“Should we not intervene, Lady Ire?” Calypso asked while saddling the new horses they had bought just before first light.

“It is none of our business.” The older woman’s husky voice was level, but the Hunter-in-training could tell it did not sit well with her.

“She assaulted that man!” She turned to look at her mentor begging her to take action. “The rules clearly state that…”

“I said, it is none of our business. The less contact you have with that woman, the better. Now finish preparing your horse, we have work to do.” Her tone made it clear she was frustrated.

“But this is a clear violation of the rules!” The girl could not let it go. Everything she had been taught told her that she that Lady Navina had to be detained, judged and most likely executed.

“That is enough, Calypso.” Lady Ire’s voice was as hard as steel and the girl realised, she had crossed the line. “Listen to me very carefully; it is not our business. We are not enforcers of the rules, that is the sacred task reserved for the Persecutors.”

“While you were busy doing nothing, I have tasked Sigdig of locating the nearest one and inform them of what has transpired here.” There was a distinct contrast between her words and actions with how she had placed her hand on the engraved head of the battle-axe strapped to her belt.

But Lady Ire was an experienced Hunter and one of the Thirteen, Calypso reminded herself. She would not break the rules and would have only intervened if the situation escalated as the rules dictated. After all, no matter how well they were trained, Witch Hunters retained a portion of their humanity, which meant they were not exempt from making mistakes or react in a violent matter when provoked. Because of this, the rules had been created by the founder of their order. The first and most important one stated that they would not kill a human unless their lives or that of their client or charge was in danger. Those that broke this creed, would be brought to the Frozen Keep to answer for their crimes, by the iron-willed Prosecutors.

“Stop daydreaming and listen to me very carefully, child.” Her mentor locked her with her one eye. “It is up to them how to deal with Irene Navina. Not me and most definitely not you. Now pack your things and get moving.” The woman clicked her tongue and guided her horse through the cobbled street.

Calypso turned her head one last time, fighting the urge to act. She saw the infuriating woman drag the limp body of the man back into the inn. Unsatisfied with leaving things like that, she jumped on the back of her horse and ushered it to follow her mentor. Lady Ire was right – this was not her job. But there were ways to make it and once their task was done, the girl would be damned if she did not do her best to be involved.

“You are enjoying this.” Her companion sneered. It was a rather poor attempt to goad her and for the most part, his constant whispering was starting to grind on her nerves.

“He is young, fairly strong for a human, not too ugly and most important – not entirely human.” The thing’s poisoned words sipped into her mind, bringing with them a slew of disturbing images born of her companion's twisted psyche. “This quirk of yours is quite fascinating.”

Irene bit back the retort she had prepared. It could pick it up from her thoughts for a change. She focused on her task of stitching the boy’s head. He had been very lucky that his skull did not crack on the pavement, instead, his idiotic stunt left him with a fairly large cut, some bruised or cracked ribs and a dislocated shoulder. True, her understanding of how the human body functioned might be skewed, but people were supposed to recover from such injuries on their own.

“Ha!” Her companion’s guttural laughter pierced her mind. “The child needs a healer. Or rather a very docile and submissive witch.”

“I’m not going to her for help.” Irene squeezed the words through clenched teeth.

“Argh!” The youth moaned in pain, his spine curling as he tried to push his head further into the bed. “Is it that bad?”

“I’ve seen reanimated abominations with better sewing.” Irene felt the pleasure in the thing’s voice. “You were going to see her anyway. She is the reason you’ve spent the entire year in this dull place.”

“Fine!” The Witch Hunter stood up from atop the youth, leaving the deformed needle to dangle from a blood-soaked thread from his forehead.

“Get up, we are going to have someone take a proper look at you.” She picked up her bag and great sword and turned to look at the confused boy. “And this time, don’t do anything stupid.”

“I understand.” The youth’s voice sounded hollow and just like his body, his spirit was broken and battered. There was no remedy to fix that as far as she knew.

“Oh please!” Her companion growled in frustration. “Of course, there is and you know damn well what it is. Bed him and be done with it. Or do you want me to do that for you too?” There was sick desire emanating from the thing, soaking into her like noxious sludge. “Or is this your way of asking me to keep you company once more?”

“Shut your mouth!” Irene snapped louder than intended.

“I didn’t… never mind.” The youth pushed himself from the bed just to fall to his knees and vomit.

“I am no healer, but that cannot be good.” Her companion laughed, taking full joy from the way he was tormenting her. It was rare for the cursed thing to be so active and once this issue was dealt with, there would be some harsh words between them.

“Damn it. I never get to do what I want.” The Witch Hunter picked the boy with one hand and jumped from the window.

Landing safely on the uneven coble-stones was a bit tricky and she felt her knees protest by sending a jolt of excruciating pain. Irene stood still for a moment to allow the damage to heal and with a brisk walk started to snake her way through the narrow back streets towards her destination.

After half an hour of wandering, she found the weathered wooden sign she was looking for, which as expected was moved to a different location. Esthergrad’s identical houses did not help in the slightest. How the locals navigated this maze was a mystery, but if she was honest, the Witch Hunter did not care. At least it saved her from the crowds of hustlers, peddlers and travelling merchants and their obnoxious retinues of guards and imbecilic apprentices. Spending a little longer searching was a fair price to pay for such comfort.

Irene smiled at the poorly written text of the sign: “Julia s protectif charms and monstr repleants”. Whichever untalented novice calligrapher was responsible for painting this atrocity, in large green letters at that, deserved every single curse that was sent his way. Unceremoniously the woman kicked the narrow wooden door and entered the small shop hidden behind it.

“Who dares break into Madam Julia’s adobe!” A deep voice echoed in the tightly packed room.

Medallions made of stone, iron, silver and gold hung from hooks on the rafters by the dozen. Racks of dried herbs stretched over the walls with all manner of carved teeth spread around the linen baskets. A mockery of a divination table covered most of the free space on the stone tile floor. To finish the impression that this was a genuine shop of a mystic, the smell of several slow-burning leaves filled the air. Irene could recognise that at least two of them were light opiates. It went without saying that all of this was crap that did not work. No, the real trade of the proprietor was in the narcotics, slaves, poisons and poultices hidden under the dried herbs.

She took a deep breath and counted to five. Predictable enough there was an explosion of thick grey smoke from behind the aged counter at the far wall. Another trick to fool the masses and by the looks of it, the idiot had used a little too much puffer-shroom dust. Once the cloud cleared, a petite woman emerged from her hiding spot. Just shy over a meter and a half tall, with long blond hair bright blue eyes, smiled wickedly before noticing Irene. The doll-like woman’s jaw dropped and the blood drained from her face. She took a step back accompanied by the rattling of the bones and talismans decorating her braids.

“No, we had a deal!” There was no sign of the previous bravado she had spoken with, instead, her voice was shaky and high pitched. “I’ve kept my end, leave me alone!”

“You think she is scared?” Her companion’s roaring laughter flooded the Witch Hunter’s mind. “You should see the petrified expression of her puny infernal partner. Coming here is always such a delightful treat.”

“I’m not here about that, Tamara,” Irene sighed, preparing herself for the outburst that was coming.

“Right… I’d rather trust every word that comes from Kai Nem’s hundred mouths.” The pretty doll thing of a woman squealed and covered her mouth with her hands. “No! I did not mean that! I haven’t made deals with demons, I promise! Please, trust me… I promise…”

“If you would excuse me, I have a small defenceless animal to torment, while you deal with her.” She felt the thing salivate as its presence faded. On the bright side, this would keep it occupied for a while and give the Witch Hunter some much-needed peace and quiet.

By the time Irene had enough of the shop owner’s incoherent drivel, Tamara was close to a nervous breakdown. Which did not take that long, a few seconds at best, it felt like minutes. With a frustrated groan, she dropped the boy on the table and walked to the counter.

“No! It wasn’t me!” The doll-like woman shook like a leaf.

“Fix him,” Irene spoke slowly.

The owner of the shop froze once again. Her mouth agape and the Witch Hunter could swear she saw her mind struggle to comprehend her words.

“What?” The question was barely audible.

“I said, fix him.”

Like a startled animal, Tamara scuttled towards the table and examined the semi-conscious boy. Carefully at first and with growing confidence with each motion, she touched around the wound on his head, before moving her delicate hands to his shoulder and chest.

“Wait. The only reason you’d want me to try and heal him is because,” Tamara snapped her head to the side to look at Irene, “you are responsible for his wounds.”

“It is none of your concern.” The Witch Hunter forced herself to keep her voice level, while her patience fade and her irritation grew. “Can you fix him?”

“The shoulder and the cut are fairly easy to deal with. I mean once I fix whatever you were trying to do…” There was smugness in the woman’s voice but it disappeared once she returned her attention to the boy. “His lungs are badly injured and I could probably remedy that, but it will be months before he heals. However, the biggest issue is his head. I sense there is blood gathering inside his skull and at this rate he will lose his mind in a few hours and be dead by nightfall.”

“I take that as a yes,” Irene crossed her arms over her chest, not liking where the conversation was heading.

“I could, but I won’t.” The defiance in Tamara’s voice was iron hard. “Do you think I am so stupid, to break our little deal? I haven’t suddenly turned become suicidal…” She finished after running out of breath, her face turning scarlet.

The outburst was expected, the woman was a rather unique case. After all, Tamara was hunted by her own kind for refusing the covenants. And the people of Esthergrad would have no qualms hanging, quartering and burning what was left of the doll-like woman if they found out what she was. But she was also the one to provide the Witch Hunter with the items she required. Not to mention, she was the only one who knew how to properly grow Kindra in these parts.

“Consider it me owing you a favour.” Irene was at her limit and if this pointless conversation did not achieve what she had come here for, there were other ways to force the woman to do as commanded.

“Don’t get this the wrong way, but I’d rather bargain with the infernal…” Tamara stopped midsentence. Her eyes were fixed on the Ilwgwaed coin dangling from the Witch Hunter’s hand. “Is that…”

“You cannot be seriously considering doing that?” Her companion’s presence hit her like a blacksmith’s hammer.

“Do not talk,” Irene struggled to keep her voice level. “Fix him and this is yours. Now be a good pet and do your spells.”

“That’s not how this works…” Tamara hesitated without moving her gaze from the coin. “There is a cost – a life for a life. In his case two; one for each deadly injury.”

“Then do it.”

“You don’t get it. One death of an innocent can be considered an unfortunate incident. Two, on the other hand, will have the Dusk brigade up in a roar and searching for a witch. A request will be issued to your kind…” The witch shuddered at the thought of being hunted or most likely because she knew she was going to be caught.

“Let me worry about that,” Irene moved closer and placed the valuable item next to the delirious boy’s head. “You do your thing.”

“Fine… But first I want your word that you will not take the Ilwgwaed coin back.” The doll-like woman’s hand hovered over the precious silver disk. “Form you and your pet monstrosity.”

This was one of the reasons the Witch Hunter hated visiting the drug dealer. She was too smart for her own good and far too paranoid.

“I swear a blood oath; that I, Irene Navina, nor my contracted spirit Lethum, will harm you or try to retrieve what was freely given to you.” She pricked the tip of her finger on her dagger and let a single ruby droplet fall on the Ilwgwaed coin. The liquid boiled and turned into a red mist as the deal was made.

“Call that thing whatever you like, but it is no spirit. Although I am not sure it is a demon either. It doesn’t matter.” Satisfied, Tamara snatched the item and placed it in the revealing cut of her blouse.

The petite woman moved fast and retrieved a bundle containing her ritualistic kit. Painstakingly slow, she undressed the boy and began to draw eldritch symbols on his chest and forehead. All the while she whispered to herself in the language of the infernal realm. The blue of her eyes was drained, in its place, a dark red began to shine and glow.

Irene stepped away from the table and began rummaging through the racks. This made the witch stop and glare daggers at her.

“The rack on the far left, middle basket, second one from the top. Your things are there, take the entire bundle and keep quiet for a few hours. This is a rather complicated incantation and a lot can go wrong if I mess it up.”

The Witch Hunter did as she was told and without saying a word sat on top of the aged counter. With child-like glee in her eyes, she prepared a Kindra cigarette. She sucked the thick bluish smoke with gusto and let it slide down her throat.

For the first four hours, nothing obvious happened. All the witch did was chant, place all manners of herbs on the boy and finish drawing the intricate symbols. At the mark of the fifth, however, the sigils began to pulsate in a bright green glow. Something began to crawl underneath his skin and a moment later colour returned to his face, his moans of pain ceased and his laboured breathing eased. Tamara did not look all too well in contrast. Sweat covered her brow and she was clearly finding it difficult to stand upright.

“It’s done,” the witch whispered. “What is your name child?”

“Nathaniel…” The youth managed in his confused state and Irene slapped her forehead.

That was his name, it had been bothering her for the last two days that she had forgotten it and she was not going to ask her companion to remind her. The damned thing already had too much to use against her.

“Nathaniel who?” Tamara asked, worry making its way on her face and her delicate fingers tightened around the ceremonial dagger she had kept at the edge of the table.

“Sailor… So, just… Nathaniel.” The boy was finding it difficult to stay focused. “I have no family… and I hail from… no place I can… call home…”

The witch turned to look at Irene for confirmation. “Sounds about right,” she shrugged in response.

“Are sure or not?” Tamara hissed. “I have to know if something malevolent has used the ritual to sneak in.”

“Yes.”

“Yes!” The Witch Hunter exclaimed, venting her frustration on one of the small clay pots lined on the counter next to her.

With a sigh and a smile, the shop’s owner pushed herself from the table and retrieved a small tied napkin. Carefully she undid the small knot and took a small pinch from the white powder stored in it.

“You best not be awake for the next part.” Tamara sprinkled the mixture in the youth’s mouth and caressed his hair.

“Thank you… gorgeous…” Nathaniel whispered and failed to return the witch’s kind smile before succumbing to the sleeping powder.

“Do not be fooled kid, this old hag is practically ancient at this point,” Irene turned to the red-faced witch and gave her a mocking smile. “You are what now? A hundred and sixty?”

“That’s uncalled for!” Tamara hissed back at her. “You know damned well I am only a hundred and twenty-two. Besides, he can’t hear you anymore.”

“She must be the smartest witch I’ve seen.” There was no mistaking this emotion, the thing inside her admired the doll-like woman. Although the same could not be said about her companion. “She will never be able to break her contract. That poor excuse of a crony she has made a deal with is incapable of increasing her power, on the contrary, it is reducing it significantly.”

“And please, keep that monster of yours in its cage, it is literally draining the life from me…” This time there was a hint of pure terror in both her voice and eyes. The defiance and will she had shown hours ago were gone without a trace.

“Now, hold him, while I fix his shoulder.” With that said, Tamara began manipulating the boy’s arm until there was a loud popping sound. She took a moment to examine it and scratched a third, less complex, mark on it. “He should be up by tomorrow or the day after. His head and chest will heal fully by then. The arm will take five or seven days.”

The doll-like woman walked behind the counter and began to gather the remains of the ruined pot. “I’ve done all you asked, now please take him and leave me alone.”

“You did,” the Witch Hunter rhythmically tapped her fingers on the counter. “That’s why I wanted to give you this as well. Think of it as a show of my appreciations for assisting me in this matter.”

“Oh? And what could you possibly have, that is more interesting than the artefact you gave me?” Tamara grunted as she stood up.

The frustration etched on her face was replaced by dread and disbelief as Irene plunged a dagger in her neck.

“You…took…an…oath…” The petite woman gurgled the words with considerable effort.

“I did, but you said it yourself, I cannot be trusted.” She winked at the witch before death took a hold of her.

“There was no need to offer her the coin.” Irene turned to see her companion emerge from the shadow, wearing her skin.

“It was the fastest way to convince her to help.” She shrugged and pulled the cloth covering the nearest basket to wipe the blood from her weapon.

“You understand it is the only thing that will allow you to pass through the protective barriers surrounding the Frozen Keep, right?” The thing walked to the corpse and shook its head. “It is not a toy.”

“Well, and who’s fault is it, that I need it in the first place?” Irene placed a finger on her lips and made a show of trying to think.

“Nonetheless, you violated your contract,” her companions stood next to her and flashed a wicked smile. “Well played.”

The thing’s had flashed and with the iron tip of its gloved hand, it sliced clean through Irene’s throat. It smiled while watching her choke on her own blood. An unpleasant and slow death, but it had its benefits. Seconds after the light of life faded from her eyes, the Witch Hunter blinked and gasped, coughing out the liquid that had gathered in her lungs.

“Couldn’t you just stop my heart or something like this?” She stared at her mirror image inspecting its fingers. “Was the mess really necessary?”

“Most certainly,” the thing giggled and broke one of the racks. “I’ll meet you at the inn in an hour…”

“Twenty minutes.” Irene flung the boy over her shoulder and left her companion to his task.

The afternoon sun was a welcomed change to the gloom of the tight shop and to her surprise, there were fewer people than she expected. Most of them had stopped whatever they were doing and looked at her with both fascination and fear.

“Call the Dusk Brigade.” She ordered with the best commanding tone she was capable of mimicking. “No one is to enter this shop before they arrive. Inform them that a witch has been hiding underneath their noses and they can find me at the “Dancing Rat Inn”. I will be expecting them.”

Now, no one would dare enter the shop after a witch was mentioned. As she walked away, Irene observed chaos spread through the locals like a disease. They would spread rumours and exaggerated stories throughout the town and before the sun was down, Esthergrad would be in an uproar. The perfect time for her to make her exit without two much questions and leave the mess to the cyclops.

Backtracking her way to the inn was no issue, now that she knew which streets to take. Renting a new room and washing the sigils from Nathaniel took significantly longer. On top of that, she had to deal with the angry innkeeper who pestered her about the broken window and the inconvenience it had caused him to evict the occupants of the room she wanted. At least the latter was settled with ease, thanks to sharing a significant amount of the crystal coins, her companion had retrieved from Tamara’s shop.

Now she had a few hours to enjoy life. Irene licked her lips faced with the hard choice which she wanted first; the mug of beer or the Kindra cigarette she had prepared from her ample stocks. With a child-like glint in her eyes, she decided to have both. The sticky foam of the drink complimented the rough taste of the smoke. The moment she exhaled and left the beer on the table, a body crushed through the inn’s door.

Irene recognised Ire’s barking pet. There was no mistaking her red hair and mismatched eyes, even if she was bleeding from a dozen wounds and her attire was in ruin. A dark sigil pulsated on her neck as the girl pushed to her knees and looked directly at her. Through cracked and bruised lips, she said the one word, the Witch Hunter did not want to hear.

“Help…”