CHAPTER 17

THE WITCH OF THE HILLS

Mark strode into Baron Randalf's grand hall, a vast expanse of polished wood. Seated upon a wooden throne, the Baron, aged yet imposing, acknowledged him. "Sir Mark," he greeted. "Once a knight sworn to our Archon, now a hired blade. I’ve heard many tales of your valor and skill."

"And you've a task for me, I hear," Mark replied. "Is that so?"

The Baron affirmed with a nod. "Indeed. A task of great worth. Four hundred gold coins, to be exact."

Mark grinned. "Music to my ears. What's the job?"

"A vile sorceress named Vivian dwells in the hills above this castle. She's defied my rule, slain my guards, and caused havoc. I need her dealt with."

"I've experience in killing witches," Mark boasted.

"Don't underestimate her. She's cunning and powerful. And don't let her sway you against me," the Baron cautioned.

"No worries. I'm a professional," Mark assured him.

Mark departed from the Baron's castle, setting out on his horse toward the rolling, grassy hills in search of the witch. As he rode on, he spotted the bodies of Baron's soldiers, grimly impaled on wooden stakes as a chilling warning. "Hmm," Mark muttered, pressing on despite the unsettling sight.

Ahead, he noticed a simple wooden house with a thatched roof, smoke billowing from its chimney. Around it, a humble courtyard bustled with chickens darting about. A woman stepped out of the house, her beauty captivating, with fiery red hair, pale skin, green eyes, and a slender frame. Clad in a long red dress, she calmly inquired, "Are you another one of the Baron's lackeys?"

"I've been hired to take you down," Mark replied, drawing his spirit sword, its green blade shimmering brightly.

"Ah, a hired sword doing the Baron's dirty work," she remarked coolly.

Mark lunged at the woman, sword in hand. She swiftly summoned an invisible shield around herself. Despite this, Mark's spirit sword sliced through it effortlessly. The woman dodged, narrowly avoiding the blade as it grazed above her face. Stepping back, she conjured fiery orbs in her hands and hurled them at Mark, who dodged and weaved to evade their searing heat, feeling the flames lick at his skin as he darted left and right.

Mark charged once more, only to be struck by an invisible blast of energy, sending him tumbling to the ground with a resounding crash. As he rose, spitting blood, he cursed under his breath.

"You'd be wise to retreat now," the witch cautioned.

"No chance," Mark retorted, shaking his head. "I'm not one to abandon a lucrative contract."

"Do you truly want to risk your life for that corrupt man?" she questioned.

"Bold words coming from someone who's caused chaos and slain soldiers," Mark countered.

Vivian sighed. "Is that the story he fed you? The truth is, the Baron desires me, but I rejected him. In retaliation, he sent his soldiers to coerce me, and I had no choice but to defend myself. Now he's hired you out of spite because I refuse to yield to his advances."

Mark pondered her words, torn between believing her sincerity and the Baron's warnings of deception. "Do you have any proof?" he inquired.

"Only my word," she responded.

Mark hesitated, unsure of what to believe. Suddenly, he felt a force pulling him towards Vivian, as if tethered by an invisible thread. The witch conjured a blazing ball of fire in her palm, its heat palpable against Mark's skin as he struggled against the unseen force.

Just as suddenly, the fire disappeared, and Mark was released. "As you can see," Vivian stated, "I could have ended you, but I chose not to. I have no desire for unnecessary bloodshed."

Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.

Mark breathed a sigh of relief. "For a moment, I feared I'd meet the same fate as those impaled soldiers..."

"They left me with no other choice, I'm afraid," she admitted.

"Well... I'd be happy to help with the Baron, but I don't work for free."

"If you take care of the Baron, I'll give you a book of spells," Vivian responded. "It can protect you against witches like me. You wouldn't want to be vulnerable to witches, as you were a moment ago, would you?"

Mark pondered her offer. While his spirit sword was effective against sorcerers, having a book of spells for extra defense could be beneficial in his line of work. "Sounds good to me, but how am I supposed to take out the Baron? I'm just one man."

"As you've seen, the Baron is low on manpower. He's been sending his soldiers to fight for Archon Anthemios against Archon Innokentios. That's why he had to hire a mercenary like you. You won't have to deal with many guards."

“Still... this isn't an easy task.”

Vivian nodded. “Give me your blade,” she said. “Not the spirit sword, your regular one.”

Mark hesitated but handed it over to the witch. She chanted some strange words, and the sword glowed brightly. She then returned it to him. “Your blade can now cut through the toughest armor.”

Mark swung the sword, feeling its new power. “This will make my job easier.”

Mark jumped onto his horse and rode back to Baron Randalf's keep. As he approached, five guards in iron armor blocked his path, swords in hand. “Stop!” one of them commanded. “Where's the proof you've killed the witch?”

“Plans have changed,” Mark replied, dismounting his horse. He drew his sword and swiftly slashed at the guard. His blade sliced through the armor like butter. Blood gushed from the wound, and the man collapsed lifeless on the ground.

The other guards rushed at Mark, their swords flashing as they attacked. Mark blocked and parried their strikes, deflecting blow after blow. With one powerful thrust, his sword pierced through a guard’s chest, the armor offering no resistance. As he pulled the blade free, it dripped with dark, crimson blood. With a quick, sweeping motion, he swung again and beheaded another guard, the head spinning through the air before landing with a sickening thud in a pool of blood.

Another guard lunged at him, his blade inches from slashing Mark’s face, but Mark jerked to the right just in time, escaping with only a scratch. Without missing a beat, he kicked the man hard in the groin, then drove his sword into the guard's chest. As the guard slumped to the ground, bleeding out, another swung at Mark. He parried with a loud clang, the sound ringing out as their swords clashed again and again. With a swift move, Mark severed the guard’s hands, and the man’s agonized screams filled the air as his sword and severed hands hit the ground. Mark ended his suffering with a brutal thrust to the forehead, his blade driving straight through the skull and out the back. The guard dropped, dead, in a final, bloody heap.

The remaining guards stared at Mark, their faces pale as ghosts, eyes wide with pure terror. Beads of sweat glistened on their brows, and their hands shook. “Are you really ready to die for some corrupt, fat baron?” he asked, voice steady.

One guard, gathering his last bit of courage, charged forward, axe raised high. Mark sidestepped left, dodging the swing, and brought his sword down in a powerful, ruthless slash from the guard’s head to his waist, slicing him clean in two. The enchanted blade, thanks to Vivian’s spell, cut through armor like paper. Blood pooled around the two halves as they slumped to the floor.

The remaining guards, now horrified, dropped their weapons and scrambled away, leaving Mark free to stride into the main hall without resistance.

The Baron was crouched behind his wooden throne, trembling.

“I can see you,” Mark chuckled. “Come on out.”

“Why!?” the Baron shouted, stumbling to his feet. “Why did you betray me? What did that witch offer you?”

“The truth,” Mark said simply. “You’re an asshole who couldn’t handle rejection and tried to force her to be your wife.”

Baron Randalf’s face twisted with rage. “So what?! I’m the Baron! Everything in this barony is mine. If I want a woman, I’ll take her. What’s it to you, anyway? You’re just a sword for hire, not some hero.”

“True,” Mark shrugged, “but Vivian offered me a better deal. She spared my life and offered me a book of spells – pretty useful for a mercenary like myself.”

The Baron’s eyes narrowed, calculating. “I can offer an even better deal! How about a thousand gold coins? You don’t even have to kill her. Just take the money and walk away.”

Mark paused, considering the offer. The Baron’s eyes brightened as Mark seemed to hesitate. “Alright,” Mark said finally. “Hand over the money.”

The Baron quickly opened a chest by the throne and tossed Mark a pouch of coins. Mark caught it mid-air, then grinned. “Thanks.”

Before the Baron could speak another word, Mark lunged forward and slashed his sword across Randalf’s chest. The Baron collapsed, choking, into a spreading pool of his own blood. Mark looked down at him, smirking. “Moron.”

Mark rode away from the Baron’s keep and made his way back to Vivian’s house in the green hills. When she saw him, she smiled warmly. “Did you take care of the Baron?”

“Yep,” Mark replied, dismounting his horse and stepping into the courtyard. “Problem’s solved.”

“You really are my hero,” she said, a glint in her eye. “And I haven’t forgotten our deal. Come inside.”

Mark followed her into the simple, cozy home. A desk stacked with scrolls and books sat to one side, while a bed was tucked against the far wall. Vivian picked up a book from the desk and held it out to him. “Here’s the spellbook I promised. But… maybe you’d like to take it after I thank you properly?”

Mark grinned. “I never turn down a thank-you.”

Vivian set the book aside, wrapped her arms around him, and kissed him deeply as he fondled her. He led her to the bed, and they spent the rest of the day and the night making passionate love. When morning came, Mark saddled his horse, the spellbook tucked securely in his bag. With a final glance back at Vivian’s door, he rode off once again, ready for the next adventure. Such is the life of a wanderer—always on the move.