Lys worried that Sir Burkhardt would forget their story in some drunken lapse, but she noticed that he had not been drinking as much lately. She wanted to believe it was because he had realized that he needed to face the Witch Queen's domain with a sober eye and not simply because his stocks were running low. Surely she could afford to have at least a little faith in him.

However, when she returned to their camp after foraging, with a pair of rabbits and some wild herbs for the noontide meal, she saw that Sir Burkhardt and Hänsel were gone. Father Tristram was shaving off some kindling from a dry stick while Sister Ysolde was sitting beside him, resting her head on his shoulder. People really were going to talk about those two.

Without looking at her, Father Tristram said, "Welcome back, Miss Elysabet. I take it we'll be having rabbit stew again."

Lys did not like that Father Tristram was so difficult for her to read. Even with her powers, much less her mundane senses, he was this nebulous presence, never truly settling into one shape or another. Was it because of his strange blood or was it something else?

Turning her attention to more immediate concerns, she asked Father Tristram, "Where's Sir Bur—ah, I mean, where's Papa?"

Lys tightened her fist. Just when she thought she could dare to have a little faith in him...

She was tempted to dash the rabbits on the ground in her anger, but she was too well trained to spoil a precious hunt like that. Taking a deep breath, she set down the rabbits and herbs, then turned toward the village.

Lys did not say anything in reply. She simply went on her way. The village was about an hour's journey from their camp. 'An hour's journey' is what people commonly called it, but most any able-bodied man could cover such a distance in half that time or less. Lys did not break into a full sprint, nor did she rely on her powers to go faster than her ordinary limits, but she was not casually strolling either.

As she got closer to the village, there was a distinct foreboding presence that prompted her to slow her pace and approach more cautiously. The village was small—perhaps only twenty or so households—with no wall or towers, situated near a little forest that was probably once part of the forest where Lys and the others were camped. As she thought about it, she realized that the village was probably not always so defenseless, but it was made so by the Witch Queen to discourage rebellion. Indeed, there seemed to be a ring of bare earth around the village where the wall once stood. Of course, this alone did not explain the presence she felt.

There was no one to be seen milling about the outer edges of the village and as Lys made her way in, she saw why. In the village square, it appeared that every man, woman and child had been assembled and were set in ranks from youngest to eldest. Opposite to them was a band of Orks and Kobolds lined up in four well-disciplined files—much contrary to their nature based on the stories Lys had heard about them.

By the band's livery, they were clearly minions of the Witch Queen. Lys remembered seeing the same when she was in Skadia, though if she saw it rightly, the troops there had been mostly human. Orks and Kobolds were said to be all but extinct in the Eight Kingdoms, but perhaps it was no surprise that they would make a return under the Witch Queen's banner. There were probably none better suited for terrorizing the conquered lands.

The apparent leader of the band was an Ork bigger than the rest with mottled skin and many scars. At his side was an Orkish wizard, cloaked in a hooded mantle, with a well-fashioned ebon staff in hand. Unless he was concealing his true power as Lys was, he was about an even match for her.

Even with Lys suppressing her power, the Orkish wizard seemed to take notice of her. The leader said something in his brutish Orkish tongue, but by the tone of his voice, the wizard sounded dismissive, perhaps doubting what he had sensed was anything more than an odd wave in the flow of the æther.

Lys looked for some sign of Sir Burkhardt and she saw Hänsel hitched outside of what was likely the alehouse. As an outsider, his presence would not be expected at this assembly, and, indeed, the proprietor of the alehouse may have taken pains to keep him from getting involved.

An older man Lys guessed was the village chief approached the lead Ork and bowed his head.

The Ork nodded, but then the chief began to speak again.

The Orkish leader glanced to the wizard, who touched his head before saying, "Five males, five females... That would be twoscore and ten for swine, fivescore for sheep. Unblemished."

The chief began to wring his hands as he said, "Ye mus' unnerstan', sir... We had the pes' come through... Had t' kill mos' o' our swine an' sheep both. What's lef'll barely get us through winner, an' they're not what ye'd call unblemished."

The Orkish leader struck the chief, frightening the women, the children, and no few of the men. He then pointed toward the children and said, "We take tribute. If you want to trade man for beast, you can do so next year. Thralls! Five males and five females!"

From the back of the formation, four men in white tunics with bronze collars on their necks came forward. One of them began to inspect the children. Some he would pass over, but when he would find one that was acceptable, he would beckon for his fellow thralls to draw the child out. A collar would be fixed to the child's neck. Unlike the thralls' collars, these collars were connected by a length of chain granting no more than two ells of slack between them.

The first couple children bore their newfound captivity in silence, but the third was not so resigned to her fate. She resisted the pull of the thrall, crying out to her parents. A woman who was most likely the girl's mother tried to break ranks and was held back by a man—the father, no doubt.

Lys bit her lip. Of course she did not delight in seeing this village's children being carried off by those brutes. Her heart was trying to get the better of her head to push her to do something about it, but there was nothing she could do. At best, she might be a match for a single Kobold, two or three if she could catch them unawares, but there were nearly thirty of them and a half dozen brawny Orks as well.

Even if she could somehow rally the men of the village to join her, it would be a slaughter. She could not expect farmers and herdsmen to outfight trained warriors. Sir Burkhardt would have been a formidable ally in his prime, but as he was now, Lys was not sure he was any better with a sword and spear than one of the scarecrows out in the fields.

She had to think of her mission. She was fighting for a cause greater than some ten children. If she were to die here, or if word of her reached the ears of the Witch Queen's minions, it would all be for naught. Only by putting an end to the Witch Queen would abuses such as this be brought to an end.

That was what she told herself, but then the crying girl seemed to wear through the discipline of one of the Kobold spearmen. He took the club hanging off his belt and raised it against the child. Before he could strike, though, there was a flash of light and a spurt of blood from the Kobold's neck. The Kobolds dropped his arms, holding the wound as his legs gave out and he toppled over dead.

It was then that Lys realized that her arm was still extended toward the dead Kobold. Just as she was realizing it herself, the Orkish wizard had traced the spell back to her and was pointing his staff in her direction and raising the alarm.

The four ranks reformed into two with shields raised and spears levelled at the threat. Lys may have acted without thinking when she killed the first Kobold, but now she was going to have to properly rack her brain to figure a way out of this. Simply running away might save her hide, but it would do nothing to help the villagers and word of her actions would still get out. She had to kill them, all of them, but how could she hope to best so many?

She took a deep breath. It did not look like there were any archers among them. If she could keep her distance, maybe she could pick them off one by one. Would she have the stamina for such a drawn-out fight? And then there was the wizard to contend with...

She scooped up a handful of dirt to draw out a little power of the earth element, then went through the motion of drawing back the imaginary bowstring as the magic arrow formed. She aimed low, meaning to hit a Kobold in his unprotected leg through one of the narrow gaps in the shield wall. It would have been a tricky shot to land even under the best conditions, but the arrow burst into sparks well before it could reach its mark, shattering against a barrier raised by the Orkish wizard. It was not unexpected, though. She had their attention and now it was time to lead them on a merry little chase.

She ran her hands down the length of her skirt and the lower half of her body transformed. She now resembled a Horseman like Sir Hengist, only with the body of a roe deer rather than that of a horse. If she were not well-practiced with this transformation, she would have stumbled on her first step. It was not easy to adjust to four legs or to the gait that was half-run, half-jump, but once you did, you would be faster and more nimble than anything on two legs. So long as the Kobolds had no means of striking her from a distance, they would not catch her.

She loosed another magic bolt to harry the Kobolds as she darted toward one of the fallow fields outside the village. She was given further evidence of the Kobolds' discipline as they seamlessly collapsed their ranks into two files to navigate the narrow road out of the village, only to promptly fan out again as soon as things opened up. The back rank split, going left and right in a bid to flank her. They could never hope to catch her if all she meant to do was escape. They seemed to know that was not what she meant to do, however.

The way the Kobolds were moving to encircle her, they might actually succeed in hemming her in if she was not careful. That was indeed a danger, but by spreading out so much, they lost the protection of the Kobold on either side of them and, more importantly, that of their wizard's barrier.

The Kobolds trying to flank her were smart enough to keep their shields up even as they ran to catch up with her, but those shields did not cover everything. She tried aiming low. The first bolt came up short, but the second one caught the lead Kobold on her right in the leg, not only causing him to fall but also the three closest behind him as they stumbled over his body. Before she could take advantage of this moment of vulnerability, the other Kobolds in that little group moved in front of their fallen comrades to protect them while they got back on their feet, crouched down so that Lys could not target their legs easily. If she could not easily get at the right, then perhaps the left...

She did not even get the chance to line up a shot when an orange glow gave her a bare moment's warning before a fireball came hurtling towards her. She sprang to the side to dodge and the fireball sailed past her, crashing to the ground several yards in front of her in an explosion that sent clumps of earth and stone flying in all directions. A second followed, then a third, each coming closer than the one before it. The wizard seemed to be getting better at predicting her movements with every attempt.

When the fourth one came, it landed just short of her, close enough for the explosion to throw her off her feet. She tumbled about on the ground, her four-legged form ill-suited for rolling, and when she came to a stop, she looked up to see a tall figure cloaked in white standing before her. Shaded by the hood, unnatural blue eyes glowed with a dim light as they gazed upon her. This was a creature of great power. She could tell it was suppressing its full strength, but even so, it far outstripped Lys herself and the Orkish wizard.

Another fireball came flying at them, only to strike a shining golden barrier around, splitting into jets of flame that streamed around them. The cloaked figure chanted no words nor held up rod or staff to raise this barrier. It was magic of sheer will, further evidence of the creature's overwhelming power.

Lys was frightened, and rightly so, yet she was nevertheless able to muster her wits to reply.

Another fireball struck the cloaked figure's barrier, but it may as well have been a puff of hot air for all that it accomplished.

Lys took a nervous look over her shoulder at the Kobolds having formed into a half circle that was cautiously closing in on them. Her instinct was to run, but her legs could not find their strength in the presence of the cloaked figure. If there was any way to win his favor with her words, she had every reason to do so.

Lys looked at all the spears pointed in their direction and said, "They don't look very amenable."

The cloaked figure pulled down the mask covering the lower half of his face, drew in a long breath and then let out this horrific screech that froze the blood in Lys' veins and rattled her bones so hard she thought they might shatter. She was thankful her lower half was currently that of a deer or else she would have surely humiliated herself. The Kobolds were no less stricken than her and even the fearsome and brawny Orks could not fully hide the fear stoked within them.

The lead Ork stepped forward, resting his heavy two-handed sword on his shoulder.

The cloaked figure placed his hand over his heart and bowed his head slightly as he introduced himself in turn.

The Orkish wizard stepped in and said, "Varney girl is witchkin. Witchkin must serve Witch Queen. It is law."

Corothas pondered this for a moment before saying to Lys, "You're accent is unlike the other people I have observed thus far. Are you a native of this land?"

Corothas looked at Lys and then to Grundl and asked him, "For what price may I redeem her, of the blood guilt for your man and to exempt her from your queen's summons?"

Looking back to Lys, Corothas said, "Well, child, is the prospect of being brought before this Witch Queen so terrible that you would chose death instead?"

Lys shook her head and said in a low voice, "You could say that going to the Witch Queen is my business here."

Grundl cocked his head.

Most would say that an Ork's intellect is inferior to a man's, but a keener instinct could lead an Ork to make wiser decisions. Though Corothas had only demonstrated a fraction of his power, he had made it clear that he was not one to be challenged lightly, even when stacked against the dread of the Witch Queen.

Seeing that Grundl did not immediately rise to the challenge, the Orkish wizard moved in close and began whispering in his ear. It would seem that the wizard counselled prudence, as Grundl then said, "We collect tribute. Do not interfere. Not her. Not you."

Corothas stooped down and offered his hand to Lys, saying, "Come now, child. On your feet."

Lys accepted his hand and stood up. As she looked around at the Kobolds and Orks, she could not help pawing at the dirt agitatedly. The deer spirit that gave her this form urged her to run, but she had to restrain her instinct.

Lys patted her forelegs and undid the spell of transformation. Corothas steadied her as she settled back onto her once again human feet. Seeing all the Kobolds arrayed about her, she instinctively shrank back towards Corothas. Though his power was frightening, there was a reassuring strength about him, and now that the heat of the moment had passed, her courage had withered and she was in sore need of such strength.

Corothas rested his hand on her shoulder and whispered into her ear, "You are under my protection now, child. So long as I remain with you, your safety is guaranteed."

The way he stressed 'of your own free will' made it sound like there was no other force on this earth that could separate them. Perhaps with him at her side, she could face the Witch Queen without faltering. She felt a little guilty about leaving Sir Burkhardt ignorant of what was happening, but it was probably better to end his journey here. Even if he was still the Knight Champion she once knew, he would be facing powers against which sword and lance would avail him little.

And yet, even as she was thinking that, her eyes were subjected to a most bizarre sight. It was Sir Burkhardt, charging atop Hänsel at full gallop, or at least as close to full gallop as a mule is capable of. He was geared for battle with helm and byrnie, lance and shield, which would have made for a more heroic figure if he were not on muleback. However absurd he may have appeared, it did nothing to blunt his deadly intent nor the point of his lance. One Kobold learned this the hard way as Sir Burkhardt broke through their line, running the Kobold through as he went.

Corothas, who knew nothing about the situation, ushered Lys behind him with a smooth snaking motion of his arm. Lys, however, promptly got back in front of him lest Sir Burkhardt get the wrong idea. It was bad enough that the knight just made himself an enemy to Grundl and his warriors. He did not have lives enough to be making an enemy of Corothas as well.

Before Lys could even begin to try explaining the situation, there were three bursts of flame in quick succession to her left. It was all the Orkish wizard could do to raise a hasty barrier to defend himself, to say nothing of the Kobolds near him, but before the flames had even begun to fade, a lightning bolt cut through the air, piercing the wizard's barrier and the wizard himself. The wizard's body toppled over next to a bewildered Grundl, who could not seem to decide which threat he needed to face first.

Corothas simply held up his hands to demonstrate that there was no unhanding to be done.

Sir Burkhardt hesitated for a moment, but then a spear stuck in the ground near Hänsel's feet. A Kobold's spear was no more than a dart in an Ork's hands, and before another one could land closer to the mark, Sir Burkhardt steered Hänsel around behind Corothas.

Lys did so and from where she stood, she could not fully see what Corothas did next, only the results. A stream of golden fire swept across the Kobolds' lines. Any who had not been killed in the earlier magic attack were consumed so quickly that they did not even have a chance to cry out. All that remained was Grundl.

He drew the sword at his side, then swapped hands, apparently to offer Grundl a handicap in their match. The total slaughter of Grundl's warriors left the Ork so shaken that he did not even object to the gesture as an insult to his skill. He simply mustered all his rage into a bestial warcry as he charged at Corothas. While his sword was held aloft, as if he meant to split Corothas down the middle like a log, Corothas sprang forward and thrusted the point of his sword into the Ork's neck. Grundl's limbs gave out in an instant so that his body was only held up by Corothas' sword.

Corothas then sharply drew out the blade and as Grundl's body was falling to the ground, he struck off the head in a single, clean movement. His arm snapped back like a whip, shaking off the blood from the sword before he returned it to its sheath. He then made a sweeping motion with his hand to extinguish the flames that were still burning. With that accomplished, rather than turning back to Lys and Sir Burkhardt, he instead faced the direction of the magic attacks until Father Tristram appeared.

Father Tristram touched his heart and said, "A curse I strive to use as a blessing," much as he had said when he first met Lys and Sir Burkhardt. "Though my meager abilities are indeed as a molehill before a mountain when compared with you. Might I ask from whence have you come?"

He opened his eyes properly for the first time Lys had seen, revealing their otherworldly purple gleam. Though Sister Ysolde had the same eyes, they did not shine with the same light. It was little wonder the priest usually kept them hidden under heavy lids.

Lys then realized that someone with as keen of a nose as Corothas would not be fooled by the lie that Sir Burkhardt and Lys were father and daughter.

Father Tristram did not seem to notice this and said, "Yes, Goodman Bertholdt the sellsword and his daughter Elysabet."

In the distance, Lys could see Sister Ysolde. Without turning back to look, Father Tristram raised his voice and said, "I thought I told you to stay with the camp."

The nun quietly shuffled her way over and once she was close enough to be heard without raising her own voice, she said, "I didn't want to be left alone."

Father Tristram sighed and turned to her, saying, "And I didn't want you anywhere near the danger."

He flicked her nose in a gesture that probably went back to when they were children. She put her hands over her nose and gave his shin a little kick, just enough to state her protest to said gesture.

Father Tristram then introduced her to Corothas, saying, "Ysolde, my sister according to both the flesh and to the Spirit."

Corothas nodded to her and she shyly returned the nod while clinging to her brother's arm.

If Lys was being entirely honest, that probably would have been better. She could have been taken to the Witch Queen without any need for fighting or sneaking around and she would not have gotten anyone else involved. However, neither Sir Burkhardt nor Father Tristram knew any of that and Lys could not bring herself to denounce them for doing what they did with the intention of saving her.

Corothas, however, looked out at all the scorched corpses around them and said, "I am sure they would rather you had not, priest."

He opened one eye ever so slightly, fixing his gaze on Lys. She certainly did not want to reveal her intentions to him and she had to hope that Corothas would not say anything unnecessary as she tried to navigate around the snare laid at her feet.

Covering himself with his hood once more, Corothas stooped down to pick up Grundl's head, carrying it by the hair.

As they were of one accord, the five of them made their way to the village. The villagers were still gathered where they were when Lys left them, huddled together in fear of what had transpired just out of view. The human thralls of the Kobolds were standing by their mulecarts with the children selected for tribute with the iron collars on their necks.

Sir Burkhardt said nothing as he went to the alehouse to fetch his saddlebags. Indeed, Lys wondered if anyone was going to say anything when the village chief mustered the courage to come forward and speak.

However, not a single person there looked like they were rejoicing. Indeed, one of the thralls cried out most piteously before stumbling over to the body of the Kobold Lys killed. He took the small knife from the Kobold's belt and with quaking hands, plunged the blade into his own neck. The other three thralls scrambled to him, not to try to save him but rather to fight over the knife in a bid to be next in line to follow him.

Father Tristram and Lys both sprang into action to pull the men apart from each other. As no one else came to their aid, they were only able to get their hands on two of the three, and the remaining man did not hesitate to seize the opportunity to end his life.

Lys, of course, lacked the strength to restrain a grown man and was quickly shaken off. He proved to be more dextrous than she would have imagined—especially in his panicked state—as he managed to get his hands on one of her knives. Reflexively, she drew the other one. She did not mean him any harm, but her training took over as soon as the threat presented itself.

It was then that Lys realized what drove these men's desperation. It was not just torments in this life but a fear that even the grave would not protect them. Was the Witch Queen truly so powerful that death was no obstacle? True or not, these men thought so and their lives were no object in the face of such terror.

Again, Lys urged the man, "Put the knife down. It'll be alright. We can figure something out."

For a brief moment, there seemed to be a moment of hesitation in the man's crazed eyes. His life was precious enough for him to consider for a moment that there might be another way, but only for a moment. With a frenzied cry, the man lunged at Lys. She poised herself to dodge the clumsy attack, but before the thrall could close the distance, a thin beam of light appeared briefly and the man's charge lost all its momentum. He crumpled onto the ground with a small hole in the side of his head.

Lys traced the line back to Corothas, who was looking sternly.

So he did it to protect her. She wanted to object further, but she looked to the dagger in her hand and knew that she was no less committed to safeguarding her own life, only she would have done a far messier job of it. It probably was a mercy to be granted such a quick and likely painless death.

When she reached down to recover the dagger the thrall took from her, a rock struck the ground near her hand. More quickly followed as the villagers proceeded to pelt the outsiders with stones.

Others joined in with cries of "Kill 'em! Kill 'em!"

Father Tristram tried in vain to calm them, saying, "Peace, brethren! Don't let fear of the Witch Queen make beasts of you!"

Still he called for peace, until he heard Sister Ysolde cry out as the rocks began to hit her as well.

The change came over him in an instant. His power surged and his eyes lit up with purple-pink flames as he flung the thrall he was holding aside. The villagers might not have lived to see the wrath they feared if Sister Ysolde did not throw herself at Father Tristram first.

Corothas drew himself up to meet whatever might come, but when Sister Ysolde held her brother, the fires of his fury began to dim. He returned the embrace, turning his body to better shield her from any further violence. He looked to Corothas and nodded to signal that his reason had not left him, though the excess of his power continued to burn from his eyes.

He extended his crook toward the villagers and chanted, "Weary, weary, lids are heavy, eyes are bleary. Work is done and night has come. Deep, deep, go to sleep."

With those words, the angry mass of some two hundred souls collapsed as one, and when they had done so, the fire faded from Father Tristram's eyes. He sighed as if to expel the last of his anger and then stroked Sister Ysolde's head with his free hand.

He shushed her, saying again, "It's over now."

Sister Ysolde only hugged him more tightly. Father Tristram touched his head where he had been hit by the rock and looked at the blood on his fingers.

Father Tristram grunted. When everyone's attention was elsewhere, the remaining thrall had taken up the Kobold's knife and used it to stab Father Tristram in the back. The priest knitted his brows in annoyance and promptly brained the thrall with his crook.

Confused at what had just happened, Lys stammered, "Are... are you hurt?"

Father Tristram smiled and shook his head.

Not that Lys needed any further convincing, but the fact that Father Tristram took the precaution of wearing mail under his cassock was further proof that he was no ordinary priest.

Seemingly oblivious to all that had happened, Sir Burkhardt returned with a fully laden Hänsel, only paying a brief glance to the scene about them before saying, "We goin' or what?"

Lys looked to the children in chains by the mulecarts and said, "We can't just leave them."

Sir Burkhardt gestured to the children and said, "If there's somethin' you can do about it, be my guest, but be quick about it. We need t' be puttin' some distance 'twixt us an' here afore that lot gets up 'gain."

Lys went to the body of the first thrall to kill himself, who she took to be the senior of the four. As she expected, on his person was a keyring and one of those keys matched the locks on the iron collars. Lys first went to the girl she saved from being beaten by the Kobold, thinking she would be the most positively disposed toward her. However, the girl shrank back as Lys approached and most of the other children seemed fearful as well. It was little wonder, honestly.

Trying to adopt a soothing voice, Lys said to the girl, "Hey, don't be afraid. I'm not going to hurt you. I'm here to help you. I'm going to set you free."

She unlocked the collar and then offered the key to the girl.

The girl only shrank back further.

The girl gave her no response, which is what Lys had come to expect. A boy a few years younger than Lys, who seemed to be a measure braver than the rest, spoke up.

Lys gave him the key, saying, "I'll leave it to you then. Oh, and I'd really appreciate it if you'd give us a little time to get away before you go and try to wake the grown-ups."

The boy nodded and Lys decided that would have to be guarantee enough. Sir Burkhardt had already started to leave as she returned to the others.

Lys was silent. She was only looking at what seemed right in the moment, but Sir Burkhardt was looking out much farther. Real life was not as simple as the stories. Vanquishing the evil right in front of you could actually invite a greater evil. Still, it did not sit right with her, siding with the lesser evil to avoid the greater one.

Lys saw that Corothas was following after them and said to him, "Thank you for everything, but you don't have to stay. I won't be needing you to stand for me as an advocate before the Witch Queen."

In other words, he had no intention of leaving her until the time of his choosing. The condition of her releasing him of his pledge appeared to only be an assurance that she was the only one granted power to annul their arrangement, and only then if he also agreed to it.

Lys understood the warning, but she still thought they were better off with Corothas than without him. When she turned to look at him, she saw that he was still carrying Grundl's head, so she asked him, "You're not bringing that along as a snack, are you?"

He pulled back his sleeve and his arm began to change, the fingers lengthening into claws with pearly white scales sprouting up to cover his skin. He held the Ork's head firmly in his clawed grasp as his jaw seemed to unhinge like a snake's and his face took on the shape of a beaked muzzle. A light glowed deep within his throat before golden flames spilled out much as before, albeit more tightly controlled than the jet of flame that incinerated most of the Kobold band. With the flames smaller and more focused, the flesh melted away like wax and even the bone became as charcoal. When he was done, Corothas closed his fist to crush the blackened skull, opening his hand again to let the wind carry away the ashes.

Seemingly in an instant, Corothas was standing at Lys' side, looming over her. The paradoxical sense of both fear and ease in his presence remained as strong as ever.

She was not nearly looking forward to it as much as he was, but to have such power at her disposal, it would be a small price to pay.