Lenora led her buck-toothed suitor down the pitch black halls, holding him by the sleeve like a child. He must have felt that way too, as even though he was three years her senior she stood a full head taller. A chill ran through them both even though they were dressed for the weather, the keep was always somehow colder than outside.

Lenora knew the place so well she didn’t need to see, a useful skill when a Lord is too miserly even for torches. She let each warped floorboard and crooked doorway guide her until they reached the guest chambers.

“Pity you’re leaving so soon,” she said flatly, opening the door. A single tallow candle sent a beam of flickering yellow light across the floor.

“Strange old place, innit?” the suitor said, tossing his things back into a battered trunk. He snuck another sidelong glance at her. Tall, sun-kissed skin turning fair now that summer’s sun had gone, hair tied in a loose braid and fastened with an ornate brooch. Even her poorly tailored coat was flattering, her strong lean lines filling it out in all the right places.

She shrugged and took a pull from her wine skin before spitting out the lees. The suitor wasn’t the only thing from the bottom of the barrel.

“My father knows the true value of gold, he won’t send for firewood until snowfall and lamp oil only after midwinter’s feast.” She was careful with her words, knowing the true reason the Lord kept his halls darkened.

She watched him pack. It’d been a steady decline from the moment her father had begun arranging her marriage. Men, knighted, with horses and gold had come and gone, apparently disinterested in joining the High Court of a forgotten border town with a decrepit keep and empty coffers. The suitors became poorer and fewer between, each somehow uglier than the last. It’d been months since someone had come by, and now even he was leaving. Short, pox-marked and clothing poorly patched, he’d rode in on an ox cart with hardly half a bag of silver and wearing rings of tarnished bronze. It didn’t bother her in the least, as she’d no interest in being sold off like a prize cow.

He had barely buckled the latches on his trunk when the Lord’s man Gideon stepped into the room, guided by the hunchbacked spy. Gideon smiled sheepishly at Lenora before straightening his coat.

“Your mount is ready, m’lord,” said Gideon, lifting the suitor’s trunk onto his shoulders. He’d once been the Lord’s strongest man, though age was starting to soften him now.

“And m’lady best retire to her chambers,” the crippled old spy said with a bow. “As for m’lord, we’ve been graced with your presence for far too short a time.” He bowed again before kneeling.

It took the lad a few moments to realize this was his cue and he offered his hand. The hunchback kissed the young Lord’s signet before looking up to meet his gaze.

Lenora saw the suitor wince. There was something grotesque about a blindseer. It wasn’t just the empty eye sockets, it was deeper than that. Somehow you could feel him looking back. It had taken her years not to startle.

The blindseer tugged at Gideon’s sleeve, who hunched down until his face was level with the old man’s. The blindseer whispered something to Gideon who immediately went stone faced, stood bolt upright and without another word roughly walked the suitor out. Lenora trailed behind until the hall split off towards her chambers. She knew the blindseer was following her, probably on orders of her father.

“Pity, pity. I’m sure your father will be very disappointed,” the blindseer said. He was so close behind her she could feel his breath, though she’d never heard his footsteps.

“You can tell him I’ve done my very best,” she said opening the door and closing it quickly behind her, but the blindseer was faster. Deftly, he stuck his boot in the door and let himself in. Lenora ignored him and instead walked over to her desk.

She took off her wig and tossed into a box filled with others. The keep was overrun with all manner of pestilence: lice and mites and nameless little life that skittered round the dark. It got doubly bad in winter, and as such she kept her hair shorn, shorter than even her brother’s. She could not be bothered to comb the horrid things out every morning.

She sprinkled the wig with arsenic, struck a match and lit an oil lamp before crossing the room towards the hearth. The blind old man was turning his head this way and that, as though lost in a haze. She threw the spent match into the cold hearth and in one fluid movement reached for the iron poker. Soundlessly she turned and made her way towards the blindseer.

She’d made it six steps and just barely raised the poker before the blindseer turned to face her. The lamp light cast strange shadows across the pits where his eyes should be. She stopped dead in her tracks.

“That won’t do. That won’t do at all. What would your father think? Chasing away a nice young Lord like that.”

She let the poker clatter to the floor. Her muscles tensed and she clenched her fists, the old spy always knew exactly what to say to send her into a rage and the wine didn’t help her inhibitions.

Lenora closed the small gap between them until she was standing over the hunched man.

“Three more steps and my father would have needed a new spy. You’d best hope the next poor soul asks for my hand.”

She saw the man’s right hand twitch slightly, but she was faster. With a movement so quick even the blindseer missed it, she flicked her left hand against a cut in the lining of her sleeve and slipped out a silver stiletto. She held the small blade level with the spy’s throat.

“Reaching for your sword in the presence of the Lord’s daughter! Should the King hear his Lord on the outskirts lets commoners carry arms I’m sure both you and my father would be hanged. You best hope I never leave this retched keep. Now go on, go ahead and tell my father what I’ve said. While you’re at it you can ask him exactly how I’m supposed to entertain a Lord at a harvest festival in a stinking barn.”

She pushed the old man out the door and heard him lock it from the other side. It was the first move in a now familiar game. The next would be her father flying into a drunken rage after the blindseer’s counsel and the whole thing would end with her spending three days locked in her chamber before recanting at her father’s feet.

No, this time would be different. She slid the stiletto back into her sleeve and emptied her wineskin into the hearth, pressing out the rancid lees as best she could. From her desk she took what little jewelry she had and stuffed it in her pockets. Reaching under her bed she retrieved two thin pieces of flatiron, she’d found them some time ago and hid them in case they’d be useful.

She knelt at the door and slid the makeshift lockpicks into the keyhole. The locks were primitive and clumsy but well oiled, one of the few things her father had kept in good repair. Using the fine shims she jostled the pins until the lock popped open. Gently she turned the latch and pulled the door handle, careful not to make the hinges creak. She slid a wedge beneath the door to keep it from closing as the sound would give her away and crept down the hall. Every few paces Lenora stopped to listen but was met with only dead silence.

She slid down the servant’s corridor and kept close to the walls, moving carefully as here the darkness was total. The door at the end would lead to the courtyard, right by the stables. There she’d fill her wineskin at the watering trough and ride off into the night. She hadn’t quite settled on where, but there were still many hours until morning.

The door was close, she could smell the outside air. Before she reached for the handle the shadows moved.

“Just wait until your father hears of this!” the blindseer hissed.

“Filth!” She’d said it barely louder than a whisper but it echoed through the stillness as though she’d yelled. The servant’s corridor had no other entrance, he must have been waiting. Though she couldn’t see him, Lenora knew his sword was drawn. She felt him step closer, the blunted tip of his old sword pressed against the nape of her neck, his breathing was ragged and heavy.

“I know this keep better than the Lord himself. They’d never find you if you were to disappear. So what’ll it be milady? Shall you ride off never to be seen again or return to your chambers?” He said with a laugh, pressing the sword further against her skin. “You’ll surrender the flatiron picks as well. The ones you hid under the bed like a child. Your father will be livid when he learns of them.”

Lenora stood in the darkness weighing her options.

Suddenly the blindseer sheathed his sword, Lenora heard him moving around and swore he’d pressed his ear to the door before running off into the darkness. She opened the door and was met with the smell of smoke. Fire sent pillars of light into the sky from the village, she heard a single horse galloping towards the keep.

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“Fire! Witch! Fire!” Conrad shouted, breathless and panting as he rode into the courtyard. She helped him from his horse.

“The servants. Are coming. Light the lamps. Sound the bell. Saddle Septim’s horse.” Conrad said in bursts between gasps for air before running off towards the keep.

She lit a few torches and saddled her brother’s horse and was busy readying her own pony when the servants, drunk and barefoot, ran into the keep. Moments hadn’t passed and the keep was lit though it were midday and the bell was ringing, jagged and tuneless.

Her brother came down from the keep, dressed in his riding coat and hunting hat with a crossbow slung under his shoulder, the Lord’s best hounds following at his heels.

“Anyone with their wits still about them will ride with me, the rest help douse the fire! Get your bows and your lamps!”

The chaos fell into a loose order with her brother’s words. The drunker men filed back down towards the town, hauling barrels of water. Septim mounted his horse and stood waiting in the courtyard as a hunting party formed around him, the dogs milled about his horse’s legs. She rode up beside him. He gave her a sidelong glance and a scowl.

“What’s going on? What was Conrad on about?” she asked.

“A witch. Tried to poison the food and started the fire when they’d found her out. Run off into the woods now. We’re going to find her. And you’re not coming with us.”

“Half your men are too drunk to ride and you know I’m as good a shot as any.”

“Absolutely out of the question.”

“The hunting party is ready, m’Lord,” said Conrad. He was riding a new horse and had composed himself again.

Lenora watched the party ride off and waited until they were near the town before setting off after them. Even at a gallop her stout pony could not close the distance between itself and the Lord’s sleek horses. She slowed down and let the animal pick its own pace instead, not wanting to wear it out. She followed the party by the hoof-marks and trumpet blasts.

She rode through first light, then midmorning and finally stopped around noon. She was making headway on the hunters. The tracks were fresher and the trumpets closer, sometimes she could even hear the hounds. It had begun to snow and her riding coat was soaking through, her pony was sweating. It wasn’t until early evening that they’d finally reached the far wood.

Smoke billowed out over the treetops, someone had started a fire. She spurred the tired animal into a gallop and reached for her crossbow, circling ‘round and coming down on the fire from the far side. When she was close she tied the pony to a tree and stalked through the woods, each stepped picked so as not to leave tracks and each breath slow so that no vapor escaped her lips.

She came upon her brother sitting around a campfire roasting small game. His men were busy building crude shelters or splitting wood for the fire. She crept closer before unstringing her bow and taking a few noisy steps. Her brother startled and leapt to his feet, knife in hand.

He relaxed when he saw her. “Lot of good it is telling you to do anything.”

“Did you get the witch?”

“Something like that. She poisoned herself just before the hounds got ‘er. Must have been some poison too. Most of the Lord’s dogs are dead.”

“Can I see it?”

“See what?”

“The witch!”

“She’s in the woods not far from here. After the dogs died we’d thought it best not to touch the body for a while. Who knows about that poison. I suppose it’s good that you’re here. You’ve got to go get the old priest and tell father about his dogs. We’ll give you a new horse.”

Lenora nodded, there was no sense in arguing. She’d come too late to be of any other use and the chill was biting to her bones. She almost felt like asking to sit by the fire for a spell, but thought better of it.

The horse was much quicker and didn’t tire so fast. It was well into darkness by the time she rode through the town. Some men were still throwing buckets of water half heartedly onto the steaming pile of ash that had been the bakery.

Instead of turning towards the keep she rode onto a path less used, a river of untouched snow between banks of dead weeds. She followed it past the wheat fields, the golden stalks now broken and brown, before making a long arc towards the river. There it forked off towards an old chapel who’s thatch roof had long rotted. She stopped near the fence, half collapsed, and tried to make out the stone markers in the graveyard. Dark as it was, all she could see was a single mound of fresh earth. She spurred her horse onwards.

Tiredness hit her when she saw the Benedictus’ cottage. Warmth seemed to spill out of every window. The garden was picked and its soil tilled, the orchard apples in cider barrels neatly arranged. Onion, corn and garlic all hung out to dry against the white clay walls of the home. A tarnished brass windvane, shaped like a goldfish, sat atop the roof opposite the chimney and chattered in the wind.

Lenora knocked twice and watched the strange contraption. Gear-teeth and armatures moved as though the wind had breathed life into metal, the fish was segmented and each gust of wind made it look like it was swimming in place. Inside the cabin she heard Father set down his heavy wood mug and shuffle towards the door.

“Come in, come in!” The old man said opening the door without bothering to look who it was.

“Lenora, it’s been ages! I’d recognize that knock anywhere. You know there’s always a seat at my table! I’ve plenty of cheese and honey, but what little meat I have is salted. Shall I pour you a glass?”

“Father Benedictus.” Lenora bowed curtly and stood by the door, not wanting to relax as it’d be impossible to rouse herself again. She watched the old priest sit down again. Though older than the Lord or even the blindseer, Father Benedictus had an uncanny spryness about him as though his round frame was driven by someone much younger.

“I presume you haven’t heard?”

“I’ve seen the fire, but they can’t be so short handed they need help from an old man like me, can they?”

She shook her head. “They’ve caught a witch. She’s in the far wood, my brother and his hunting men are there.”

“Caught a witch? Does your father know?”

“I don’t think so.”

“I suppose it’s best we keep it that way, you know how your father gets. Now, go on and fetch a horse.”

“Two horses.”

“Your father would kill me.”

“He’ll kill me once I give him the news. Besides, you don’t know the way and it’s snowed since.” Her tone was sharper than she’d have liked, but she’d take any chance to delay telling her father of the witch and dogs and the fire. She left without waiting for the priest’s reply and rode off towards the keep at a gallop.

When she returned the priest was already waiting, the fires all doused and his baggage piled neatly by the door. He looked the horses up and down, shaking his head at the grey and bow-legged beasts.

“It’s my father’s last two,” Lenora said.

“It’s no wonder they’ve been left behind. But I suppose we’ve no choice. Now, it’s always risky business going after a witch. Who knows what we’ll find.”

“But she’s already dead.”

“Is your brother watching the body? Have they salt or herbs? Do they know a banishment canticle?” The old man was suddenly animated, his eyes flickering in the dark. He fitted strange saddlebags to his horse, studded red leather with strange gilded symbols. He stood for a moment, counted the bags and rubbed his chin as though he’d forgotten something. Then in one quick motion he as astride his horse, as though he was a rider by trade. They rode off with Lenora leading the way.

They were nearing the north wood when their horses finally slowed. Father spurred his horse on. “This is no time to stop, you’ll have your rest later,” he spoke to the animal. It plodded on with its head hung low.

“I thought the witches were all gone, stamped out by the Order.” Lenora spoke, the thought had been bothering her for some time.

“Not as many of them as there used to be, that’s certain. They still come up in the wild places where the veil gets thin. Take the blindseer for example. That sort of thing doesn’t happen in civilized places.”

Lenora thought of the awful blind hunchback and shuddered.

“You know his story, right?” Father asked.

She nodded.“Born blind and half-dumb, wandered into the woods as a boy and found a holy spring.”

“My my, is that how they tell it now?” The priest shook his head. “It happened years ago, I was just a brother then, hardly more than three years in the Order. He was born blind, no eyes at all, and frail and crooked at that. The poor child was often sick, scarcely remember a time he’d been in good health. Always some affliction or another.”

Father realized he was trailing off and stopped himself before continuing.

“One year, just after harvest he’d come down with a fever. I told his parents to pay it no mind and treat it like they’d done the rest, but it didn’t lift. No tincture nor ointment, nor prayer beads nor vigil had helped. They’d run out of money for any more medicines, and hadn’t the heart to watch him expire...nor smother him I suppose,” the father rubbed his chin. “They carried him off into the woods, bed and all. And that was the end of that.”

“Until he came back. Six days later stark naked in the dead of night. You should have seen the panic! They’d nearly burned down his parents’ hovel. That was when the Lord, the old Lord that is, may he rest in peace, sent for me. I could find nothing wrong with the boy, save he could see with no eyes. A curious thing that is, sees almost the whole way around him he does, but only in the dark...” Father said trailing off. He was quiet for a moment after, lost in thought.

“They’d told us of possession cases like this at the seminary,” he continued, “but none of the usual symptoms came up. I tried the incense and herbs, the ley-lines, salt circles, incantations and devotions. No response, there were no spirits in that boy save for his own. And yet, something had gotten to him in those woods.”

The rest of the way they rode in silence. The campfire was sending a plume of smoke into the air and they could see the firelight for at least a mile.

Father Benedictus stopped his horse a few hundred yards from the camp. “I read in a book once the proper way to handle this. You’d go left, and I’d ride right. I’d make a terrible lot of racket and you could come upon the camp from upwind.”

“That was chapter three of On Decorum and Stratagem by one Brother Aurentian” Lenora said confidently. She remembered the book quite well, it’d been an awful bore.

“I always forget you’re well read. Lord’s daughter after all, I suppose” father Benedictus smiled.

“If it were his choice I’d be locked in my room till I was set to be married. It was my mother who’d convinced him to let the tutor stay and teach me, “well we’ve already paid him” she’d said. I suppose that was that. My father can’t argue against sums.”

“I think I remember. They’d no luck teaching your brother, had they? Drinking and hunting and riding, like his old man. Everything ran much more smoothly with the Lady around,” Father trailed off.

“May she rest in peace,” is all Lenora could answer before biting her lip to stem the tide of emotion. They rode on together, not bothering with stealth.