Act 1: The Contract
Geoffrey approached Caldwell Manor while dusk still painted the sky in shades of amber and violet. The fortress rose from the highest hill in High Holt, its stone walls weathered but unyielding against the passage of time. Torches lined the entrance, casting long shadows across the courtyard where banners bearing the lord’s heraldry of a silver hawk snapped in the evening breeze.
A steward escorted Geoffrey through corridors adorned with tapestries depicting ancient battles. Hunting trophies further adorned the walls, including stags with impressive antlers, boars with fearsome tusks, and, most prominent, the mounted head of a wyvern, its scaled skin shimmering in the torchlight.
“The pride of Lord Caldwell’s grandfather,” the steward noted, following Geoffrey’s gaze. “Slain in the western mountains when the beasts still roamed these lands.”
Knowing Caldwell displayed the formidable creature to impress visitors and possibly even intimidate them, Geoffrey nodded appreciatively. If this were his home, he would do the same.
The great hall matched the rest of Caldwell Manor in solemn grandeur. Vaulted ceilings arched high above, their beams carved with intertwining patterns of hawks and thorns—the Caldwell sigil rendered in painstaking detail. A long oak table stretched almost the length of the hall, its surface polished to a mirror shine and inlaid with silver filigree that caught the candlelight like threads of starlight. Tall candelabras stood like sentinels along its length, their flames flickering in quiet rhythm with the draft, casting restless shadows across the walls. Along those walls hung grand portraits in heavy gilded frames, depicting generations of Caldwells in full regalia—lords, soldiers, and statesmen alike—all painted with the same cold eyes and unyielding mouths. The most recent likeness, presumably Lord Caldwell’s father, stared down from above the hearth with a falcon perched on his gauntlet, its eyes fixed forward as if judging the business conducted beneath it. The scent of wax, aged stone, and, faint but unmistakable, oiled leather gave the room a timeless quality as though little had changed here in centuries, save for the names of those seated at the table.
However, it wasn’t the decor that captured Geoffrey’s attention. Seated at the table, one hand resting on the hilt of a uniquely crafted sword, was a woman—a mercenary—he recognized immediately, even though they had never formally met.
Madilyn Oakthorn. Captain of the Mavens.
A human raised by dwarves, Captain Oakthorn led one of the most effective mercenary companies in the Freelands. Dubbed “Mad Madilyn” because of the impossible contracts she accepted and somehow fulfilled, Geoffrey wondered what her presence here meant.
Geoffrey noticed Madilyn’s piercing blue eyes studying him as he entered. Her armor, though battle-worn, displayed signs of dwarven craftsmanship in its intricate metalwork. The sword at her side was unmistakably of the same origin, with folded steel etched with runes along the cross guard. Her hair was as blonde as Geoffrey’s, but while he kept his short, hers was long and currently knotted into a single braid that hung down the center of her back.
“Captain Belford,” she acknowledged with a slight nod.
Geoffrey barely managed to hide his surprise at her recognizing him.
“Captain Oakthorn,” he replied, taking the seat across from her rather than at the far end of the table. Better to establish themselves as equals from the start. Tension hung in the air between them. Not hostility as such, but the natural wariness of two predators encountering each other in the same hunting ground.
Before either could break the silence further, the heavy doors at the end of the hall swung open to admit Lord Caldwell. He strode in with the effortless poise of nobility, his midnight blue doublet embroidered with silver thread catching the light with each step. Despite his fine attire, Caldwell’s physique suggested he was no stranger to the battlefield. His beard, neatly trimmed, framed a face that might have been handsome if not for the calculating coldness in his eyes.
“Captain Belford,” he said, his voice resonant in the stone hall. “I’m pleased you could join us. I see you’ve already met Captain Oakthorn.”
Both captains rose.
“We were just getting acquainted, my lord,” Geoffrey said.
“Excellent, excellent.” Caldwell took his seat at the head of the table, gesturing for his guests to sit and servants to bring wine. “I won’t waste time with pleasantries. You’re both here because your companies are the best currently available in High Holt.”
Madilyn raised an eyebrow. “High praise, coming from someone with his pick of blades.”
“Deserved praise,” Caldwell replied smoothly. “The Black Guard’s discipline is renowned, as is the Mavens’ ability to accomplish the improbable.”
Geoffrey accepted a goblet of wine but didn’t drink. “I understand you’re preparing for a conflict with Lord Harrow.”
“Indeed.” Caldwell smiled thinly. “And I’d like to hire both of your companies for that purpose. The Black Guard’s formation fighting will be invaluable on the open battlefield, while the Mavens’ specialized skills will serve for more targeted operations. Your companies complement each other well. It’s a wonder you haven’t joined forces before now.”
“Why summon us both personally?” Madilyn asked, as direct as any dwarf. “Our lieutenants could have handled standard contract negotiations.”
Caldwell’s expression darkened. “Because I have another matter that requires immediate attention. One that could threaten all my plans if left unchecked.”
He signaled to a servant who brought forward a cloth-wrapped bundle. Lord Caldwell unfolded the cloth to reveal the stalks of withered crops, blackened and twisted as though blighted by some unnatural disease. Next came a small jar containing a malformed chicken fetus, its body sprouting unusual growths.
“These came from villages on the western edge of my lands, near the Withered Woods,” he explained, his distaste clear. “Over the past three months, these afflictions have spread.”
Geoffrey examined the evidence without touching it. “Disease is common enough in rural areas, my lord.”
“Disease doesn’t take people in the night,” Caldwell countered sharply. “Twelve villagers missing in the past month alone. Children among them.”
Madilyn leaned forward. “You believe someone is responsible?”
“Not someone. Something.” Caldwell shot up, walking to an unrolled map on a side table. “Join me.”
Geoffrey and Madilyn exchanged glances before approaching the map. It showed the territories surrounding High Holt in remarkable detail, with Caldwell’s lands outlined in blue. Near the western border, a large forest bore the scrawled name the Withered Woods.
“This area in green shows the extent of the woods two seasons ago,” Caldwell explained, tracing the boundary with his finger. He then pointed to a red line extending well beyond the green. “This is its current extent. The trees themselves are advancing. And whatever they touch becomes wrong. I can explain it in no other way.”
Geoffrey ran a hand through his beard as he studied the map. The expansion almost spanned a league in some places.
“Local rumors speak of a witch,” Caldwell continued. “Normally, I’d dismiss such superstition.” He gestured to the evidence on the table. “But my steward investigated personally. He discovered that a woman had indeed taken residence deep in the woods. Those who’ve glimpsed her describe unnatural powers. Control over plants, animals behaving at her command, and the like.”
“And you want her eliminated,” Madilyn stated flatly. Again, with her dwarven directness.
“With extreme prejudice,” Caldwell confirmed, returning to his seat. He signaled again, and two guards carrying a heavy chest between them entered. They placed it on the table with a weighty thud before departing.
Lord Caldwell produced a key from within his doublet and unlocked the chest, revealing a brilliant treasure of gold coins that gleamed in the candlelight.
“This is separate from your companies’ standard payment,” he explained. “A personal bonus to whichever of you brings me the witch’s head.”
Geoffrey kept his expression neutral despite the substantial sum before them. “And if we both contribute to her demise?”
“I like to keep things sporting,” Caldwell replied with a hint of a smile. “Only one of you can claim the prize. I’m sure you can determine between yourselves who deserves the credit.”
Madilyn’s gaze narrowed. “A competition, then.”
“Call it an incentive.” Caldwell closed the chest. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must speak with my steward about tomorrow’s preparations. Please take some time to consider my offer. The servants will bring more wine.”
With that, he departed, leaving Geoffrey and Madilyn alone in the great hall. When the doors closed, Geoffrey moved away from the table, checking for servants or guards who might be eavesdropping. Finding none within earshot, he returned to find Madilyn doing the same on the opposite side of the room.
“He’s playing us against each other,” she said.
Geoffrey nodded. “Standard tactic. Create competition, get more than you paid for.”
Madilyn ran a finger along the edge of the locked chest. “While increasing your chances of success.”
The two captains regarded each other. Geoffrey had heard stories of the Mavens’ efficiency. How they accomplished in days what other companies required weeks to do. Madilyn, likewise, would know of the Black Guard’s reputation for unwavering discipline and tactical prowess. The Black Guard had a reputation for getting things done, too. One Captain Belford took pride in.
“I don’t know about you,” Geoffrey said finally, “but I’ve seen enough noble games to last a lifetime.”
A flicker of something—perhaps surprise, perhaps respect—crossed Madilyn’s face. “As have I. What are you suggesting?”
“We scout the Withered Woods together. Share information. Split the bonus equally if we succeed.” He extended his hand across the table and met Captain Oakthorn’s gaze, which was level with his own. “My word on it.”
Without hesitation, Captain Oakthorn clasped his forearm in a warrior’s grip. “Agreed. Though we should maintain the appearance of a rivalry when Caldwell returns.”
“Of course,” Geoffrey nodded.
“Tomorrow at first light?” Madilyn asked. “I know these woods. We can meet at the western gate.”
“First light it is,” Geoffrey confirmed.
When Lord Caldwell returned minutes later, he found them deep in their thoughts on opposite sides of the room. If he noticed the subtle nod they exchanged as they accepted his terms, he gave no indication.
As Geoffrey departed Caldwell Manor, the lord’s banners fluttering overhead in the moonlight, he couldn’t help but feel that the real danger might not lie in the Withered Woods but in the calculating gaze of the lord who seemed so eager to send them there.
Act 2: Into the Woods
Dawn broke over High Holt with a muted glow, the sun struggling to pierce through a veil of mist that clung to the landscape. Geoffrey arrived at the western gate to find Madilyn already there, her silhouette unmistakable against the gray light. She wore practical leather armor reinforced with metal plates bearing subtle dwarven patterns. The sword at her hip—the same one Geoffrey had noticed at Caldwell Manor—gleamed with a sheen that spoke of quality craftsmanship rather than mere ornamentation. At her belt hung a twin pair of hatchets.
“You travel light,” Madilyn remarked as Geoffrey approached with a small pack alongside his weapons and little else.
“Speed over comfort,” he replied. “The sooner we find this witch, the sooner we can return to more worthy ventures. I came to High Holt looking to scratch an itch for bloodshed, not traipse through the wilderness looking for an old crone.”
Madilyn grinned. “If that’s how you feel about our joint venture, feel free to turn around and return to your camp.”
“And leave the reward to you? Not a chance.”
“Then we’re in it until the end.”
“Until the end,” Geoffrey said, concurring.
They set out as the mist lifted, following a narrow trail westward toward the ominous treeline visible in the distance. The farmlands they passed through revealed the first signs of the corruption Caldwell had described. Withered crops with blackened stalks and empty livestock pens stood with gates broken outward as if something had escaped rather than entered.
“The villagers have already fled,” Geoffrey noted, examining abandoned homes with doors left ajar and possessions scattered in haste.
“Can’t blame them,” Madilyn replied, kneeling to examine strange tracks in the mud. “Whatever made these wasn’t natural. Too large for wolves, and the gait is wrong.”
As they approached the forest’s edge, the transformation became stark. What was once a vibrant woodland now stood as a twisted parody of nature. The outer trees still maintained some semblance of health, but further in, trunks were blackened and contorted, their branches reaching like gnarled fingers toward the sky. Most disturbing was the silence. No birdsong. No rustling of small animals. Only the occasional creak of wood shifting in unnatural ways.
“I know these woods,” Madilyn said softly. “Or I did. Three summers ago, I led the Mavens through here, pursuing bandits raiding the trade routes. It was nothing like this.”
Geoffrey drew his sword, its polished steel catching the faint light that filtered through the canopy. He didn’t fancy carrying it like that for long, but the feel of it in his hand provided a certain amount of reassurance. “Stay alert. The corruption worsens with each step. It can’t be long before we encounter something more substantial than empty villages.”
He was already moving, selecting a path through the deadened trees, when he noticed Madilyn lingering behind.
“What is it?”
A single tree drew Madilyn’s focus. “Someone marked this tree. Come take a look.”
Geoffrey saw runes encircling the trunk, but he had no idea what they meant.
“Dwarven lore speaks of such markings,” she explained, tracing the symbols with her fingertips but careful not to complete the patterns. “Forbidden nature magic. The kind that seeks to bind spirits to the physical world.”
Geoffrey hid his skepticism poorly. “What do dwarves know of such things?”
“More than you’d think,” Madilyn said. “People know them as stoneworkers and craftsmen, but they possess an attunement to the world around them like no other.”
Geoffrey grunted. Learn something new every day. “Are the runes something a witch might use?”
Madilyn nodded.
They got moving again, soon coming upon a stream that should have run clear but instead flowed black with an oily residue. Madilyn kneeled beside it, dipping the tip of a dagger into the substance and bringing it to her nose. She made a face at the smell.
“Smells like something rotting,” she said, wiping the blade clean on a patch of moss. “My father once spoke of this. The residue left behind when a spellcaster uses magic against the natural order. This must be the wrongness that Lord Caldwell mentioned but couldn’t explain.”
“Your father a wizard?” Geoffrey asked.
Madilyn laughed a hearty chuckle that threatened to chase away the gloom, if only briefly.
“Hardly,” she said. “Just a very worldly man.”
A sudden rustle from a nearby hollow log brought both mercenaries into fighting stances. Signaling with hand gestures, they flanked the log from either side. Instead of the monster they half-expected, they discovered a child partially hidden within the hollow. A girl no more than eight years old, her clothes torn and eyes wide with terror.
“It’s all right,” Madilyn said, lowering her hatchet and crouching to the child’s level. “We won’t harm you.”
The girl’s gaze darted between them and back toward the forest’s depths. She wanted to run, but sheer fright kept her frozen in place.
“What’s your name?” Geoffrey asked, using a gentle tone he hardly recognized in himself. He spent little time around children, but something in the girl’s face reminded him of his sister when they were young. He saw in her that same stubborn pride hiding behind wide, frightened eyes.
“Lista,” the child whispered, her voice hoarse. After more coaxing from Captain Oakthorn, the girl emerged from her hiding place, revealing dirt-streaked cheeks and a strange mark on her arm—a pattern of veins darkened as if with ink that pulsed upward from her wrist.
Geoffrey offered her water from his canteen.
While Lista drank, Captain Oakthorn introduced herself. “I’m Madilyn, and this is Geoffrey. We’re here to help. Can you tell us what happened?”
“They came three nights ago,” Lista said. Her words remained an almost indecipherable whisper. “The tree people. Led by a woman with eyes like fire.”
“Tree people?” Geoffrey asked, raising a brow of skepticism.
“People like trees. Or trees like people.” The girl shuddered. “They took everyone. For the changing.”
“The changing?” Madilyn asked.
Eliza pointed to the mark on her arm. “It starts like this. Then you become like them.” Her eyes welled with tears. “My mother started changing. Told me to run and hide. So that’s what I did.”
“You’re safe now,” Geoffrey assured her, though he remained unconvinced of that himself.
“The woman with the fire eyes,” Madilyn said. “Did you hear her name?”
Lista nodded. “Morvena. The tree people called her Mistress Morvena.” She hesitated, then added, “She is someone important.”
Geoffrey sniffed. “Why do you say that?”
“A lord visited her,” Lista said.
The captains exchanged curious glances.
“Did this lord have a crest or symbol?” Madilyn asked. “Something on his surcoat or jacket?”
Lista scrunched her face, thinking. “I remember a silver hawk.”
“Lord Caldwell?” Madilyn asked, as surprised as Geoffrey, who didn’t think the question needed an answer.
Madilyn’s expression hardened. “It seems our employer omitted some crucial details.”
“We should get the child to safety,” Geoffrey said, “then continue our search.”
But as they prepared to escort Eliza back toward the forest’s edge, a sudden stillness fell over the woods. Not the natural quiet they had noted earlier, but an anticipatory hush, as if the forest held its breath.
“Someone’s watching us,” Madilyn whispered, her hand moving to her sword hilt.
Geoffrey nodded. “From all sides, I think.”
When the attack came, it arrived with a cracking of branches and a rustling of leaves before creatures that defied description surrounded them. They might have once been human, but their skin had hardened into bark-like plates, their limbs elongated into branch-like appendages tipped with vicious thorns. Where faces should have been, only knots of wood remained. Glowing amber sap seeped from eye-like hollows.
“Stay behind me,” Geoffrey ordered Eliza.
Madilyn did the same. “Form up, back-to-back. The girl between us.”
The first creature lunged, movements jerky yet quicker than expected. Geoffrey parried its thorn-tipped arm and countered with a slash that should have been devastating but did nothing more than carve a groove in the creature’s wooden hide.
“Their chests!” Madilyn called out, ducking under a sweeping attack. “There’s a knot glowing in the center. That’s their weakness!”
Geoffrey saw it now. A pulsating amber light glimmered beneath the bark. He didn’t know how Captain Oakthorn knew it was a vulnerable spot, but since he was game to try anything, he focused on the pulsing amber light visible beneath the bark of the nearest attacker. His blade struck true, and the creature collapsed into a heap of lifeless wood.
Behind him, Madilyn struck with equal ferocity, dispatching every foe closing on her. Together, they destroyed the first wave of creatures, but in the distance, more amber lights appeared between the trees.
Geoffrey scanned their surroundings. “We need higher ground or some sort of fortification.”
“Agreed,” Captain Oakthorn said. “There’s some old ruins north of here. It’s the best we’re going to get.”
So, they ran. When Lista's shorter legs couldn't keep the pace, Geoffrey scooped her up and carried her until they reached the ruins. Geoffrey wasn't sure what he expected to see, but what confronted them was a haunting line of ancient stone houses reclaimed by time and wilderness. Moss-slicked walls stood in various states of surrender, some merely crumbling at the corners while others had collapsed entirely, spilling their innards of weathered timber and shattered pottery across the ground. Roofs that once sheltered families now gaped open to the sky like toothless maws, admitting shafts of pale light that illuminated centuries of abandonment. Blackened vines as thick as a man's wrist threaded through empty window frames and doorways like invasive veins, pulsing with an unsettling vitality that seemed to mock the dead stone they conquered. Here and there, carved symbols—once proud family crests or protective wards—peered out from beneath the strangling vegetation, their meanings lost to all but scholars and ghosts. Ancient roots upheaved the flagstones of what must have been a modest village square, creating treacherous, uneven ground. Near one wall, a small stone well remained surprisingly intact, though its depths now harbored only shadows and the distant gleam of stagnant water.
Behind them, they saw no signs of pursuit. Only the ominous silence of a place long forsaken, where even the birds seemed reluctant to sing.
At the village’s center, they discovered a sight that chilled their blood—a ritual site with stone altars stained dark with blood. The personal effects of villagers—a child’s doll, a woodsman’s axe, a woman’s shawl—lay scattered around the square. More disturbing were the villagers themselves or what remained of them. The witch’s dark magic had transformed some of them into the tree-like creatures they had fought. Others were caught in various stages of the horrific metamorphosis, their bodies partially wooden, with faces frozen in expressions of agony. For now, none moved.
“By the Old Gods,” Geoffrey breathed, his composure momentarily shaken.
Madilyn approached one of the half-transformed villagers, a man whose legs had become rooted to the ground, bark spreading upward across his torso. His eyes still moved, tracking their movement with desperate awareness.
“He’s still conscious,” she said. “Still aware.”
“Can we reverse this if we stop the witch?” Geoffrey asked.
Not knowing the answer, Madilyn only shook her head.
Geoffrey drew his dagger, his intent clear. “Better to put them out of their misery before the witch gains complete control over them. Take Lista someplace else.”
Madilyn nodded, taking the girl by the hand and leading her away. “Make it quick.”
With that grisly business done, Geoffrey went after Captain Oakthorn and Lista, finding them inside a house with three walls remaining. The interior looked lived in, with a small table scattered with roots and herbs and a pallet with the impression of someone who had slept there. But the ragged, tossed blankets were also covered by the forest’s detritus, as if that someone had not returned in some time. Geoffrey also saw strange tools of bone and wood, jars of unidentifiable substances on shelves, and fragments of a book or journal, which Madilyn was already examining.
“Listen to this,” she said. “‘The binding process requires fresh subjects. The human spirit resists merging with the forest elements, but proper preparation through the application of the elixir weakens this resistance.’” She turned a page. “‘Lord C. grows impatient for results. He does not understand that power of this magnitude requires sacrifice.’”
“Lord C.,” Geoffrey repeated. “Caldwell, I’d wager.”
“Yes, but not the one we met,” Madilyn said. “This journal entry is dated over a hundred years ago.”
Geoffrey grunted. “It seems the Caldwell family has a history with this witch.”
Madilyn peered at the sky’s growing darkness. “I say we make camp someplace else in the ruins. If we’re lucky, Morvena will show up during the night and make our job easier. If not, we pick things up in the morning.”
They settled into another building with a clear view of the witch’s lair. Night fell, and with it came a bone-deep chill that seemed to emanate from the corrupt woods. Despite the cold, they kept a low profile, huddling behind the structure’s dilapidated walls without a fire. Lista curled up in Madilyn’s cloak and succumbed to exhaustion almost immediately. With the child asleep, the two captains spoke freely.
“Caldwell sent us to clean up his family’s mess,” Geoffrey said, keeping his voice low. “A lot of people have died. The question is whether he lost control of the witch or if this was part of his plan all along.”
Cleaning her fingernails with the tip of a knife, Madilyn said, “Either way, we still have a job to do. Whatever this corruption is, it’s spreading. If it reaches High Holt, a lot of good people will fall under the witch’s spell.” Madilyn glanced at the sleeping child. “The mark on her arm is spreading. Slowly, but it is spreading. We need to find a way to stop it.”
“Then we continue as planned,” Geoffrey said. He didn’t see that they had much choice. “Find the witch, end the threat. But we keep our eyes open for further evidence of Caldwell’s involvement. When we get back to the Holt, we’ll need it if we’re going to make a case against him.”
“Expose him or extort him?” Madilyn asked, pausing with her knife before her.
Geoffrey shrugged. “I’m game for either.”
While Captain Belford and Lista slept, Madilyn took the first watch. At the agreed-upon hour, she shook Geoffrey awake. During his shift, Madilyn slept fitfully, occasionally murmuring in dwarven. But whether prayers or curses, Geoffrey couldn’t tell. The silent hours allowed his mind time to wander. He had seen corruption before—in the hearts of men and the politics of war—but this was different. What the witch had done was a perversion of nature itself, and for the first time in years, Geoffrey felt a stirring of the righteous purpose he’d once believed in before the hard life of a mercenary and the disillusionment it brought had set in.
Dawn brought no real brightness to the Withered Woods, just a lessening of the darkness. Throughout the night, they’d seen no sign of Morvena. So, they set out again, deeper into the forest, following the increasing signs of corruption. By midday, they discovered an abandoned ritual site far larger than the one in the village.
A perfect circle amid the twisted trees, ancient stones formed a massive ring, each monolith twice the height of a man and carved with symbols that seemed to writhe when observed. Whoever built the place had meticulously cleared the undergrowth. Years of ceremonial use had packed the earth down hard, and patterns stained dark had the look of dried blood. At the center stood a stone altar, its surface grooved to channel fluids toward a central basin. Unlike the crude set up in the village, this structure was ancient and deliberate, crafted from a single massive stone that gleamed with an oily sheen despite the lack of direct sunlight. A mason had carved the Caldwell family crest prominently into its face. Not recently, for it appeared weathered by decades—perhaps centuries—of exposure.
“The witch didn’t make this,” Madilyn said, kneeling to examine markings etched into the ground. “These are old. Very old. Lista, did your people know about this place?”
Lista shook her head. The girl kept her gaze lowered, unwilling to look at their surroundings and what it all implied.
Wooden stakes formed concentric circles around the altar, many bearing tattered remnants of what might have been offerings—or warnings. Blackened bones lay scattered throughout, some human, others unidentifiable, all partially consumed by the corrupted soil. From each stake, threads of corruption spread outward like a web, feeding into the surrounding trees and undergrowth. Small alcoves carved into the base of several monoliths contained offerings in various states of decay. Figurines crafted from bone and wood, bundles of herbs long since withered, and glass vials containing substances that still glowed with faint, sickly light.
“Look at this,” Geoffrey called, approaching what appeared to be a makeshift workspace beneath a lean-to built against one of the larger stones. Ritual knives with ornate handles bearing the Caldwell insignia, chalices of tarnished silver, and a mortar still containing the powdered remnants of some unknown substance lay scattered across a rough wooden table.
Most disturbing were the chains—dozens of them—anchored to iron rings set deep into the monoliths, each ending in manacles sized for human wrists and ankles. Some still contained bones, the remains of sacrifices left to feed the spirits long after their deaths. No birds sang here. No insects buzzed. The entire clearing existed in an unnatural silence, broken only by the occasional creaking of the corrupted trees that encircled it, their branches curving inward as if to contain the power summoned within.
“This isn't just some witch's circle,” Geoffrey said, his voice barely above a whisper in the oppressive silence. “This is a family legacy. Generations of ritual sacrifices.”
Madilyn nodded, her lips pressed as she picked up a carved wooden token bearing Caldwell's symbol. “And one the current lord has actively maintained. These offerings are recent. Weeks old, not years.”
A worn path led through the underbrush at the far edge of the clearing. Not deeper into the forest to Morvena's lair, but back toward High Holt and Caldwell Manor.
Geoffrey sighed.
“Something wrong?” Madilyn asked. She waved her hand at their surroundings. “Besides all this, I mean.”
“I’ve been a mercenary for a long time. I know you have, as well. I like to think I understand the minds of my employers. They’re a power-hungry bunch of arseholes, aren’t they?” Geoffrey went on before Madilyn could answer. “Men like Caldwell wouldn’t let the lives of a few innocents get in the way of their ambitions. The evidence more than suggests that Caldwell’s involved himself with this witch for some time. But the number of sacrifices—the rot, too—only ramped up recently. Maybe she turned on him, and we’re witnessing the result. But he was still in bed with her before any of this happened. What I don’t understand is why. What did he hope to gain?”
“You’re right,” Madilyn said. “Most of our employers are real arseholes. The lords of High Holt, maybe more so. They’re constantly at each other’s throats, always looking for some advantage over the other. Lord Caldwell—the Caldwell family, I reckon—made a witch’s bargain going back generations. Perhaps Morvena promised them some hold over their political rivals in exchange for innocents for her dark magic. It’s evil, but I’ve seen some evil shat in my time.”
“Me, too,” Geoffrey said. “We should—”
Captain Belford’s next words caught in his throat when a strange creature—a raven with bark-like growths distorting its wings and beak—emerged from the underbrush. It fixed them with unnaturally intelligent eyes and spoke.
“Morvena knows you come,” it croaked. “The lord’s dogs, sent to clean up his mess.”
The creature’s words—not the words themselves but the fact that it spoke at all—sent a shiver down Geoffrey’s spine. While Lista slunk behind Captain Oakthorn, Geoffrey shook off his unease and asked, “What quarrel does your mistress have with Lord Caldwell?”
The raven tilted its head at an impossible angle. “Quarrel? No quarrel. Partnership soured. The lord’s family has always fed the forest. For generations, they have taken power and paid in blood. But this lord grows greedy. Takes much, gives little.”
“How long has this arrangement been in place?” Madilyn asked.
“Ancient pact. Ancient power,” the creature hissed. “The crystal orb in the heart of the great tree. A family heirloom. Given to the witch generations ago to feed her power. But such power demands blood. Lord Caldwell grew tired of paying.”
“He tried to stop the sacrifices?” Madilyn asked, skeptical.
Geoffrey was skeptical, too. He also knew it didn’t matter. One good deed does not undo generations of malpractice.
“What was Caldwell getting in return before he tried to renege on the deal?” Captain Belford asked.
“Hidden truths revealed. The death of an adversary. Whatever was needed.”
The creature convulsed, bark-like growths spreading across its remaining feathers. “Too late for me. Too late for the forest. The balance breaks. All will change. Root and branch will rot and—”
With a final shudder, the raven collapsed, its body crumbling into a pile of twigs and feathers.
“A familiar,” Madilyn said grimly. “Bound to the witch, but corrupted all the same.”
Geoffrey kneeled beside the remains. “It mentioned a crystal orb. A family heirloom.”
“A source of power,” Madilyn said. “The runes we saw help propagate such magic. We need to find this orb and destroy it.”
“The creature said it could be found at the center of the woods. In a tree, no less.”
“You think it lied to us?” Madilyn asked.
Geoffrey shook his head. “I’m not sure what to believe right now. But there’s no question High Holt is in danger, and that’s enough for me.”
Madilyn turned her gaze toward the forest’s center. Then she looked at Lista. “You’ll have to come with us.”
The girl nodded, accepting her fate. “Better than being left alone again.”
Madilyn took Lista’s hand. With Captain Belford in the lead, they strode deeper into the woods.
Act 3: The Final Confrontation
Ahead, the path grew more treacherous. Roots erupted from the ground to trip unwary feet, and thorny vines seemed to reach for them with malevolent purpose. The smell of decay—not the natural scent of forest decomposition, but something alchemical and wrong—grew stronger.
Next to Geoffrey, Lista drew Madilyn’s cloak, which was many sizes too big for her, tighter around her tiny shoulders. The mark on her arm darkened, the web of corruption spreading past her elbow. Time ran short, not just for the child but for all of High Holt.
After some hours of careful progress, they spotted a massive tree unlike any other in the forest. While the surrounding trees were twisted and blackened, this behemoth exacerbated such characteristics, its bark pulsing with an inner darkness that sent ripples of energy through the corrupt woods in all directions.
“That has to be it,” Geoffrey said, keeping his voice low. “The heart of the witch’s power.”
Madilyn nodded. “And look—do you see it?” She pointed to concentric circles of protection surrounding the tree. “Three rings of defense.”
The outer ring consisted of dense vegetation that moved with unnatural purpose—woven brambles that parted and closed like a sentient barrier. Beyond that, they glimpsed humanoid figures standing unnaturally still, their forms partially transformed into forest creatures. The inner ring was less visible, but occasional flashes of energy suggested magical diablerie.
“We need a plan,” Geoffrey said, studying the defenses. “A direct assault would be suicide. I doubt either of us would make it as far as the tree.”
Madilyn’s eyes narrowed. “I brought dwarven flash powder with me. It could create a distraction at the outer ring while one of us circles around. If you can reach the second ring and draw enough of the creatures to you, I might be able to slip past them.”
“Split up?” Geoffrey raised an eyebrow.
“Playing to our strengths,” she replied. “Your tactical experience against the guards, my knowledge of magic against the wards.”
Geoffrey considered her plan. He had to admit that it wasn’t much of one, but he also couldn’t think of anything better. “The witch will expect us to attack together. Coming from different directions could work, but anything less than perfect timing and we’re screwed.”
“My father once told me that the best forge requires two elements—heat and pressure,” Madilyn said. “You provide the pressure from the front. I’ll bring the heat from behind.”
“What about me?” Lista asked, eyes wide with fright at the prospect of getting any closer to the dark tree.
“You wait here,” Geoffrey said.
“Find someplace to hide,” Madilyn added. “When this is over, we’ll come find you.”
With their strategy agreed upon and Lista gone to relative safety, Geoffrey circled to the western approach while Madilyn worked her way around to the east. When Captain Belford reached his position, he drew his sword and waited for Madilyn’s signal.
He knew he had it when a brilliant flash illuminated the forest like the midday sun.
Though the flash originated on the other side of the ring, the entire vegetative barrier recoiled from the light, thinning and creating an opening he charged through. Some writhing vines attempted to entangle him, but the sharp edge of his steel cut through them, and then he was through the first barrier. The corrupted villagers in the second ring moved toward the disturbance, their movements puppet-like and uncoordinated. Rather than waste energy on their hardened carapaces, Captain Belford targeted the glowing knots in their chests. Each fallen creature collapsed into a pile of dead wood and withered flesh. He kept at it, engaging two and three at a time, relying on his skill, speed, and armor to keep him safe. All the while, he hoped the distraction bought Captain Oakthorn the time she needed to work her way toward the inner sanctum.
Geoffrey discovered horrifying evidence of Morvena’s experiments as he fought through the second ring. Partially transformed villagers hung from branches, their bodies suspended in various stages of metamorphosis. Some still had human faces, their eyes pleading as he passed. Geoffrey’s jaw tightened. He didn’t consider himself squeamish, but seeing so many betrayed and misused roiled even his stomach. There would be no mercy for the witch when they found her.
“Belford!” Madilyn’s voice came from somewhere ahead. “I’ve reached the inner ward!”
That was all well and fine, and he was glad that part of the plan had worked, but he realized too late that he may have gotten himself in a little too deep when he found himself surrounded. Sweeping his sword in a great arc, he hacked at the creature’s hardened exoskeletons, buying himself precious seconds by opening a small space around him. But his attack was ineffectual, and the creatures kept coming, reaching out with their branch-like arms, leafy hands grasping, and open mouths exuding tree sap like poison until the corrupted monsters pressed so close that Geoffrey’s sword became useless. So he lashed out with fists and elbows, knocking one back and then another. But others stepped forward to take their place quicker than he could dispatch them. Bark-covered hands latched onto his armor, his cloak, around his neck, clenching and choking until Captain Belford could scarcely draw breath. With slow, methodical movements, the creatures started to drag him to the ground. He fought them with everything, clenching his jaw, crying out, and exerting every ounce of strength until it was no longer enough and his knees buckled.
A banshee cry filled his ears. The riotous sound of wood hacked to pieces followed. Then the weight was lifted from him, and Geoffrey spied the most wondrous sight in the form of twin hatchets, rising and falling with unwavering ferocity. Their wielder, Captain Oakthorn, crashed through the throng like a dwarven phalanx. Except she wasn’t dwarven, and the phalanx was only her. It seemed that Captain Oakthorn did justice to the stories about her battle prowess.
“Come on!” she shouted, kicking one of the creatures out of her way while she hacked at another. Shards of wood flew in all directions.
Geoffrey didn’t need a second prompting. The moment he reached Madilyn’s side, she handed over one of her axes, and together, the two hacked their way to freedom, soon reaching the innermost ring.
Hunching over, Geoffrey took a moment to catch his breath. When he straightened, he saw the great tree, a shimmering barrier of magic surrounding its base and an opening in the trunk that served as a doorway into an interior chamber carved from the living wood. A glance over his shoulder revealed no pursuit. The creatures, for now, seemed content to remain within the boundary set for them by the witch.
“I thought you would have had this barrier down by now,” Geoffrey said.
“I would have, but someone needed rescuing.”
Geoffrey might have protested, but he wasn’t so prideful. Instead, he said, “Thanks.”
“Time for that later,” Madilyn said, examining the magical barrier. “Look at the ground. More runes. I recognize the patterns. This is ancient knowledge, forbidden even among my people.”
“Can you break through it?”
“No.” Madilyn traced a symbol in the air. “But I can bypass it. Protective wards like these sometimes have keys. A way to disable them. It’s just a matter of figuring out the right counter-wards.”
As Madilyn worked, Geoffrey kept watch. The forest grew still around them, as if gathering its strength for another assault. “Whatever you’re doing, best do it quickly.”
“I think I might have one,” she said.
Geoffrey glanced over and saw one rune flickering and, finally, fading.
“Now!” she hissed.
They slipped through before the ward sealed itself behind them.
Through the doorway, the tree’s interior was vast—far larger than should have been possible. The walls pulsed with amber light, and the air was thick with the scent of strange herbs and compounds. They spied the orb at the chamber’s center suspended in a cradle of twisted roots rising from the floor. Energy pulsated from the orb through the roots and into the tree’s root ball.
“Caldwell’s artifact,” Geoffrey said. “Just as the familiar said.”
“And its master,” Madilyn replied, pointing at a figure emerging from the shadows.
Morvena's appearance was beautiful and terrifying. An otherworldly fusion of woman and wilderness, her form remained predominantly human, with a figure that seemed to shift between delicate and predatory with each subtle movement. Patches of silver-green bark grew across her alabaster skin like organic armor, covering her shoulders and trailing down her arms in intricate patterns that resembled ancient runes. Blood-red sap seeped from the seams where bark met flesh, glistening like rubies in the amber light. Her hair was a living crown of midnight-black vines that writhed and coiled of their own volition, occasionally extending to taste the air before retreating to frame her sharp-featured face. Small crimson flowers bloomed and withered among the tangled mass, releasing spores that danced around her like fireflies. Most striking were her eyes—amber orbs that blazed with an inner fire, their pupils vertical slits like those of a serpent. The light they cast seemed to have substance, throwing dancing shadows across her angular features and illuminating the hollow of her throat where a pendant of twisted root and bone pulsed in rhythm with the orb. She wore a gown that could have been mistaken for foliage—layers of translucent material the color of dying leaves that whispered against the floor as she moved with unnatural grace. The fabric seemed to merge with her skin in places, making it impossible to tell where the garment ended and the witch began. Her fingers ended in curved talons of polished wood, stained dark at the tips as though dipped in old blood, and her lips, preternaturally red against her pale complexion, curled into a smile that revealed teeth too sharp to be human.
“Lord Caldwell's loyal hounds,” she said, her voice melodious and dissonant, like wind through hollow bones and leaves rustling against each other. The sound seemed to come not just from her throat but from the very walls of the chamber. “Come to claim your master's prize?”
As she spoke, a scent of decaying flowers and sweet rot filled the surrounding air, and the wooden ground beneath her bare feet blackened with corruption that spread outward like ink in water.
“We’re here to end your corruption,” Geoffrey replied, sword and hatchet ready.
Morvena laughed, the sound like branches breaking in a storm. “My corruption? Did your lord tell you how this began? Did he not mention the bargain his ancestors made generations ago? The power they gained in exchange for feeding the forest?”
“The raven mentioned an ancient pact,” Madilyn said.
Still flashing her wicked grin, Morvena said, “The Caldwells were never strong enough to hold their lands alone. They needed magic—blood magic—to subdue their rivals. Generation after generation, they offered sacrifices to the forest, and in return, they wielded influence beyond their station.”
She gestured to the crystal orb. “Those of my line passed the orb down from witch to witch, keeper to keeper, for centuries. Until Lord Caldwell grew greedy. He wanted the power without the price—to wield magic without sacrifice. The fool threatened to cut off his supply of sacrifices.”
“So you took his people instead,” Geoffrey said, his voice stern.
Morvena laughed. “Me? I took nothing. The Caldwells have given their people to my kind for centuries. Only one or two in a decade, so that few ever suspected. But when Lord Caldwell sought to stop me from taking any more—when he broke our agreement—I saw no reason not to take all I wanted. The forest must feed. The balance must be maintained.”
“And the corruption spreading beyond the forest?” Madilyn challenged. “The children taken in the night?”
“Too long have my kind existed in the shadows,” the witch replied. “Soon, all of High Holt will answer to the forest. No more petty lords squabbling over land and title. Only the eternal growth of my domain.”
Geoffrey had heard enough. “Your reign ends today, witch.”
Morvena’s eyes flared brighter. “You think two mercenaries can stand against me? Here, in the heart of my power?” She raised her hands, and the chamber itself came alive. Roots erupted from the floor, and branches extended from the walls to reach for the intruders.
“Split up!” Geoffrey shouted, diving to one side as Madilyn leaped to the other.
The witch's incantation split the earth between the captains, unleashing a nightmarish barrier of thrashing vegetation. Geoffrey recoiled as ancient roots erupted from below, writhing with unnatural life. They surged toward him with predatory intent, their gnarled forms twisting like serpents hunting prey. Steel flashed in the half-light as Geoffrey's blade carved through the first wave of tendrils. Sap sprayed like blood across his armor as he severed the woody appendages that sought to entangle his limbs. His momentary triumph vanished as he witnessed the severed ends pulsate and split, each wounded root spawning two more that reached for him with renewed hunger. Sweat stung his eyes as he backed away, his breathing already ragged. But the vegetation advanced relentlessly, a tide of twisted life that seemed to learn his patterns with each swing of his sword or hatchet. But then he noticed the vines he slashed with Madilyn’s hatchet withering and dying. Whatever magic the weapon possessed, it was proof against the witch’s power.
“The orb!” Madilyn shouted from across the chamber. “It’s the source! We need to destroy it!”
The witch laughed. “Easier said than done.” With a gesture, she sent a shimmer of energy toward Madilyn, which she dodged only by a hair’s breadth. The blast hit the wall behind her, transforming the wood into a cluster of grasping hands. Too close, they caught Captain Oakthorn in half a dozen places at once.
“Madilyn!” Geoffrey shouted, trying to force his way through the barrier of thrashing vegetation between them.
“Focus on the witch!” she called back, her voice strained with effort. “I can handle this!”
Geoffrey turned his attention to Morvena, who channeled energy from the crystal orb to prepare for another attack. With a mighty sweep of his sword to part the vines, he used the hatchet to hack the remainder of the way through the barrier. Rolling beneath a second wave of corrupted magic, Captain Belford sprang up and slashed at the witch. He expected his sword to damn near cleave her in half. Instead, Morvena’s form dissolved into mist before his blade could connect. The witch reformed several paces away with a mocking smile.
“A skilled warrior,” she said, “but skill alone cannot touch me here.”
The chamber trembled as Morvena raised her arms high. The walls pulsed with a shadowed light, and the floor beneath Geoffrey’s feet softened, threatening to swallow him like quicksand. Across the chamber, Madilyn had broken free of the grasping hands, but now a cloud of poisonous spores erupted from the ceiling, forcing the captain to cover her mouth and nose with her sleeve while she dropped to the floor.
“Geoffrey,” she called between coughs, “the runes! Look at the floor!”
Despite his predicament, Geoffrey glanced down and saw what Madilyn had noticed. A pattern of runes encircled the roots that held the orb. They looked like the same symbols they’d encountered at the ritual site.
“Caldwell’s mark,” he muttered, recognizing the family sigil integrated into the arcane design.
“It’s a binding circle,” Madilyn shouted. “Break the pattern, and the witch’s connection to the orb weakens!”
Geoffrey struggled through the floor’s morass to drive Madilyn’s hatchet deep into the nearest rune with all his strength. The wood beneath the symbol splintered, and a discordant screech filled the chamber as Morvena stumbled, momentarily disoriented.
“Fool!” she snarled. “You cannot comprehend what you interfere with!”
Before Captain Belford could pull the hatchet free, the witch’s hand shot out, throwing him into the far wall with such force that his vision blurred. He felt the living wood enveloping him, pulling him into its embrace.
“The forest must feed,” Morvena intoned, her voice deepening. “And you two will make excellent sustenance.”
With her hand still covering her mouth, Madilyn rose to her knees and hurled her hatchet at Morvena, who saw the spinning axe coming for her far too late. Its impact made a sound like an axe sinking into wood. Morvena’s mouth opened to emit a scream whose sound resembled timber splintering. The momentary disruption allowed Geoffrey to free himself from the wall, chunks of corrupted wood still clinging to his armor. He charged Morvena, forcing her to focus her remaining power on him while Madilyn worked her way around the edge of the chamber.
“Your lord will suffer for this betrayal,” Morvena hissed. “When I’ve finished with you, I’ll make him watch as his precious High Holt withers and dies!”
“Caldwell’s fate isn’t my concern,” he replied, circling to keep Morvena’s back to Madilyn. “Stopping you is.”
Madilyn reached the altar. Yanking the hatchet Geoffrey had left behind free, she hacked away at the runes carved into its base, disrupting the flow of power between the orb and the witch. Morvena sensed what was happening too late. She whirled toward Madilyn with a howl of rage, leaving her back exposed to Geoffrey, who drove his sword through her torso. Impossibly, she lurched forward, tearing herself free. Rather than blood, Geoffrey saw splinters of wood splattering his blade.
“Enough!” she roared, her voice resonating through the chamber as the walls contracted around them. “This forest has stood for millennia. It has consumed countless intruders. You will join them!”
The entire chamber convulsed. Roots burst from every surface, snatching at the mercenaries with unrelenting fury. The air grew thick with spores and magical energy, making it difficult to breathe or see.
Madilyn hacked at another of the runes. With every thunk of her axe, the witch convulsed.
“Morvena linked her power to the runes!” Madilyn shouted. “And the runes to the orb!”
Even if Geoffrey hadn’t seen the effect Captain Oakthorn’s barrage had on the witch, he understood what she meant. Sever the link and break Morvena’s hold on the orb. Without the orb’s power, they had a chance of defeating her. Already, the orb’s glow dimmed, its connection to the witch weakened by Madilyn’s sabotage. Cracks formed across its surface, spreading like spider webs through the ancient artifact. Its pulsating became erratic. Its power weakened.
Even so afflicted, Morvena found the strength to lurch toward Madilyn. But Geoffrey placed himself between the witch and the mercenary captain, hacking at her with his sword like an axe, sending bits of wood flying with every blow. Where before Morvena might have laughed off such attacks, now she faltered, swaying with each strike, her strength stolen from her and her demise imminent.
In the end, neither mercenary was certain who dealt the final death blow since Madilyn’s hatchet pulverized the final ward at the same that Geoffrey drove his sword straight through the witch’s heart. But such was a matter to debate later, when the ale flowed and the witch’s memory was well on its way to fading. Right now, with the last rune shattered and a sword blade through her torso, the witch convulsed no longer but swayed one last time before sliding free of Captain Belford’s sword and collapsing to the ground.
Silence fell over the chamber. The walls ceased their pulsing. The attacking roots went limp and still. Unable to maintain either shape as the magic that sustained her drained away, Morvena’s form shifted between human and plant. The witch’s eyes, once burning with power, now flickered like dying embers. Almost dead, but not quite yet. Captain Belford raised his sword over her, ready to plunge his blade into her as many times as it took to end her when Morvena spoke.
“You’ve broken the pact,” she gasped, her voice barely more than the rustle of dead leaves. “Destroyed the balance.”
Geoffrey let his sword fall to his side. “You destroyed the balance when you started consuming innocent villagers.”
“Me? I am but a facilitator. Like you, Lord Caldwell hired me to do a job. When he refused to pay me, I took it upon myself to collect what he owed me. Would you have done anything else?”
Geoffrey ignored the question. “Lord Caldwell tried to do something good, and you made him pay for it.”
They saw the witch’s eyes fluttering and, knowing Morvena didn’t have long to live, Madilyn blurted out, “We found a child. The corruption marks her arm. How can we save her?”
The witch’s eyes fluttered. “If the corruption hasn’t spread too far... can be reversed... if you destroy the source.”
The source? The orb, which was already marked by a spiderweb of cracks.
So Madilyn grabbed it and threw it onto the floor, shattering it into a thousand pieces.
Around them, the chamber shuddered, and a groaning sound resonated through the wood.
“Time to go,” Geoffrey said.
Madilyn took one look around and agreed. But first, she gathered fragments of the shattered orb. “We’ll need evidence once we get back to High Holt. Caldwell’s one good deed doesn’t even come close to erasing everything his family did.”
They ran from the tree’s interior, plunging through the doorway even as the tree’s interior collapsed behind them. Great branches from the tree fell all around them, and the entire trunk shook so violently that cracks formed up and down its length. They were well away when the tree finally collapsed, not falling to one side but imploding from within until its loss of integrity sent the entire ensemble crashing earthward. The collapse created a cloud of detritus and dust so thick that Geoffrey and Madilyn soon lost sight of the tree’s remains.
Morvena’s defensive outer rings dissolved into piles of dead wood and withered flesh. The corrupted villagers lay still, their suffering finally ended. Patches of healthy green—nature reclaiming what Morvena’s magic had corrupted—were visible among the blackened trees.
They found Lista where they had left her. The corruption on her arm was already on its way to vanishing, though the toll it had taken on her remained. Unable to walk on her own, Madilyn scooped her up without hesitation. Together, they left the heart of the Withered Woods behind.
Act 4: Recompense
Once Geoffrey and Madilyn reached the Caldwell estate, they found the manor in disarray. Lord Caldwell had assembled his forces in the central courtyard, preparing for something that looked like a hasty departure, with wagons loaded with supplies and a coach with a driver waiting.
“It seems our employer anticipated our failure,” Geoffrey observed, watching servants loading wagons with chests and valuables. “Or perhaps he received word of our success and fears what we found.”
“Either way,” Madilyn replied, “he’s not leaving until we’ve spoken to him.”
They found Lord Caldwell in his study, gathering documents and valuables in a frenzy. He froze when they entered, his shocked expression smoothing into a practiced nobleman’s smile.
“Captains! You’ve returned!” he exclaimed with forced enthusiasm. “I trust your mission was successful? The witch is dead?”
“Morvena is dead all right,” Geoffrey said, his tone emotionless. “And we’ve brought your trophy, as requested.”
Madilyn overturned a sack onto the lord’s desk, spilling glass fragments amidst the lord’s papers. “Sorry, but I had to smash it to release its hold over the woods.”
Caldwell’s facade crumbled. He sank back into his chair. “You don’t understand. This wasn’t me. The forest requires sacrifice. It always has. I tried to stop it.”
“We know you did,” Madilyn said. “But how many died before that? How long did you sit by while Morvena snatched your own people to use as sacrifices?”
“I had no choice!” Caldwell hissed. “When I inherited my father’s mantle, our situation amongst the Holt’s lords was precarious. I needed Morvena’s strength. But after so many years, the toll was too much. That is why I went to her and told her no more. Not long after, the corruption started, and entire villages began to disappear. I knew I’d make a mistake, but it was too late.”
Madilyn leaned back on her heels and crossed her arms. “So you hired us to clean up your mess by eliminating the witch.”
Caldwell’s eyes darted between them and the door until Geoffrey stepped between Caldwell and his avenue of escape.
“I’ll double your payment,” he said. “Triple it! Just leave the fragments and forget that any of this has ever happened. If the witch is truly dead, as you say, the nightmare is over at long last.”
“We’ll take the gold owed to us,” Geoffrey said. “You can be sure of that. But no amount will buy your way out of this.”
Calwell wrung his hands into fists. “But you’re mercenaries! There must be something! Name your price!”
Madilyn started gathering the crystal fragments. “The price, my lord, is your head. The Council of Lords will want to hear about our discovery.”
Caldwell’s face drained of color. “You can’t prove anything. It’s your word against mine. A lord against two hired swords. Those fragments? Nothing but pieces of glass.”
“Perhaps,” Geoffrey said. “But we have other evidence. Morvena kept a journal detailing your family’s arrangement. We have it. Also, witnesses who saw you visit the witch.”
“And most damning,” Madilyn added, “the villagers who are recovering, who will testify to what your mad scheme did to them.”
With defeat written across his features, Caldwell sagged in his chair. “What happens now?”
“That’s for your Council of Lords to decide,” Geoffrey said. “You can run if you like. Once we leave here, we won’t stop you. But the Council will put a bounty on your head. There’s no place in the Freelands where you’ll be safe.”
Caldwell sighed because he knew Captain Belford was right.
“Now,” Madilyn said, “if you don’t mind, my lord, we’ll take our gold and our leave.”
Act 5: Endings and New Beginnings
A week later, Geoffrey found Madilyn seated at the bar of one of the many makeshift drinking holes that sprang up whenever a mercenary company set down temporary roots. The tavern was little more than a repurposed supply tent, with wooden planks hammered together for walls and salvaged canvas draped overhead in a crude attempt at a roof. Its floor was packed dirt, trodden hard by countless boots, and the air inside was a pungent mix of sweat, ale, and smoke from the sputtering brazier near the back. Barrels served as tables, some still stenciled with military rations, while benches creaked under the weight of armored bodies. A makeshift bar stood at one end—just a long board propped atop crates—where a grizzled ex-quartermaster poured stale ale into dented mugs and barked at anyone who attempted to haggle. Above the bar, someone had hung a crude sign that read “The Last Stop” in charcoal-smeared script, as if the camp understood most who passed through wouldn’t stay long. But for now, the tavern hummed with the rough laughter of off-duty mercenaries, their weapons stacked in corners and their war stories growing taller with every round.
“Is that how you plan to spend your half of the reward?” Geoffrey asked Captain Oakthorn when he spotted the numerous empty tin mugs before her.
Madilyn chuckled and raised her mug, this one half-empty and well on its way to joining the others. “Have a seat, Belford.” She shouted at the barkeep to bring another for herself and one for her friend. “On me.”
Geoffrey took the stool next to her. Waving away a fly buzzing in his face, he said, “Thanks.”
The barkeep set down two ales in front of them and wandered off.
Geoffrey drank deeply. The ale tasted cheap, but you couldn’t beat the atmosphere. He never felt so at home than when he was rubbing shoulders with fellow mercs. “My scouts just returned from the woods. The corruption continues to recede. Villages are being rebuilt. The forest is healing.”
“And Lista?” Madilyn asked.
“She’s well. The mark is gone completely now.”
Madilyn raised her mug. “I’ll drink to that.” She downed half her mug before slamming it back onto the bar top. Ale sloshed out, but she hardly noticed.
“She seems at home with the family that took her in.” Geoffrey smiled. “I caught her swinging a stick like a sword. She said she’s practicing so that when she’s old enough, she can become a mercenary like Captain Oakthorn.”
“Pfft. She’s better off choosing a less dangerous profession. We got lucky, you know. Morvena could have just as easily added us to her army of corruption. We’d be amongst them now, knocking on the gates of High Holt.”
“Aye,” Geoffrey said, because he’d thought the same thing numerous times now. They led precarious lives, where skill and luck often decided between life and death. This time, it was life. But the next time? Only the Old Gods knew.
They sat in comfortable silence, two warriors who faced death together and emerged stronger for it. They learned in the days following that Lord Caldwell had gotten off easy. The Council demanded he turn over a sizeable portion of his lands—including the Withering Woods—and pay a settlement to the villages most affected by Morvena’s witchcraft. Geoffrey had no doubt he and Captain Oakthorn had made an enemy of him, but that was a problem for another day.
“What’s next for you and the Mavens?” Geoffrey asked Madilyn. “Caldwell’s treachery seems to have united High Holt’s lordlings in ways never seen before. I hope my company hasn’t wasted our time journeying here. The road from Alchester was a long one.”
“Oh, give it a week or two,” Madilyn said. “I’ve learned two things during my time in the Holt. First, peace rarely lasts long. Stick around. Sooner or later, someone will piss off someone else and start a fight over it.”
“And the second thing?”
“That there’s always plenty of gold to go around for working soldiers like us.”
This time, Geoffrey raised his cup. “I’ll drink to that.”
Later, with light from the day lessening into night, the two captains joined a ragtag group of fellow mercenaries seated around a fire pit outside. Before long, Geoffrey found himself staring into the fire, its embers pulsing like the last echoes of battle. They had saved a forest, a child, and perhaps even a realm. But not without cost. The witch was gone, yet the memory of twisted trees and pleading eyes would linger longer than any scar. He glanced at Madilyn, who bore the same distant look all soldiers shared after a hard-won victory. In the end, the gold would be spent, the tales embellished, and the names forgotten. But they would remember. And maybe, just maybe, that would be enough.
This story featured the following characters from the Assassin Without a Name and The Alchemancer series:
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