Chapter 82: Notes of the Forest Witch

The Brune House finally revealed its secrets, and the truth came out.

"You've had dealings with the Shadowbinders in your family. Any thoughts on how to resolve this?" Rhaegar studied them closely.

Bart swallowed nervously before answering, "Not exactly, but the head of the Shadowbinder who was killed is still kept in the castle for safekeeping."

The headless body of the Shadowbinder had undergone a strange transformation.

Wells realized the significance of the head, so he had his soldiers retrieve it.

"Take me to see it," Rhaegar said firmly.

"As you wish, Prince," Bart agreed, leading Rhaegar to the attic on the sunlit side of the castle.

The attic was pretty desolate and covered in dust, except for a circle of tallow candles casting light on a single object in the center: a pale, white head.

"This is our defense against the curse. By illuminating the head with candles, we prevent the curse from taking hold of it," Bart explained.

"And the shadow creature tried to take the skull?" Rhaegar asked, his brow furrowed in curiosity as he surveyed the eerie sight.

"Not exactly. The creature seems to lack intelligence; we take this measure only as a precaution," Bart explained respectfully.

Before Rhaegar could fully absorb the disturbing sight before him, the creaking of stairs echoed from below.

Sorrel hurried up to the attic, his expression urgent as he delivered the news: "Prince, there's a large group of wildlings surrounding the castle. They claim allegiance to you."

Rhaegar's surprise was obvious.

"Yes, I've put together a group of free folk and they pledged their allegiance to me, seeking refuge from the shadow monsters that roam the lands."

Grateful for Sorrel's initiative, Rhaegar turned to descend the stairs and instructed, "Keep an eye on the head; it may come in handy."

Bart nodded earnestly, "Yes, Prince."

With a quick glance at Bart, Sorrel followed Rhaegar down the stairs.

...

As Rhaegar left the castle, he heard the wildlings howling.

"Roar..."

Cannibal, sensing his approach, lowered his body and offered his back for Rhaegar to mount.

"Head for the walls," Rhaegar said briefly, settling on the Cannibal's sturdy spine.

To Sorrel's astonishment, the black dragon lurched forward, spreading its massive wings to take flight.

Outside the castle walls, a huge crowd of wildlings was waiting.

Some looked scared, while others had the scars of recent battles on them.

As Cannibal circled overhead, his presence caused the wildlings to scatter and fall to their knees in awe.

With a loud thud, Cannibal landed on the ground, his green eyes looking calm and uninterested.

Perched on the dragon's back, Rhaegar surveyed the scene below and asked, "What brings you here? Why have you gathered?"

Amidst the crowd of wildlings, a towering figure emerged, blood seeping from a gash in his shoulder.

"Prince, we were searching for other tribes when we were ambushed by a the creature. Many of us were wounded," Trangal explained, his voice strained with pain.

Rhaegar's eyes widened in surprise. "How many casualties and how large has the shadow monster grown?" he asked.

Trangal grimaced. "Nearly a hundred of our warriors and over three hundred of the local tribe. The shadow creature covers a large area. If it weren't for the bonfire that inadvertently thwarted its advance, our escape would have been perilous."

Rhaegar's concern deepened. "Can we track the Shadow Creature?" he asked eagerly.

"I'm afraid not," Trangal replied with a heavy heart. "The creature is avoiding capture, lurking in the shadows beyond our reach."

Rhaegar furrowed his brow as he considered their next move. He realized that their enemy was hard to find. "We need to act fast," he said aloud, thinking through different ways to deal with it.

Meanwhile, Sorrel, stationed on the city wall, overheard their conversation and voiced his concern. "Prince, if left unchecked, that cursed creature will continue to threaten the peninsula," he warned.

Acknowledging the gravity of the situation, Rhaegar nodded thoughtfully. "Prepare provisions for our guests," he instructed, "and send word to Lord Sam. We will need his counsel to formulate a plan."

As he spoke, Rhaegar could feel the weight of his responsibility bearing down on him.

Although he was young, he knew that it was important to get advice from someone who knew what they were doing when things were unclear.

...

At noon, Sam Crabbe rushed toward Dyre Den with a group of soldiers, relieved to see Cannibal's towering silhouette in the distance.

Entering the fortress with a sense of urgency, he was greeted by Bart, who had been expecting his arrival.

Sam was pretty upset when he heard about Wells' death and the Prince's unexpected visit.

In the waiting room, Sam's meeting with Bart and Sorrel was pretty tense, given that they had a lot of history and a lot of bad blood between them.

Upon discovering Wells' treachery in killing the Shadowbinder and stealing his farmland, Sam's anger only intensified.

Feeling deeply wronged by Wells' actions, Sam seethed with resentment and humiliation.

Unable to remain a silent observer, Rhaegar intervened.

When Bart took control of the Dyre Den, he offered a profuse apology on Wells's behalf, along with double compensation for the confiscated farmland and a thousand gold dragons.

Although he was still unhappy, Sam reluctantly accepted House Brune's compensation, mindful of the looming threat of the Shadow Creature and the Prince's authority.

After all, Wells is already dead, and it is not a good decision to fight House Brune for no reason.

As the meeting got more and more heated, Rhaegar and his advisors gathered around the council table to come up with a plan to deal with the Shadow Creature.

Sorrel's idea was pretty straightforward: "We've got about ninety percent of the wildlings on the peninsula gathered up. We could use some of them as bait in the wilderness."

Trangal's response was venomous: "Black-hearted bastard, why don't you use your old man as bait?"

Sorrel's retort was equally aggressive: "Foolish savage, allowing you to enter the castle is already a generous gesture; don't provoke me into severing your head."

Trangal's taunt escalated the tension. "Let's see if I can't take your head off first and use it as a wine jug."

Rhaegar was getting pretty annoyed, so he bellowed, slammed his fist down on the table, and shot them a stern glare to stop their argument.

As the room fell silent, Rhaegar was pretty annoyed at the way his advisors were arguing with each other.

"What's with all the bickering?" he asked, his frustration evident in his tone.

The two opponents snorted in disdain, each turning their heads defiantly, unwilling to back down.

Sam, who had been watching the exchange from the sidelines, stood up to speak to the prince after the argument had died down. "Prince, the curse seems to be magic-related. Perhaps we could use similar magic to fight it."

"Magic is dangerous. Who among us has the knowledge of such arts? Aside from dragonfire I can't think of anything else." Rhaegar asked.

With a confident grin, Sam stepped forward. "Prince, you must have heard of my ancestor, Clarence Crabb. He was a legendary hero who unified Crackclaw Point and left behind extraordinary stories."

"For example, do you know the origin of Whispers Castle, which belongs to the Crabb House?"

Rhaegar's face clouded with confusion. He wasn't well versed in such history. He looked to Bart for more information.

Understanding the hint, Bart elaborated, "The legend speaks of Clarence's great power and his wife, rumored to be a forest witch. It's said that for every person Clarence killed, a severed head was brought home."

"The forest witch would then kiss these skulls, bringing them back to life, and they became Clarence's silent advisors."

"Since they didn't have any vocal cords, they could only communicate in whispers, which is why the castle is called that."

Rhaegar's eyes sparkled with intrigue as he turned to Sam. "Lord Sam, are you familiar with such magical practices?"

The idea of resurrected heads was indeed rare and intriguing.

Sam cleared his throat, his tone subdued. "We cannot replicate the feats of our ancestors."

"We can't?" Rhaegar's disappointment was palpable. What was the point of mentioning it if it couldn't be replicated?

Sam added, "I don't know anything about magic, but the Forest Witch's notes on it are still in the Whispers."

"Those notes were written in Valyrian, a language that's no longer spoken in our family. However, since you're of ancient Valyrian descent, perhaps you could decipher them."

"Would you be willing to share these priceless magical texts?" Rhaegar's youthful demeanor changed to one of seriousness.

"It's not like there's a shortage of people who know about magic. There are occult studies at the Citadel, but they've never really proven useful."

As he explained, Sam got up from his seat and started to move around the room.

Kneeling before Rhaegar, he spoke with reverence, "Yet I remain hopeful, Prince, that I can assist you in restoring peace to the peninsula and achieving unrivaled greatness."

(Word count: 1,507)