Clean it all until nary a taint of evil remained. Then he’d find another witch.
2
Casrian had only visited the Catali province once, years ago, when he was still in training, but it was almost exactly as he remembered it. The narrow dirt road they traveled on was surrounded by miles of farmland and rolling hills, broken by the occasional village or way station. Their destination, Jarn, was located at the far edge of the province, bordered by an unclaimed wilderness beyond the Naistor River. It was a prime area for witchcraft—remote, uncivilized, the people largely uneducated and superstitious.
Many in the outer provinces turned a blind eye to the king’s decrees outlawing both the practice of witchcraft and its patronage. They believed living so near the taint of the Black Woods put them in danger and that the only way to protect themselves from magic was through the use of magic. The White Horse Inn, where they’d stayed the night, had a hex sign above the front door. Impossible to ignore, he’d fined the innkeeper and they’d been served cold gruel and weevil-ridden bread for breakfast.
The Church’s presence was weakest near the border. Many in the priesthood considered it a punishment to be posted sofar from civilization, but someone needed to care for the people here.
The people who remained, anyway. Every year more of them fled to the cities. They’d passed a lot of collapsed barns and empty homes on the road, though the fields here appeared well tended.
Up ahead, his scout came into sight around a bend in the road, riding at an easy pace that told Casrian nothing was amiss. Daris dropped back to make room for Kenet to give his report.
As he drew up alongside, Kenet touched heart and forehead in a casual salute. “The road narrows through the woods and is washed out in a few places, but it’s passable all the way through to the village.”
“Do we need to worry about thieves?”
This far out from the Duke of Catali’s seat would mean the roads weren’t regularly patrolled.
Kenet withdrew a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe the sweat and dust from his face. “No sign of anyone in the woods. The animals appear undisturbed. The trees are healthy. The air is clear.”
“And the village?”
“No sign of corruption. I advised the mayor of our arrival. He seemed glad enough that we’d come, but he didn’t display the relief of a man just spared his life.”
The evil hadn’t had time to take root. Good.
“Thank you, private.”
As they entered the woods surrounding Jarn, Casrian was reassured to see the truth of Kenet’s report with his own eyes. Witches tended to hide in the dark corners of the kingdom, woods and swamps being their favorite haunts. The longer they stayed, the more changed the land became. Birds and animals fled first, leaving the land in eerie silence. Vegetation suffered. Flowering and berry bushes died to be replaced by stranglingvines and weeds that eventually brought down even the great trees. Left too long, the sickness in the land turned, becoming hungry and strange.
The woods here were still healthy. Sunlight dripped through the leaves, gilding everything in shades of green and gold. Insects hummed in the air, and birds called to one another in the canopy. A squirrel scurried through a drift of damp leaves and up a nearby tree. The smell of growing things filled his nose. He didn’t remember what the world was like before the darkness took the neighboring kingdom of Caetris, before the witch hunts, but he imagined this was what it had been like. Peaceful and clean, life rising from the soil, fresh in the air. The way God intended it before the fae fucked everything up.
Beyond the woods lay miles of farmland. The fences were in good repair. The livestock appeared healthy. He’d been riding patrol since he was fifteen. Five years now. You got a sense for it after a while. A taste on the tongue. A whisper against your mind. The unmistakable taint of corruption. He didn’t sense it now.
The town had a single wide, unpaved street. The cottages lining either side were remarkably uniform, all of them made of the same local white stone. They were only distinguishable by the brightly colored doors, red and blue and yellow, and the flowers that lined the front stoops. There were several shops clustered near the center of town—a bakery, butcher, general store, and post. They didn’t pass a blacksmith, but Casrian could smell smoke from the fire of a nearby forge.
“Pretty little place,” Daris said, touching the brim of his hat to acknowledge the welcoming wave of an elderly gentleman who came out of his store to watch their approach. “There’s even an inn. We’ll have beds tonight.”
“What kind of witch could hide here?” Casrian frowned as he looked around. “This is the tidiest village I’ve ever seen.”
Strange for a village so close to the border. The ones that weren’t deserted were falling apart.
Daris shrugged. “I suggest you don’t look a gift horse in the mouth. This is the last stop on the patrol. I, for one, will be glad if it’s an easy one.”
They were drawing a crowd of onlookers. Children ran beside the horses, shouting to one another. A group of young women stood along the walkway, blushing and whispering behind their hands.
Daris smiled back. Of course he did.
Daris wasn’t a skirt chaser, but his dark good looks drew attention wherever they rode.
He shot his friend a warning look. “We’re not done with the patrol yet. Make sure the others remember that too.”
“Aye, Captain. Let’s make this quick then so we can get back to the city.”
Pulling up outside the building that housed the town hall and prison, he dismounted and handed his reins to Asher, the youngest man on the patrol, sixteen and training to be a medic. As he climbed to the walkway, a well-dressed middle-aged man stepped outside to greet him.
Casrian interrupted his welcome speech before he could get started. “Harlec, isn’t it?” He held out his hand which the mayor had no choice but to take.
