CHAPTER 35
HEARTBROKEN WITCH
Mark and Sokolov finally arrived at Sokolov’s village. It was a tiny settlement, home to just a few dozen people. The air was crisp and biting cold, though the snow had stopped falling. The ground was still blanketed in white, crunching softly as they approached Sokolov’s house—a small wooden cabin with a thatched roof.
Sokolov slid off the horse, followed by Mark.
“Well, I believe you owe me a reward,” Mark said.
“Of course,” Sokolov replied, darting into the house. A moment later, he returned holding a pouch of coins, which he tossed to Mark. Mark caught it effortlessly and gave the pouch a quick shake, hearing the satisfying jingle of gold.
“Thanks. Now—”
“Wait,” Sokolov interrupted. “Why don’t you come to our inn? I’ll buy you a drink. Plus, I’ve got a proposition you might find interesting.”
Mark smirked. “I never say no to free drinks.”
Sokolov led him to a modest building at the center of the village. Inside, the inn was simple but warm, with a handful of wooden tables and chairs scattered across the room. A group of older men sat nursing beers and chatting by the fire. When they spotted Sokolov, their faces lit up.
“Sokolov!” one of them exclaimed, standing up. “Where the hell have you been, you rascal? We thought you were dead—you’ve been gone for weeks!”
Sokolov raised his hands. “Triska. The woman from the forest. You guys were right—she was trouble. Turns out, she’s a witch. When I broke things off with her, she cursed me into a bear! If it weren’t for this warrior,” he gestured to Mark, “I’d still be stuck as a beast. He broke the curse and saved me.”
The men exchanged stunned glances.
“Fuck,” one of them muttered. “I always said something wasn’t right about that woman. Living alone in the woods, keeping to herself. But a witch? And she turned you into a bear?”
“It’s true,” Mark said. “I saw it myself.”
“You look like a man who’s seen some wild things,” another man added, nodding. “If you’re backing up Sokolov’s story, we believe you. Just confirms what we all suspected about that bitch.”
“She’s dangerous!” Sokolov said, slamming his fist on the table. “She’s a threat to this village. We need to act. I say we pool our funds and hire Mark to deal with her once and for all.”
The men murmured in agreement. One of them stood. “We’re not rich, but if she really is a witch, we can’t take any chances. Warrior, how much would you charge to get rid of her?”
“Fifty gold coins,” Mark said.
The men exchanged looks and nodded. “Alright,” one of them said. “We’ll scrape it together. You’ve got yourself a deal.”
“I’ll take some beer,” Mark said to Sokolov with a grin. “You did promise me drinks to come here, remember?”
Sokolov laughed and turned to the innkeeper. “Beer for Mark! It’s on me!”
The innkeeper quickly brought over a frothy mug, and Mark wasted no time, downing it in one long gulp. He held up the empty mug and ordered another, which he finished just as quickly. Wiping his mouth, he stood and stretched. “Alright,” he said, looking at Sokolov, “the woman’s in the forest, right?”
“To the east,” Sokolov replied, nodding.
Mark nodded back, left the inn, and headed to his horse. He mounted up and rode east until the sprawling forest came into view. The trees were thick, their branches heavy with snow, and the path ahead was barely visible. Knowing the terrain would be tricky, Mark dismounted, grabbing his horse’s reins in one hand while the other hovered near the hilt of his sword.
The dense canopy blocked out most of the sunlight, casting the forest in an eerie gloom. The only sound was the crunch of snow beneath his boots and his horse’s hooves. As he pressed on, he came across a frozen brook, its surface glinting faintly in the dim light. He stepped carefully across, his breath visible in the icy air.
On the other side, nestled among the trees, stood a small wooden hut with a thatched roof. “That’s gotta be it,” Mark muttered to himself. Witches and forest huts—an all-too-familiar combination. He figured it was the perfect hideout for someone practicing dark magic far from prying eyes.
As he approached, the door creaked open, and a young woman stepped out. She was strikingly beautiful, with long dark hair, pale skin, and deep brown eyes. She wore a flowing dark cloak over a gown, her voice soft as she spoke. “Traveler, what brings you to my home?”
“Sokolov sent me,” Mark said bluntly. “To kill you.”
Triska sighed deeply. “Betrayal hurts,” she said quietly. “Especially from someone you once loved with all your heart.”
Mark smirked, resting a hand on his sword. “You did turn him into a bear. Can’t blame the guy for holding a grudge.”
“You don’t know the full story,” Triska said, her voice trembling with emotion. “I’ve been shunned my entire life because of my gift—my magic. That’s why I live alone out here. One day, I found Sokolov injured, mauled by some wild animal. I used my magic to heal him. I kept my powers a secret because I knew witches aren’t accepted. We fell in love, became lovers, and for the first time, I thought I could share my true self with someone. But when I told him, he rejected me, called me evil, and left me. So, yes, I cursed him—for breaking my heart.”
Stolen story; please report.
Mark shrugged, his expression unbothered. “Sad story, but you don’t get to curse people just because they dump you.”
Triska’s eyes flashed with anger. “Of course you wouldn’t understand love! You’re nothing but a hired thug. The only love you know is what you pay for in a brothel.”
Mark chuckled, his grin cocky. “I’ll have you know most of the women I’ve been with were free of charge. Can’t blame them, though—my good looks do most of the work.”
Triska raised her hand, and Mark suddenly felt an invisible force yanking him forward, as though he were tied to her by an unseen rope. His boots dragged against the snowy ground, the pull relentless. Then he remembered a chant from Vivian’s spellbook—something to break this kind of spell. Taking a deep breath, he shouted, "Vinculum magicus, rumpere, libertas mea!" He clenched his fists, fighting the pull with every ounce of his strength. Just as he was almost within Triska’s reach, the spell snapped. He stumbled back a few steps, finally free, and put some distance between himself and the witch.
Triska’s eyes flashed with fury as she conjured a flaming orb in her palm and hurled it at him. Mark dove to the right, barely avoiding the searing fireball as it smashed into a tree, setting it ablaze. Smoke billowed upward as the flames crackled. Before he could catch his breath, she conjured another fiery orb and threw it. Mark ducked just in time, feeling the heat singe the tips of his hair as the orb sailed past and hit another tree, engulfing it in flames.
“You’re going to burn the whole forest down,” Mark said with a smirk, brushing ash off his shoulder.
Triska glared, her hand now glowing with a frosty blue light. She conjured an icy bolt and launched it at him. Mark sidestepped, narrowly avoiding the projectile, but a shard of icy magic grazed the side of his chainmail. The links froze instantly and shattered with a sharp crack. The rest of the bolt slammed into a tree, freezing it solid before the trunk shattered into a spray of icy splinters.
“Alright,” Mark muttered, glancing at the frozen wreckage. “That’s new.”
Triska snarled, conjuring two icy bolts—one in each hand. “You think you can stand against me?” she roared. “You heartless bastard! I’ll destroy you, then I’ll burn that cursed village to the ground! And when I’m done, I’ll tear out Sokolov’s heart for breaking mine!”
With a scream, she hurled both bolts at Mark. He rolled to his left, one bolt whipping past so close that the freezing magic numbed his cheek, leaving a painful sting. Ignoring the cold, Mark watched as Triska began summoning more icy projectiles. He knew he couldn’t stay on the defensive.
Mark sprinted toward her, zigzagging as she hurled bolts in rapid succession. Each one missed by inches, crashing into the ground or nearby trees with explosive force. As he closed the distance, he leapt into the air and brought his spirit sword down in a powerful slash.
Triska raised her hand, summoning an invisible shield, but Mark’s spirit sword glowed green as it sliced through her magic barrier like paper. He landed smoothly and lunged forward, thrusting his blade. Triska twisted to the side to avoid the strike, but the sword caught her gown, tearing it and grazing her side. A thin line of blood appeared, and Triska staggered back, clutching her wound, her eyes blazing with hatred.
She quickly stepped back, conjuring an icy sword just in time to block Mark's swing. Sparks flew as their blades met, and Mark blinked in surprise. He had expected the ice to shatter on impact, but this was no ordinary ice. It held firm, as strong as steel. Their swords clashed again, ringing out through the frozen forest.
As Mark parried her next strike, Triska summoned a jagged shard of ice with her free hand and slashed it toward his side. The shard found the spot where the icy bolt had earlier broken through his chainmail, biting into bare skin. Before she could drive it deeper, Mark slammed his knee into her stomach. Triska gasped in pain, and Mark followed up with a hard kick to her chest, sending her sprawling backward into the snow.
Her icy sword and shard tumbled from her grip, landing just out of reach. Gritting her teeth, she reached for the fallen sword, but Mark stomped his boot down on her hand, pinning it in place. Triska cried out in pain as he pressed down harder, the sound echoing in the stillness of the forest.
Mark leveled the tip of his spirit sword at her throat. “It’s over.”
“Then do it!” Triska screamed, tears streaming down her face. “Kill me! End it! Death would be a blessing compared to this miserable life. My parents hated me. They were scared of me. I had no friends. And the one man I thought loved me—he sent you to murder me! So go ahead, killer. Do your job. Finish it! Or what? Have I touched your cold heart with my sob story? Are you too soft to do it? If you spare me, I’ll hunt you down. I’ll kill you, Mark. I swear it!”
Mark sighed, lowering his blade slightly. “Gods, you’re one crazy, angry bitch. But you don’t deserve to die.”
“If you let me live, I’ll burn that village to ashes and rip Sokolov’s heart out!” Triska spat, her voice shaking with rage.
“Or you could stop fixating on that idiot who didn’t accept you. Move on. Find someone who will.”
Triska let out a bitter laugh. “Find someone? Do you think that’s so easy? My whole life, no one has ever accepted me. Why would that change now?”
“How far have you even gone in this world?”
“My home village. This forest. And that cursed village where Sokolov lives. That’s it.”
“Exactly,” Mark said. “Two tiny villages. You’ve barely seen anything of the world. Sure, it won’t be easy. But there are possibilities. Some sorcerers work in courts, serving Archons.”
“Those are the ones trained by official orders,” Triska snapped. “Not rogue witches like me. And I’m too old to join an official order.”
“Maybe. But staying here, wallowing in your misery, cursing everyone who wrongs you? That’s no life either.”
"Why do you care? Why not just kill me, take your money, and move on?"
Mark chuckled, a lopsided grin on his face. "Guess I’m a bit of a softie. Sure, I plan to get paid for taking care of the witch problem, but 'taking care of' doesn’t have to mean killing you, does it?"
Triska hesitated. "I wouldn’t even know where to start if I tried to build a new life. Maybe... maybe we could travel together?"
"Together?"
"Until I can figure things out."
Mark sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "If we do this, you’re pulling your own weight. I’m a swordsman for hire. I take on jobs, and you’ll help with them. I’m not running a charity, and I don’t do freeloaders."
For the first time, Triska smiled. "It’s a deal, partner."
Mark chuckled, shaking his head. "Partner? You’re more like my follower."
Triska's smile turned sly. "I insist on partner—unless you’d like me to turn you into a very cold statue of yourself."
"Partner it is," Mark said with a grin.
After Triska gathered her things, they left the forest, Mark leading his white horse by the reins. When they reached Sokolov’s village, they stepped into the inn. The room fell silent as every man—old and young, including Sokolov—rose to their feet, their eyes burning with anger.
"What’s that evil bitch doing here?" Sokolov shouted. "She cursed me!"
"Why isn’t she dead?" another man growled.
Mark glanced at Triska. She was avoiding Sokolov’s gaze, her jaw tight with barely contained emotion. Anger and sadness swirled in her eyes, but she held back, and Mark silently admired her restraint.
"I’ve dealt with your problem," Mark said. "She’s leaving with me. She won’t bother you again. Now, my payment."
"You expect payment after siding with her?" Sokolov barked.
Mark’s patience snapped. In one swift motion, he drew his sword and pressed its tip against Sokolov’s chest. "I don’t like people who try to cheat me. Pay up, or I’ll end your miserable life right here."
"You think you can take us all?" one of the younger men sneered.
"Look at me, then look at yourselves. You’re a bunch of farmers who’ve never faced a real fight. I’ve killed more people than you’ve got cows. So, unless you’re all feeling suicidal, don’t push me."
A pouch of coins sailed through the air, and Mark caught it with ease. He sheathed his sword and gave a nod. "Thanks for keeping your end of the deal. Goodbye."
Mark and Triska walked out of the inn, mounted the horse, and galloped away from the village, leaving the angry mob behind. For that is the life of a wandering swordsman—to always be on the road.