Page 45 of The Unencumbered Warrior
They made their way toward the outer watchtower where two guards eyed them warily. Raff kept his head low, his voice humble.
“Storm’s rolling in. My mum and I need shelter, no more than a day or two if you please.”
The guards exchanged a glance, but the storm clouds above helped his case.
One grunted. “Aye, you can stay. There’s space in the stables. Stay away from the keep.”
Raff gave a grateful nod and led the witch inside. The minute they passed through the gates, the smell hit him—an abundance of dried, aged wood that took easily to flame once torched.
Near the center of the courtyard stood a stake. Rough-hewn, tall, and cruel. A pile of kindling spread out at its base and more wood had been heaped upon that. The kindling would catch fast and spread to the upper layer as it crept toward the person tied to the stake. The smoke would choke her first, then the fire would lick at her feet and grip her garments, and flames would cover her.
And Raff had no intention of seeing that horror visited upon his wife.
“By order of Laird Chafton,” a guard shouted, catching everyone’s attention and people quieted with excitement. “The witch burns today.”
The witch’s hand dug into Raff’s arm hard enough to bruise.
“They speak of killing like it’s a feast,” she hissed. “Do they not know what it means to burn a soul alive?”
A group of children skipped past, giggling, pretending to light an imaginary fire, one of them screeching, “Witch! Witch!” as he ran in circles.
The witch closed her eyes. “Barbaric little monsters.”
Raff urged her to an area where they had a wider sight of the area, leaving them to contemplate the next steps. They had made it in. That was one victory. But his heart pounded with a steady, rising fury. Ingrid had to be in the dungeons, somewhere in the bowels of this keep, frightened, awaiting her fiery death.
He would not let that happen.
The village buzzed with twisted energy. Word had spread that the witch would burn shortly. Many speculated that Laird Chafton wanted to be rid of her as soon as possible, especially with the dark sky promising rain, and the people agreed. There would be no delay and no mercy.
Raff paced the area where they stood watching, his jaw tight, his fists tighter. “Once she’s out of the dungeon, in the open, it will be easier for me to grab her, slip her through the stables, cut through the woods before anyone realizes?—”
“Stop being a fool,” the witch interrupted, seated with her legs crossed, calmly sipping from a cracked mug of ale she’d pinched off a passing tray, drinks being provided for everyone.
“There is little recourse left to me. You can make yourself useful and the rescue easier by using your magic to divert everyone’s attention.”
She sighed and looked at him like a tired teacher with a particularly dense pupil. “That is a brilliant suggestion if you’re trying to get both of you killed as well as me. But if you want your wife alive—actually alive—then follow my lead.”
“Why should I trust you?” he asked, wondering if it had been wise of him to bring her along.
“Because you got more from your wish than you realize. And because, whether you believe it or not, I care more about her fate than yours.”
“Why is that?” he demanded.
“You are dense,” she said, shaking her head. “Stay close. Don’t interfere. When I give you the signal, be ready to move.”
“What signal?”
She smiled faintly. “You’ll know.”
The square had been cleared, villagers packed shoulder to shoulder, faces flushed with excitement, fear, or some grotesque anticipation that roiled Raff’s stomach. The sky loomed dark andthick with ash-hued clouds, and the wind had turned strong. That meant the fire would catch faster. Time was not on his side.
“MAKE WAY!” came the echoing shout.
The people parted for Laird Chafton, cheering him as he strutted through the opening, his cloak snapping behind him, and his head tilted in noble style.
He made his way to a stone platform where he addressed the crowd. “Today, we rid ourselves of the darkness that’s cursed our lands. The witch will burn, and with her, every shadow and spell she cast!”
Cheers rose, raw and eager.
