18 Talmot
The general was sore and exhausted. He and Lorna had spent well into the evening in Cora's apple orchard waiting for the witch to unravel the stitch Cora had sewn up in space preventing the two from pursuing the old woman and his lieutenant.
It had been completely dark by the time they were able to step back into Ibudali lands, and at that point, they made camp for the night. He would begin pursuing the old witch in the morning. He assumed she was motivating Gareth's compliance with her magic and sneered to himself at the thought. This was the result of witches using their power without constraint.
Talmot rubbed his ankle as he sat beside the fire. Lorna had conjured the flames almost instantly with a short wave of her delicate fingers. With the boot removed, he could see where the tree root that had kept him stationary back in the orchard. The vine had left a rather distinct imprint that would surely fade to a bruise by morning. Running a hand through his short, rather rapidly graying hair, Talmot let out a tired sigh.
"Where will we be headed come morning?" Lorna asked him, seating herself on the ground across the fire daintily. The look on her face was bored, but her posture was regal. She carried herself like a queen, not a servant. "I could ask the faeries if they have seen the old woman." Her unnatural red hair gleamed in the firelight, dark brown eyes peering at him from a heart-shaped face as if he were her subject.
"Don't ask those pests; they will only tell you lies," he said gruffly.
"They cannot lie. It is not in their nature to do so," she told him indifferently. From her tone, he could tell she was not arguing, merely stating a fact. She brushed at her pristine white dress, somehow unmarred by the day's activities, and shifted in her seat on the ground, the black markings on her neck making her head appear almost detached from her body in the dim light. The younger woman was eternally indifferent.
"I still don't trust them," he told her shortly. "We will pick up the trail in the morning, find some horses on the way. It shouldn't be hard to track them in daylight."
Lorna nodded and reclined her body to a sleeping position, she turned her back to the fire, and Talmot rightly assumed the conversation was over. He didn't mind; the less interaction he had with the woman, the better he thought. She was only here as a tool, a means to an end. Talmot wasn't clear on the details as to why the granddaughter of Cora Delvine was so important to the king, but from his understanding, she was an essential piece in putting an end to magic in Ibudal for good.
He had gleaned as much from Marcaius Mont during one of their brandy sessions back in the capital. Talmot wasn't a politician, but he was willing to play his part to put an end to the species of witches all together. If he came out of this ordeal, a rich man, well, he was not going to complain about that. He could tolerate the woman a little longer.
Talmot tugged his black boots back on and rested his head on a log, hoping that the protection spell Lorna had cast would keep the fae out of their camp, and drifted into a dreamless sleep.
* * *
In the morning, it wasn't tricky picking up the trail of Gareth and Cora, Talmot had correctly assumed they would keep off the road, and the breakage of underbrush was unmistakable. Even with a half day's headstart, the general was confident he was gaining on them slowly. It wouldn't be long before he had the old woman in his possession.
Talmot wasn't sure how Cora could lead him back to her granddaughter. Still, even if the old witch was telling the truth about Caroline's whereabouts, he was confident that her grandmother would be a valuable bargaining chip.
"The trail turns north," Lorna told him from up ahead on the path. Her curved frame, tall and shapely, stood before him with arm outstretched, pointing at a smaller trail leading off the main road. The little path was only wide enough for a single horse to pass through, likely meant as a shortcut to the North Road for local inhabitants. Talmot could see a few small shoe prints near the edge of the forest and confirmed Lorna's claim.
"Why would they go north?" Talmot asked aloud, more to himself, but Lorna still replied with a shrug.
"East would bring them to the Monts. They hate witches, at least the father does. Astrophel's lands may be more hostile, but he may lend a more sympathetic ear to the crone. It is doubtful she would know any of this, but maybe your lieutenant informed her." Lorna expounded on her shrug and raised an eyebrow to Talmot.
"My man would do nothing of the kind, threat, or no." Talmot spat at the woman. The red-haired witch shrugged again. Every witch he met seemed to had been plagued with indifference. He could tell she took a particular manner of pride in her abilities, almost relishing in violence when she was allowed to use her powers for such, but rarely had any valuable input when it came to strategy or tactics.
It appeared she couldn't care less about the outcome of any given situation. Did loyalty mean nothing in Ibudal? He thought to himself. Lorna was only loyal out of contractual obligation; the terms of her contract were only to use magic if deemed necessary by the crown. In this case, Talmot was acting on behalf of the crown. The agreement, which he kept sealed in his coat pocket, had been amended to say as much.
The pair continued north, picking up the trail Lorna had pointed out. Going this way would mean their chances of procuring horses might take longer than he would have wanted, but it was a sacrifice he would have to make for now. Cold anger bubbled inside him, stewing just under the surface as they continued on the footpath.
The sky was overcast, the trees looming over them like dark spirits hovering above. Talmot felt distinctly unsettled. He had never traveled to this region of Ibudal and only heard folk tales about the faeries that resided here. He had seen no evidence of the creatures as yet. A few times, the trail appeared to turn cold, or a sound would emanate from the tree line breaking the unnatural silence. Talmot did not startle easily, but his soldier's instincts told him that they were being watched.
Talmot kept his guard up with his hand at his sword for the next few hours they traveled on foot. Before long as the sun was beginning to set, the pair arrived at a small village that possessed a single inn for which the general was grateful more than he willing to admit. After his nights at sea with the last he spent sleeping on the ground, he almost cracked a smile at the thought of a warm bed for the night.
Lorna secured the rooms at The Spotted Hog, the sign atop the doorway displaying a rather large pig flopped down in a puddle of mud, while Talmot sought out the stablemaster in hopes of procuring horses for their ride tomorrow. When the transaction was complete, the horses looked a little underfed, but they would do. He joined Lorna in the common room of the inn to discuss their next course of action.
He slipped in the front door and brushed the dust from the road from his black Ibudali cloak, turning to hang it by the door. Scanning the room, he noted only a few patrons seated at the tables near the bar area and Lorna sitting by herself in a booth toward the back of the room. A bard was tuning her lute as the sun's setting rays filtered in through the windows.
He nodded to the middle-aged barkeep and motioned for the sandy-haired man to bring ale to the table Lorna occupied. Talmot made his way over to the witch, drawing the eyes of those seated already in the room. It was clear they did not see armed soldiers in the area often. The barkeep placed the ale in front of Talmot as he seated himself across from the witch. He felt some of the tension the day had carried release from his broad shoulders. Lorna's flaming red hair gleamed in the rays from the setting sun as she stared listlessly out of the grimy window. She had already finished half of a large glass of deep red wine.
"A faerie followed us here," she told him, not shifting her gaze from the view outside.
"And you are just now informing me of this?" Talmot seethed back through gritted teeth, the anger that had been stewing within him bubbling to the surface.
"It would have heard me if I told you on the road," she said, still not looking in his direction. Talmot silently cursed the witch and the contract she had signed. He had heard that some witches were forbidden entirely from lying, the magic in their contracts binding them sole to the truth. He believed that this should be standard for all deals, but Lorna's agreement only stated that she must be forthcoming with information when asked.
Talmot did not entirely understand the rationale, but the king had told him that forbidding witches from lying, while useful, could have unintended consequences. Therefore Lorna would have leeway in telling the truth or offering information. The woman seemed to be using this facet of her agreement to her advantage. That or she didn't care, Talmot was unsure of which at this point.
"We leave before dawn tomorrow, best to move before prying eyes can notice our departure," Talmot grumbled. "What news from the barkeep?" Lorna finally met the eyes of the general. Talmot thought her brown eyes almost appeared too large for her heart-shaped face.
Her stare was so intense he almost looked away, but being a man who had prided himself on his stony ability to maintain eye contact with anyone on the battlefield, he refused to yield. She was alluring but also dangerous, much like a poisonous flower. He could see she was wrestling with something internal before speaking.
"Two Ibudali vampire captains passed through here yesterday speaking of a witch disturbance close to Castle Mont. They drained two serving girls before they left the next morning." The witch blurted out the words as if they had come unbidden. Talmot could see the obligation of her contract worked well when she was asked a direct question.
He would have to keep that in mind for later. He watched as she lifted the wine with delicate fingers and drained the remainder of the glass. It was clear that being forced to speak against her will made the woman uncomfortable. Talmot wondered why she didn't want to share the news of the traveling captains.
"Interesting. I'll speak with barkeep myself shortly. You may retire for the night now." He ordered her. Talmot was unsure if the witch would comply at first as she continued to stare off into the quickly approaching dusk. After a pause, she exited the booth in one fluid motion without sparing another glance at the general.
He thought he caught a glimpse of blue streak by the window from the corner of his eye, but upon further examination, determined there was nothing out there besides the quiet village street and the stars approaching on the horizon.
The general signaled for the sandy-haired barman to bring him another ale and leaned back into his seat, pondering on the new information the witch had given him. Talmot had met Greir and Basla before, and as usual, their reputation had preceded them. He looked forward to what information they might further divulge when he caught up with them.
