A Nameless Witch Part 11

"That means something. Something important."

"What?"

"I don't know."

I hunched over the gobling and stared at it. Its one half-opened, orange eye stared back, defying me to glean its secrets.

Newt abruptly brought up a new subject. "I made some observations about your body while I was in it. Would you like to hear them?"

I didn't reply, engrossed in contemplation of the gutted corpse.

Newt took this as a sign to keep talking. "For one thing, you're much stronger than you let on. I bet you could break a man's neck."

Only half listening, I replied, "At the proper angle, most easily, but a good witch doesn't resort to brute tactics."

"And another thing, I was studying your naked body earlier."

I frowned.

"Don't worry. I was inside. No one could see me."

I was too intent on the gobling to bother with a lecture.

"And I started thinking," Newt said. "If this is a curse, why should you be so beautiful? At first, I thought a mistake had been made. Then I remembered our mistress saying once or twice that magic doesn't make mistakes."

As did I, and my attention s.h.i.+fted more to my familiar than the corpse.

"That is right, isn't it?" asked Newt.

"Yes. Magic lacks only the will to act on its own," I said. "That's where witches and wizards and the like come in. Through us, it finds purpose."

"You offer suggestions, and the magic acts upon those suggestions. Usually exactly as requested of it, since it isn't very creative on its own. But sometimes, just sometimes, it does come up with an idea it likes better."

"You're saying my curse made me beautiful on purpose."

His head bobbed up and down. "If mistakes are impossible, then I'd have to believe so. And if you were intentionally made as beautiful as you are, then I asked myself to what end?"

"I trust you came up with a theory."

"You're not a horrible beast meant to be skulking around in graveyards. You're a seductive predator, a ghoul wrapped in soft flesh that might draw men into your arms where they might find death in your loving embrace."

My carnal desires were closely linked to my appet.i.te. Almost inseparable. In my undead mind, a good man and a good meal were one and the same. This bothered me. I didn't know why. I'd already resigned myself to never indulge in those twin pleasures of the flesh. But having Newt link them so closely and so logically made me realize how cursed I was.

Newt meant it as a compliment. He looked at me differently now. It was a quiet awe, a newfound respect. I was a perfectly designed predator, even if I didn't want to be.

Rather than dwell upon it, I returned to my study of the gobling. I hastily stuffed the guts back inside, ran my fingers along the split torso, searing the flesh closed with magic. I held up the little, green body. Its vacant orange eyes rolled back in its head. Its black tongue hung from open lips.

"Well, my little friend, you seem dead, but I'm guessing you were never truly alive. Let's find out, shall we?"

I channeled my power for raising the dead into the gobling. There was no soul in the meat. There shouldn't have been, but I suspected the creature had never possessed one. If that was so, then any semblance of life or death was questionable at best. I ignored the absent soul and willed the gobling animate.

The creature jerked to life. As it was badly damaged and decayed, there wasn't much energy. It flailed its arms and legs limply. It flapped its wings. It gnashed its teeth and hissed barely audibly.

Newt hopped back.

I held the gobling down on the table. Even if the little beast wasn't real, I didn't want it to suffer. I picked up a dagger and put it to my forehead. I took a moment to put some magic in the blade and drove it into the goblings back. It popped like a soap bubble. Nothing was left behind.

"How did you do that?" Newt asked.

"Quite easily." I laid the dagger aside and smiled. "I unbe-lieved it."

I didn't bother with further explanations. I saved that for the Captain and Wyst of the West. This discovery could be of great use to the soldiers of Fort Stalwart, providing they could understand it.

The tent flapped open. I reached for my hat.

"It's just me." Sunrise stepped inside. Penelope, who had been guarding the tent, hovered in beside her. "I wanted to say good-bye before leaving. I a.s.sume you'll be staying."

"It is my duty to aid to the defense of these people from this sort of threat."

"Yes. Your duty."

She smiled wryly, and I guessed her thoughts. They were my own as well. It was an inevitable speculation that this gobling horde was merely a convenient excuse. That my true reason for staying stemmed from my growing affection for Wyst of the West. I denied the notion, but even I couldn't comfortably dismiss it. Even if it was true, I would still be of help against this menace.

"I trust the evacuation is going smoothly," I said.

"As smooth as could be expected. No one is happy about it, but none want to be here when the goblings arrive. The Captain has issued instructions that we should travel north and keep traveling unless we hear otherwise."

"A sound suggestion."

An awkward quiet filled the tent. I liked Sunrise very much. She was my friend and my mentor on the strange ways of the living. Now we were parting, and good sense told me this might be the very last time I ever saw her. I thought perhaps I wanted to hug her. But my upbringing left me uncomfortable with such close contact. I couldn't even remember ever touching my parents, and I'd only hugged Ghastly Edna once. And that was only after she'd been killed and surely a permissible exception.

I decided this was not and trusted she would understand. "Safe journey to you, Sunrise."

"Good fortune to you, witch. And to you, Newt, Penelope."

My broom dipped in a bow, and Newt nodded to Sunrise. She left my tent, and I began sorting through the various ingredients for the Captain's tonic.

I KNEW THE CAPTAIN would have difficulty understanding what I had to tell, but understand he must if the men of Fort Stalwart were to stand a chance against the horde. I spent an hour tuning my presentation before finally limping off to speak with him.

The town-to-be was still, nearly empty. Where there had been dozens of lights, there was a lake of dark and quiet, deserted constructions. The stragglers skulked along the settlement like shadows, piling their possessions into wagons. I'd never truly lived among the humans, yet I felt sadder for their absence.

At the fort proper, I informed a soldier that I would need to speak with the Captain and would be waiting in his office. I unlocked the door with magic and found a seat. Newt sat at my feet, and we waited. Penelope entertained herself by sweeping the dusty floor. She'd collected most of it in a corner when the Captain finally arrived. He was not alone. Wyst of the West entered after him.

Newt gurgled, but he didn't vomit. His tolerance for the White Knight's purity was growing.

I lowered my head, pressing my chin to my chest and keeping my eyes low.

Penelope kept joyfully sweeping.

"I trust this is important," the Captain said.

I raised my head and glimpsed Wyst of the West. In a brief moment of fantasy, I imagined myself pouncing upon him to nuzzle and gnaw his face. I smiled slightly, despite myself. He smiled back, and I averted my eyes to the Captain.

I reached into a loose sleeve and removed a small clay vial. "A tonic of ill-taste. Pour it into the men's stew, and they'll taste horrible for days. Horrible enough to deter even a gob-ling's appet.i.te."

"Thank you. Is that it?"

"No. I've made a discovery about the horde. A discovery that could be of great help."

The Captain looked skeptical, but he almost always did.

Wyst of the West finally spoke. "Something involving magic, I presume."

"Sorcery, to be exact," I replied while very deliberately not looking at him.

Ghastly Edna had taught me as much as she could about the other schools of magic. There were many, and all had their province. Wizards practiced the art of incantation, manipulating the world through words. Thaumaturgists mastered magic through science while shamans viewed it as a primeval force to be called upon through blood offerings and fireside dances. Witches held no solid opinion of magic but were wise enough to know that this in itself was an opinion. And sorcerers pursued the art of crafting illusions. There were countless other followers of the secret ways, and they were all right in their philosophy because magic generally acts as expected.

"I've dealt with sorcerers before," said Wyst of the West. "They're not dangerous. All smoke and bl.u.s.ter."

"Mostly," I agreed, "but even smoke has substance."

I reached into my sleeve and removed a small lizard. I dangled the reptile by its tail. Its skin s.h.i.+fted from yellow to black to green to other random colors.

"I've never seen a lizard like that," the Captain said.

"That's because it does not exist save through my will and magic." I placed it on the table, where it skittered in small aimless circles.

The Captain tried to touch it, but it pa.s.sed through his hand. "Incredible. It looks so real."

"It's nothing. Any sorcerer's apprentice could do better, but it took a master to create a phantasmal horde of goblings."

I allowed the Captain and Wyst of the West a moment to absorb the information.

"The goblings aren't real?" the Captain asked.

"That's impossible. I've seen the damage they've done myself. Their rampage hasn't been illusion. Just ask the good people they've terrorized. Look at the land they're ravaged."

Wyst frowned. His lower lip stuck out, and I wanted so very badly to run my forked tongue across it.

"How can something not real cause any damage?" said the Captain.

This would be the most difficult part, to teach these men that real and unreal, just as dead and undead, were merely a matter of degrees. Organizing my thoughts was difficult with Wyst of the West so close. Fortunately, I'd prepared in advance.

"I didn't say their rampage was imaginary. Merely that they are, in essence, no more real than this lizard I have made. Which I shall now unmake." I snapped my fingers, and the lizard vanished.

The Captain's eyes lit up. "You can unmake the horde?"

"This lizard was a weak illusion. The goblings are much stronger. So strong that even reality has been fooled into accepting them as true."

"So they are real."

"As real as a dream."

The Captain sighed. "I'm getting a headache."

"They are a dream," I explained, "but it is a dream shared by the world. And when every man, every beast, every tree, and every rock shares in the same illusion, then a dream can become reality. To a point."

"Well, if they're real enough to kill and ravage I fail to see how knowing any of this will help."

Wyst of the West agreed. "Yes, witch. You said this would be of help, didn't you?"

He looked into my eyes, and I didn't turn away this time. I had to smile, but I hoped it came across as vague and mysterious rather than beguiled by his dark eyes.

"Yes, the magic of the horde is is potent, but there potent, but there is is a flaw. Even a shared dream is still just a dream. And dreams, like any illusion, can be dispelled by strong enough doubt and, in this case, a little magic. I can place just a drop of enchantment on your men's weapons. Enough that the slightest cut will unmake the dream." a flaw. Even a shared dream is still just a dream. And dreams, like any illusion, can be dispelled by strong enough doubt and, in this case, a little magic. I can place just a drop of enchantment on your men's weapons. Enough that the slightest cut will unmake the dream."

Again, the Captain's eyes lit up, but he was ready to be disappointed this time. "But?"

"The men must know in their hearts, without any doubt, that what they find is but an army of phantoms to call upon the magic."

"An army of phantoms that are nonetheless real enough to devour them alive," the Captain said.

"There will be men. Those lacking enough imagination to even truly believe a shared dream. Others with too much that they suspect the whole world just a dream. Such men, properly armed, will be the horde's undoing. If there are enough of them."

"And exactly how many will be enough?" the Captain dared ask.

"More than you will have," I replied honestly, "but as the goblings are as close to real as phantoms can be, they can also be fought and killed without magic. Those few capable of unbelieving the horde will simply be more efficient. If you're fortunate, the unbelievers shall be enough to turn the tide."

"You don't sound very confident."

I could make no promises, and I let the men know it with a somber face. The Captain was not as enlightened as I'd hoped, but now was a good time to make a traditional witchly exit without saying another word, leaving my audience both a little wiser and a little more befuddled.

Wyst of the West stood between me and the door. He stepped aside as I pa.s.sed close. I thought him repulsed by my mask of ugliness, but he kept looking me in the eye. Repelled people never did that. Then again, rarely did I look in someone's eyes, but I couldn't stop myself. Sunrise had been right. Those eyes, those ears, those shoulders, that dark, delicious flesh, and that pure, brave soul. Those were my reasons for being here.

Those reasons nearly spoiled my departure, but I found the will to turn from that pleasing face. I walked out the door, very proud of myself for making it with my witchly dignity intact. I paused outside to gasp and shudder free of the tingles left within me.

Only then did I realize I'd forgotten my limp and my hunch. Such mistakes were unforgivable, but they paled beside the absence of my familiar and my broom. They were supposed to follow me out of the office. Now I faced a dilemma. Either go back and retrieve them, thus destroying whatever shreds remained of my dramatic exit, or return to my tent without them. The door opened while I debated. Newt walked out. Penelope floated behind him.

"Sorry," he said. "I was so busy holding down my dinner, I didn't notice you leave."

Penelope jiggled an apology of her own. The Captain's dusty floors were certainly a terrible distraction for the poor dear. It was her broomly nature.

I forgave them. I'd suffered my own diversions in Wyst's presence. Penelope drifted into my hand, and Newt took his place at my side. I hunched deeper and dragged my leg as if raising it off the ground would cause it to snap off.

I made it only eight sluggish steps before the White Knight's voice called to me. "Hold, witch."

A desire to run seized me. I didn't know which direction. Away seemed wrong. Toward him seemed wrong too.