair.

“When evil visits the mother, so too shall it corrupt the daughter,” quoted the first man.

“Gentlemen,” said Vaylor, “I am but a humble servant of the king, here to address just the question on your tongues. Where can I find the village leader?” He looked away so the men wouldn’t see the blush overtaking his face as he identified himself as a mere servant. Sure, he had said it glibly, but it still stung. He ought to be used to debasing himself now, and yet humiliation washed over him every time. What would it be like to use his actual title, instead of some pseudonym to distance himself from the royal family? His royal family.

“Welcome, good sir. I am Timothy Greene, and this is my countryman, Gregor O’Connor. We are expecting you and right pleased you’ve come. I’ll show you to Mr. Frederington myself. We’ve all been unsettled with the Devil’s Plague ravaging our families. My cousin’s wife took ill and was dead within hours, though she never had no quarrel with the witches. I can’t imagine it is the sisters who brought this illness, but you’ll find we don’t all agree around these parts. There are some strange things happening, of that we are sure.”

“Rest easy. The crown has sent me across the kingdom of Innsbrook to investigate. I am Marvin, here to get to the bottom of your plague problem.” After all these years, he had grown accustomed to his alias and spoke the untruth with ease. Still, with every utterance of his fake name, he longed for the day his father would allow him to reclaim his rightful name and title.

Timothy went off to find the leader. At first, Vaylor was pleased that Timothy would be announcing him. Even when his identity as a prince had been no secret, he had never been afforded royal treatment. His older brother, Prince Steffan, was announced before visitors and dignitaries alike, whilst Vaylor was hidden away and threatened with beatings so that he would stay out of trouble. Of course, Steffanhadslain a rebellious red dragon before his seventeenth birthday and was known for his brilliant tactical mind and his charming demeanor. Royalty from across the world had responded to the dragon slaying with rather aggressive marriage proposals for their daughters, and it was a testament to his commitment to bachelorhood that he was still unwed.

Vaylor was not funny. He was not charming, or handsome, or particularly smart. At least, that is what his father always told him while berating him for existing. Worst of all, Vaylor’s mother had perished in childbirth, and his father had been punishing him for this first transgression his entire life.Most recently, Vaylor had been stripped of Castle Wellwall and the surrounding lands that were traditionally bequeathed to the second son of the king. Thanks to his father, Vaylor would never be Lord of Castle Wellwall, and he was as penniless as any other peasant, though he would rather stab his own eye with a sword than allow others to know this.

“What am I supposed to do with him, always underfoot? Don’t let the kid in my presence,” the king would admonish Greyson, whose entire job description evidently consisted of harassing Vaylor at his father’s direction. As far as Vaylor could tell, the court was actually relieved when Vaylor ran away from home; they soon sent word to him not to bother coming home and not to ever use his title or name again, on penalty of death. Though he spent most of his days plundering remote villages for tax money to send to his father, when Greyson had brought word of plagues and witches in Loews Hollow, he was not displeased about the work.

Greyson had handed him a scroll that read: “Be sure you are not lazing about off the generosity of the crown. A village has been besieged by an unknown illness. The illness is imperceptible until the people are nearly dead, and they are dying at alarming rates. We must control it before it spreads. I am told there are two witch sisters who live there that may be the cause of this plague. You are to go to Loews Hollow, ascertain whether it is true that the witch sisters are responsible, and see to it that justice is done. We cannot have the villagers revolting if this plague goes unchecked. And of course, we cannot have the witches decimating the fair kingdom of Innsbrook. Bring them alive to Gorenth Castle to face justice. You shall receive no help, but if you succeed, your title shall be reinstated and your lands restored. Needless to say, this is the most important work I have assigned you yet.”

There was no signature, but the scroll bore the unbroken wax seal of King Eger Bladmere, and besides, there was no mistaking who could have sent such a scroll.

Vaylor watched Timothy scamper away to find the village leader, and thought better of it. Best he go and introduce himself. No sense in allowing this peasant to define him when he could just as easily do so himself. He rode after Timothy and caught up with him just as he was approaching another man talking to two women in long cloaks. One woman was but a child, wearing a bright green dress that contrasted with her wan skin. The elder of the two stood in front, shielding the girl with her body. Though she wore a fierce scowl, Vaylor caught her slumping slightly, as if tired. Her long red hair was tied back into a braid that ran all the way down her back. She wore a modest dress, long and dark blue, embroidered with silver moons along the hem, just visible under a long purple cloak. Her curves were tucked neatly into the dress, with her bosom just peeping out from a tight bodice. She was not unattractive. She looked at him, and he nearly fell off his horse when he caught a glimpse of her clear, purple eyes.

“Greetings, good sir!” called out John. At this, the women clutched each other, turned around, and disappeared into the woods.

Chapter Three: Gwenneth

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