The caravan made camp just outside of a forest by the road that night. While everyone set up their tents and blankets, Caravanier Thomas checked over the cargo, stroking his beard and tossing an occasional evil eye toward Frederick and Frederica. Thea and Eyan watched him carefully. The caravanier seemed to be taking a little longer than usual at their wagon. Both hearts pumped wildly and tried to jump out of their chests. The caravanier took a whole extra minute staring at the back of the wagon. When he finished, he glared at the two of them, but said nothing. His assistant rolled up the scroll and the two went back to the front wagon.

The people of the caravan sat around the fire, making private conversation. The two guards spoke gruffly to each other about which city has the best ale, barely able to not shout. The drivers of the second two wagons in the train mostly stayed quiet and eventually pulled out some playing cards. Caravanier Thomas sat alone and further back. Keeping an eye on the siblings that had joined them.

Late into the evening, just before everyone was about to sleep, the young assistant appeared on horseback, and it occurred to Eyan and Thea that they hadn’t seen him all night. He tied the horse up with the others and came for a slightly warm bowl of stew. Caravanier Thomas remained aloof, stroking his beard, not talking.

“Did you see that?” Thea whispered to Eyan, moving her mouth as little as possible.

“Little scamp ratted us out. He knew the damn thing was going to spoil.”

“What do we do?” Just as Thea said that, there was a clopping of hooves along the road. From behind them came three lights, swaying hypnotically back and forth, piercing through the fog that had settled in the sun’s absence. As the lights got closer, they were accompanied by three men on black horses holding lanterns. They wore long, heavy, green coats with red accents and tri-cornered hats to match.

The lead one had a single red feather pinned to the outside of his hat. He approached the camp at a trot, and called out, “Greetings! Please, stay seated, we come in peace. We three are humble servants of the king, out on a hunt. We are looking for a place to rest our heads this evening. Our hunt was delayed and we were kept out longer than we planned, and so are unprepared. Forgive us this lack of foresight and this intrusion, but might we join you fine folk for the night? We dare not return empty-handed to our lord.”

Everyone in the camp who had begun to doze off was now fully awake, the guards hands fluttered to their weapon handles and looked ready to pounce. Caravanier Thomas stood up, smoothing his robes and popping out his ruffles. He spoke in a warm tone, “I am Caravanier Thomas, leader of this caravan.” he said with a bow, “What servants of the king find themselves out at such an hour? The woods are plentiful with game.” The caravanier spoke as if hinting at an answer to a child, and the lead witch hunter seemed to almost roll his eyes, but played along.

“Of course, we are witch hunters, commissioned by His Royal Highness, The King of Minhold himself.” He made a show of removing a silver medallion from under his coat that bore the royal crest on one side and the bloodhound insignia of the witch hunters on the other. He turned it over in his hands slowly, letting the firelight bounce off it and making sure everyone in the camp got a good look at it. The two guards settled back down, and the drivers seemed to lose interest. “We got word of a possible sighting in the area, but haven’t been able to track the monster down. We wish to continue the hunt in the morning.”

“We would be honored to hold such esteemed guests in our company this night. Please, make yourself comfortable, we have some leftover stew.” Thomas said obsequiously, gesturing to the stew pot as he stoked the fire. The three witch hunters brought their horses over to the caravan’s and removed their saddles. Each one rode with a veritable armory of weapons at their side: nets, swords, axes, shields, hooks, chains, and many unfamiliar implements that looked to Eyan more like tools of torture than of combat.

The witch hunters’ enormous black boots and gloves had oversized cuffs that Thea knew hid all manner of tricks. She had seen warding jewelry, knives, poisons and more hidden in cuffs exactly like them over the past four years. The three men sat down next to Thomas, who had returned his hand to his beard, seemingly hiding a self-satisfied smile.

Thea was in a full panic, completely frozen. Four years of experience told every muscle in her body to run like hell when the green and red uniforms appeared. If she turned into a bird, there was a possibility of making it past their countermagics and tools, but without her grandmother at her side, the chances were much lower. And Eyan? Maybe he would be fine, could claim ignorance...but the witch hunters were not renowned for their mercy. No way would she abandon him to the consequences of her actions.

She looked to Eyan. He seemed calm and collected. They shared a look, he had one of determination like she hadn’t really seen before except perhaps when he spoke of Frederick. They didn’t dare speak just yet, but they were able to communicate confidence in this way. They’d get out of this.

“We got a pulse earlier today,” the lead witch hunter said, tapping his medallion. “It was faint, so we’re either dealing with someone pretty deep into the wild, or someone barely tapping in.” Thea didn’t miss that he raised an eyebrow toward her and Eyan as he said it. “But we’ll figure that out in the morning.”

“Tell me, witch hunter, how does a typical hunt go for you? I’m curious to know.” Thomas asked.

“Usually, when a witch casts a spell, we can track it with the medallions. If it pulses, we know we’re on the right track. A typical hunt starts with a tip off, we go to the area and wait for a pulse.”

“Please...go on.” Thomas implored, enraptured.

“From there, we follow the medallion’s pulse until we find the source. Sometimes it’s a false alarm: just some court wizard out on the road, or a cart carrying a lot of magical goods. When it’s not a false alarm, we usually come up on some little girl or boy, scared and crying in the wilderness,” he gave a hearty laugh, “but we know what that is don’t we boys? An act!” the two other witch hunters joined his laugh and slapped their knees. “Witches are tricksters by nature, best remember. Always taking forms that ain’t their own, so eager to play on your heartstrings. But that’s why you gotta harden the heart. Child, adult, old crone...they all come with us in iron binds.” Thomas was so hypnotized now that his hand fell from his goatee, revealing a sadistic grin that stretched across his face like wet dough. The two guards listened intently like children hearing nursery rhymes.

“Unless they resist, that is!” piped up one of the other witch hunters.

“Unless they resist...that’s right Grom.” a smile breached the leader’s face too, “Then we get to have our fun.”

“Why witches, and not court wizards?” Everyone was pulled from their trance as Thomas’ young assistant piped up from his spot by the fire.

“What’s that, little one?” the witch hunter asked.

“Oh don’t mind him,” Thomas stuttered, then turned to his assistant, “Quiet, Duny! You’ll make me look the fool!”

“No, no. It’s a fair question.” the witch hunter replied. “He wants to know what makes one mage a danger and the other a respected member of society, isn’t that right?” The young assistant nodded sheepishly. “At the core, it’s about civility. A wizard in court is measured and controlled, and therefore useful. They answer to a lord, their ambition is checked. A witch in the woods is wild and dangerous. They answer to no higher power, have no duty to serve. Witches are prone to necromancy and blood magic which, if you take the wizards’ word, is bad.” The witch hunter gulped down the last of his stew and tossed the bowl aside, getting low in form and tone, “But mostly, you hunt witches because wizards don’t do this.” he pulled down the collar of his coat to reveal a horrid scar that covered his entire shoulder. It arced out into his skin like lightning, was black as coal, and pock marked all over like a fire wound. Eyan’s back twinged in sudden pain at the revelation and he let out a slight gasp,

“Exactly, lad, exactly.” he pointed across the fire at Eyan, pulling his coat back up. “I earned that the same day I earned this,” he flicked the feather in his cap, “About five years ago now, we tracked down a coven that had become quite a problem for the king. Something like fifty of them had gathered in this old, hollow tree, all up and down like it was some twisted wizard’s tower. Aye, it was a battle, that. We took twice as many hunters and still only barely managed to do the job. Even the children knew how to fight. But we burned that little treehouse of theirs to the ground,” the three hunters laughed insidiously again, “but even then, one got away – the one that scarred me – and we lost near half the hunters in Minhold that day.”

Thea’s grandmother never told her very much about the coven. Fifty of them! She wondered how terrible they could have really been to incur such a wrath. Her grandmother wasn’t shy about using forbidden magic, or even killing villagers who thought it wise to try and hunt her themselves. Such a slaughter...her mother. In the time she knew her, Thea came to know her mother as a generous heart who never wished ill on others. Even where her grandmother was jaded and bitter, her mother was always kind and optimistic. No, there was no way such brutality could be justified.

Thea found herself in the void again. The river of colors before her, stretching out endlessly.

Eyan began to sweat. He sidled closer and closer to his supplies, ready to run on a second’s notice from Thea. He couldn’t read anything in her face, she was completely blank. Was she thinking of a plan or was she totally zoned out? Eyan stopped paying as much attention to the witch hunters. The leader went off in the background, leaning back on a rock, “If it were up to me though, I’d say it doesn’t matter. Witch, wizard, druid, elf...it’s all bound to go bad eventually. Put a wizard in a court, sure you keep ‘em happy a few years, maybe even a few lifetimes, but I’ve heard the stories of those wizard tyrants in Hermanii. Don’t want that happening here, no sir.”

“Do you want to go?” Eyan whispered to Thea, “We can make it to Benold on foot, I know the land.” He waited for some kind of response, but she remained blank. “Thea?”

The river before her moved swiftly. Thea came closer. She almost could hear a voice calling to her from it, but without words or song. Just whispers.

“I hope you’re listening,” Eyan continued, “I say we bide our time, go in our tent and pretend to sleep. I’ll cut out the back and we can run out. Good?”

The closer she got to the river of colors, the more intense the whispers became. Thea got closer and closer, trying to resist the urge to touch the river. It had felt so good before, so familiar, so freeing. She imagined her face was right above the flow. The colors danced across her skin, the river nearly touched her nose as it rose and fell. The rhythm of it reminded Thea of when her mother would hold her to her breast as a child. The whispers were in her head now, and they asked her a question. Not in the form of words, but in feelings. Was she going to live in fear? Was she going to submit? To the king? To the witch hunters? Then she saw it. Like a lick of flame, a small bit of magical divergence barely visible amidst the torrent of the river of colors.

Thea plunged her hands into the river with force. The river ran hot like lava, and she pulled the divergence out of the river. Her body shivered with gratification, a new flow appeared in her hands, red as the scales of her captor dragon. Above her was the image of her hands, they would be the focus. She pulled the divergence through.

“Thea, I really need an answer, anything plea-” Eyan stopped talking as he saw the hunters’ medallions begin to glow and vibrate. They shot up and grabbed their weapons, but before they could do anything else Thea raised her hands with palms forward.

A beam of light exploded from her hands toward each of the two hunters flanking the feathered leader. The one the leader had called Grom was knocked flat on his back over the log on which he’d been sitting. He laid still with a sizzling sound and smoke emanating from there Eyan presumed his face would be. The other hunter activated a magical shield. Blue energy like the one Eyan’s own shield used to have came out from his gauntlet. It lasted for almost a second before the familiar glass-shattering sound of an enchantment breaking cracked across the camp. The explosion knocked both remaining hunters off their feet, startled the horses, and blew out the campfire.

Eyan looked at the princess with shock. She still had that blank look on her face for a moment, but shook it off after she saw what she had done. The witch hunters were already beginning to stand up again, though the leader’s remaining companion’s face was covered in blood and seemed to be missing an ear.

“Let’s go! We’ll make it on foot!” Eyan whisper-yelled to Thea. He grabbed his supply bag in one hand and her arm in the other as the pair made a dash for the cover of the woods. There were shouts coming from behind them, the sound of men chasing after them. Two crossbow bolts whizzed by Thea and Eyan and splintered against the hard bark of an old tree.

The sounds of heavy footsteps and snapping branches drew closer and closer. Thea was falling behind her normal pace, the spell had left her weary. Another few feet and the fell into Eyan who helped her along. Their pace was sluggish now. He quickly found a rock to set her behind, pulled out his shield and drew his sword. When he turned around, the two witch hunters and two caravan guards came up menacingly.

“Where’s the witchling?” the feathered hunter snarled. “And who are you? Her knight in shining armor?” Eyan took a defensive position, raising his cracked shield. “Not talkative, eh? Well we have ways of making accomplices talk.” As he spoke he drew a black iron sword, serrated on one side and pulled open his coat to reveal bandoliers full of knives, axes, and hooks.

“Over here, she is. Behind the rock!” one of the caravan guards said, pointing with his greatsword. Swift as lightning, Eyan leapt over to the guard and made a cut to his hand. Enough of the attack made it through to cause him to drop the sword and clutch the wound with his remaining hand. The lead hunter took the opportunity to swipe at Eyan, but he was able to deflect it just in time with his shield. Though he survived the blow, the crack in the shield split all the way across, leaving Eyan with half as much cover. The other witch hunter came at him with an ax, which Eyan was able to dodge easily enough.

The attacks from the two witch hunters and one remaining guard were slow, their technique was sloppy, and in the case of the witch hunters, most of their prowess came from tracking. The fighting part was generally done against enemies without conventional arms and armor, and their reliance on magic defense overruled the need to train for a melee. Even so, a trained knight can only hold off three foes for so long. Unable to make any attacks, Eyan was backed up against a tree. He ducked an attack from the hunter’s ax, which sunk deep into the tree. In the disturbance of the combat rhythm caused by the hunter trying to retrieve his weapon, Eyan Made a strike at the lead hunter, getting a good swipe at what he knew to be his good shoulder.

The lead hunter stumbled backward, clutching his shoulder as his companion pulled his ax from the tree. Eyan tried to think quickly how he could dispatch these enemies, or at least by Thea enough time to make a run for it. The only thing he could do was tell her to get out.

“Go on! Get out of here!” he shouted over to the rock where he’d left her. But she was nowhere in sight. He didn’t see the other caravan guard either. He got a sinking feeling in his stomach as the realization of his failure set in. To have come all this way, just to lose it all. His arms went limp to his side as the three men closed in. I failed you, Frederick. I failed you, Thea.

Eyan felt himself go weightless as the lead hunter thrust his blade forward. And then he saw the world move downward. People, dirt, trees and everything just dropped. He noticed large, leathery talons wrapped around his arms. Looking down, he saw the forest below, the road, the camp. He was moving further from them. Looking up, he saw a mess of brown feathers, a shiny beak. The giant eagle carried him for only a minute before raggedly descending to the tree line. As it folded its wings just before hitting the forest canopy, the form of the eagle disappeared, leaving Eyan and Thea the human to tumble to the ground, breaking their fall with branches as they went.

Eyan sputtered and coughed trying to regain his senses. Gracefully, the princess had fallen next to him on a pile of leaves. She lay quite still with her eyes closed, but her chest rose and fell with life, and apart from scrapes and bruises she appeared physically fine. As he stood up, Eyan felt that his back wound had opened up again, a trickle of blood made its way down his torso and legs. Far away, he could barely make out the shouting of the witch hunters. Judging by their angry, defeated, tone, he surmised that Thea had lost them pretty handily. They kept shouting at each other for a minute, their voices carrying for who knows how long out around the forest. Eyan couldn’t make out words except at the end. They had fallen quiet for about thirty seconds when a voice called out, “Found something!”

Eyan, who had been taking the time to catch his breath, got ready to jump up again when another voice a few seconds later yelled out, “Let’s ride out!” With a sigh of relief, Eyan curled up against a log, pulled some leaves over himself for a blanket, and let sleep take him.