Cold gripped Sevryn’s insides as he walked past the fields and towards the hill upon which the keep was built. It wasn’t just the morning chill, though the air was cold and fresh snow blanketed the fields. His entire body felt like tallow, his head ached. He hadn’t slept at all and daybreak had come too soon. More than anything he wished he’d have said goodbye, or sorry, or both. He wished he’d taken Crow and stolen off into the night and never said a word to his parents. He wished a great many things, but most of all that this day would pass by, that somehow the current of time would flow on around him as though he were a rock in a stream.

It was not bravery that pushed him on as the morning sun rose behind the wooden walls of the keep, it was a sense of duty. The way things ought to be are not the way things must be, he told himself as he pressed onwards, just as some are born cobblers and some are born Lords, each must do what befalls them. Though he could find no fault in the reasoning some part of him remained unconvinced and with each step forward he fought the urge to turn back.

There was some sense of finality when he crossed into the long jagged darkness that surrounded the keep, into the shadows sent down from the walls that were made of trees entire, crudely sharpened at the tips. He was too close to turn back now, the deed was almost done and everything could be set right again. The thought bothered him, the rightness of it. Was it just? If it wasn’t, why was the Lord willing to pay? But the thoughts were dispelled with the whistling of the wind through woodwork and the flapping of torn rawhide, the tattered leather that hung off the walls in places and all but worthless against fire now. The gate stood open before him, great oak planks studded with iron. Oiled and tarnished and oiled again so that the gullies where the adze had dug too deep were now stained black. The guardhouse was empty, as were the towers on either side.

Sevryn walked in slowly, not sure what to expect. He hadn’t thought of the Lord and his keep more than he’d had to, but even in his sparse imaginings the Keep had looked nothing like what stood before him. A muddied courtyard and low-slung stables built the old way of lashed logs with walls of reed and plaster, roofed over with thatch. These stood at odd angles to the Keep itself, which looked to have been built in fits around the Great Hall, the oldest building and the only one with stone fundament. Though it wasn’t tall, the Great Hall towered over the rest of the ramshackle buildings, its size and craftsmanship from a time of full coffers and caring hands. Where it had mortise and tenon, both level and plumb, the new buildings sat rough-cut and crooked and filled in with plastered hay where the boards did not quite meet up. There may have been some difference in the colors between the old and the new, once, but all the wood had long ago turned the same shade of black.

Without too much thought he walked through the empty courtyard following a cobbled serpentine path that at points disappeared entirely into muddy snow. Part of him hoped that through some miracle everyone had been swallowed up by the earth, that the Keep was indeed abandoned and he could go home. Still, he walked onwards and in stops and starts the path led him to a door set into the stone walls of the Great Hall. Planed planks neatly cut and studded, with an iron wyrm’s head at the center from which a knock-ring hung. Sevryn brought the ring down onto the door twice before an iron shutter slid open, bloodshot eyes peered out from the darkness before disappearing again. Someone coughed and spat.

“What’d you want?” a raspy voice asked.

“I want to see the Lord.”

“See the Lord! Don’t we all. Let me go get him for you! Ha!” They laughed and slammed the shutter closed. Sevryn pounded the knocker against the door.

“I need to see the Lord! It’s about the witch! I’ve got the witch!”

The iron shutter slid open again, the same bloodshot eyes looked out but this time stared at him for some time. Sevryn could see the man’s face, but barely. Worn and grimy, it fit in with the rest of the Keep, as though somehow the man and the Keep shared something intangible.

“This isn’t a lark? If I bother the Lord for some peasant hearsay he’ll have us both lashed, you know. And I’m not sure who’ll get it harder,” there was a softness in man’s voice, and Sevryn felt the words were honest.

“On my soul, I swear!” Sevryn put his right hand to his heart and dropped to his knees. “I’ve got the witch, I swear to you on all that’s hallowed.”

“Alright, alright, I’ll try to fetch someone. And get out of the mud, lad, there’s no use kneeling to me. Save it for the Lord.” The face disappeared into the darkness but the iron shutter stayed open. Silence descended again and Sevryn stood there, waiting, his heart beating out of his chest. Minutes passed and though the sun rose higher the day did not get warmer. A chill cut through his thin coat and his feet went numb at the toes. He started pacing on the cobbles, partly to stay warm but mostly to calm his nerves.

Sevryn heard a heavy lock turn over and iron slide against iron before the door opened partways with a creak. Out of the darkness stepped an old hunchback followed by what Sevryn thought was his minder, a tall man in finely cut clothes with a sword at his side.

Sevryn fell to his knees and spoke with his eyes downcast, not sure which man to address. “My Lord, I have the witch,” he said, not knowing how else to start. It dawned on him that he’d no idea what he was actually planning to say. Hundreds of false starts and half truths ran through his head and he felt his palms begin to sweat.

“You don’t have to kneel,” the hunchback said, “I’m not the Lord, though I do speak on his behalf. Now let’s see this witch.”

“She’s not here,”

“Not here? Is this a trick?”

“No sir!” Sevryn said, still staring at the muddy cobbles, “I’ve got her, locked up. Alive. I swear.”

“You swear?” the hunchback asked.

“On my mother’s heart!” Sevryn said, looking up. He lifted his head to look the old man in the eyes but was met with two smooth patches of skin where the man’s eyes should have been. A chill ran down his spine because he swore the man was looking back.

The old man smiled. “Come, boy. Tell me all there is to tell about this witch and where you’ve got her.” With that the hunchback turned on his heel, whispered something to the big man and disappeared soundlessly into the Keep. The big man grabbed Sevryn by the shoulders and pulled him inside before shutting the door behind them. The big man had lit a lamp before Sevryn’s eyes had time to adjust to the dark. The guard who’d opened the door pulled Sevryn close and spoke quietly.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

“Best do as the blindseer says, talking to him’s as good as talking to the Lord. Mind your manners and tread carefully. Now follow Gideon,” he said pointing to the big man.

Sevryn stayed two steps behind Gideon, following the bobbing lamplight through twists and corners and up stairwells of both stone and wood until they came to an open door. Daylight spilled out into the darkened hall, Gideon stepped into the light and gestured for Sevryn to go inside. The room was long and narrow with a high ceiling and tall windows that let in light from all sides, the walls, where he could see them from behind tapestries and banners, were shiplapped timber old and knotty. In the center of the room and taking up most of the space stood long a table laid out with food and decanters of wine, enough food and drink for a party of ten though Sevryn saw only one empty chair. The blindseer had already seated himself at the far end and gestured for Sevryn to join him. The chair, like the table, was made of rich brown wood, inset with carvings of flowers and vines.

Sevryn hesitated for a moment, suddenly conscious of his muddy work clothes. “I’m sorry, to come here so shabby, have you got a different seat, perhaps?”

“Nonsense,” the blindseer said after he’d finished chewing. “There’s no shame in hard work, boy. A man’s to be ashamed to come before his Lord in the clothes of his trade?” He spat at the floor for emphasis once he’d said it. “Not in these halls. Now sit, there’s a great deal I wish to know.”

Sevryn sat, surprised by the softness of the crushed velvet cushion, as though no one had sat in the chair before. He stared at the table, suddenly aware of the smells. A platter full of roast meat caught his eye, juicy and thick with the skin crisped to perfection, like nothing he’d seen before.

The blindseer smiled, “Help yourself, I’m afraid we’ve too few souls these days for proper service.”

Sevryn piled his plate full of meat and white bread and drizzled the lot with a thick brown sauce. He ate and drank in silence, it wasn’t until he was half done with his plate and onto his third glass of wine that the blindseer spoke again.

“You’re Sevryn, the youngest miller’s son?” the blindseer said, wiping his mouth his a napkin and pushing his plate away.

Sevryn stopped chewing for a moment and felt the blindseer staring at him from across the table. He didn’t remember introducing himself, nor ever laying eyes on this man before. He swallowed and poured himself more wine, thinking of a question in response.

“I suppose I forget myself. It’s been a while since we’ve met, you might have been too young to remember, then. How old are you now?” The blindseer asked, ignoring Sevryn’s silence.

“I’ll be ten years and six just before sowing,” Sevryn answered quickly.

The blindseer nodded.

“And for how many of those years have you know the girl, the witch?” There was a meanness to the blindseer’s voice now.

Sevryn raised an eyebrow and drank in gulps. The blindseer knew too much, if he were to deliver his story he’d have to have his nerves reined in, otherwise he’d talk himself into a corner. He set the wine cup down and found that his hands were shaking.

“I’ve been selling them firewood for ages,” he said finally, choosing his words carefully.

“Them?”

“The girl and her mother. They live up in the birchwood in a little cabin, hardly more than a shack. Her father died some years ago and her brother’s a soldier of fortune, they can’t hardly keep up with the work.”

“They pay you?” The blindseer asked, and Sevryn felt the pointedness in his question.

“They keep a tab.”

“A set of tally marks against a guilty conscience? Or is there more to it than that?” the blindseer smiled after asking.

Sevryn poured himself more wine just so that his hands would have something to do while he worked out an answer.

“Her brother sends money back, they’ll pay with interest before mid summer, I’m sure.” Pleased with his answer he cut himself another piece of meat, trying his best to look relaxed.

“I suppose, I suppose,” the blindseer said. “War’s at tricky business, though, and the money’s liable to stop. But I’m sure you’ve taken that into account,” the edge was gone from his voice but the answer left Sevryn wondering if the blindseer knew more of Crow’s brother than he let on.

“What interests me most is how the miller’s son could trap the witch, when the Lord’s son could not,” the blindseer continued. “If you’ve some tricks we’d love to hear them, perhaps they’ll take you on the next hunting trip. The Lord’s son is always looking to hone his skills.”

Sevryn knew this question was coming, but stalled as though he were thinking and tried to make this answer as stilted as the previous ones.

“We were hunting for game, my brothers and I. Rabbits and pheasants and that. They’re easy to track after a snowfall and the weather was mild. We’d gone up into the birchwood, near the old creekbed as we’d had luck there before. It must have been dusk when we’d found her, fast asleep.”

“Asleep? Had she made camp? Was there anyone with her?” the blindseer asked, sitting bolt upright and keeping his face fixed in Sevryn’s direction.

Sevryn shook his head and brought the winecup to his lips again, his confidence bolstered by the blindseer’s interest.

“Asleep just in the snow like a beast. We’d come at her from three sides, and I don’t recall who’d moved first but I’d be on my life it was Jonas, by the time she’d roused we’d already had her bound.”

“Bound? Do you often bring rope on your hunts?”

This question took Sevryn by surprise and his hesitation was genuine before he answered “Sisal, for rabbit snares, we don’t go out without a roll.”

“And you dragged her like that back home?”

“We’d ridden out in the oxcart. The hunt’s often good after first snow,” Sevryn answered almost immediately, having anticipated the question. “We locked her in the shed when we returned,” he continued.

“Neither trap nor death could hold her, and yet you trust a bolted door?”

To this Sevryn had no answer, but it wasn’t long before the blindseer spoke again.

“I’m sorry for my doubts, really. But if you think you’re the first who’s come to the Lord cap in hand swearing they’ve got the witch, you’re mistaken. So far I think you’ve been the most credible, and I’ll send some men at once.” With this the blindseer stood and reached for his belt before tossing a bag onto the table. It landed with a clatter and came half undone, showing Sevryn a glint of silver. “If, or should I say when they bring her back we’ll iron out the sums, though I’m sure the Lord will take a cut for having to fetch her.”

“It’s no problem, I mean, thank you,” Sevryn said catching himself, “I appreciate the generosity and please give the Lord my regards,” he said bowing his head.

The blindseer bowed back quickly before turning to leave. He stopped at the door and turned to Sevryn again. “In the meantime you’re most welcome to stay here,” he said, bowing again before leaving.

In the darkened hallway the blindseer gestured for Gideon to stoop down before whispering into his ear. Gideon nodded grimly. With that the blindseer disappeared into darkened hallways, quiet as a ghost.

Sevryn was weighing the fork in his hands, balancing it across his fingers, thinking of the coins in the bag and relieved the blindseer had bought his story. His nerves were settled and any regrets numbed with the Lords wine. He paid no attention to the heavy footsteps coming from the door.

Gideon was right beside him now, and Sevryn turned to look. There was no time to react as Gideon pulled back his fist and hit Sevryn in the face with a weighted glove. Sevryn heard a crack before searing pain tore through his face, the world spun round and there was a ringing in his ears. He spat out teeth before everything went dark.

Gideon slung the boy over his shoulder as though he weighed no more than a sack of flour, the blindseer had returned and was standing in the doorway. The pair worked their way down through the darkness of the keep. As they descended the air changed and wood turned to stone as they made their way into the stone heart of the Great Hall, well below the earth. Here the blindseer lit a lamp, though only for Gideon’s benefit. The walls were dark and mossy and the steps slick and treacherous, Gideon climbed down slowly, one hand reaching out to steady himself. When he reached the bottom he dropped Sevryn roughly to the ground.

The ceiling was low and arched, so that Gideon stood half-bent. The ceiling, like the walls and floor were made of square-cut stone set so neatly that there was no need for mortar. Orange lamplight reflected off wet stone illuminating rivulets of water that fell from the ceiling and collected in puddles on the floor. Where the light was dim, towards the corners of the room, great masses of rats shifed in the shadows, hundreds of eyes glowed in the half-light.

The blindseer hung the lamp off a hook set into the ceiling, the light illuminated an iron grate in the floor. Again the blindseer whispered to Gideon, who heaved the grate open without a word, sending bits of rust into the darkness below.

Gideon dragged the still unconscious boy to the edge of the hole and was about to push him in when the blindseer turned on his heel and stopped him.

“The salts Gideon!” The blindseer hissed.

Gideon reached into his tunic and brought out a small vial. He uncorked it with one hand and moved it quickly under Sevryn’s nose. Sevryn woke with a start. The blindseer kicked him in the ribs.

“Up! Up!” Sevryn struggled to stand, his hands were still bound behind his back.

“Where am I?”

“Pay no mind to that”, the blindseer said, smiling, “more important is where you’re going.” The blindseer took the lamp from its hook and shone it into the oubliette: a narrow hole lined with jagged stone dug some twenty feet into the earth.

Sevryn didn’t even have time to scream before Gideon pushed him in. He hit the far wall so hard it knocked the air from his lungs and sent him tumbling down, rough cut stone tore into his skin and battered his bones. He landed with a sickening crunch, hitting the ground mostly on his back. The last thing he remembered was the iron grate slamming shut above him.