In Need of a Witch

The Human Enemy’s Land, Eleven Hundred Years Before

Thaelen woke slowly, his eyelids heavy under the effects of the spell, dragging him out of a deep sleep, his body grudging to wake. Gera slept curled at his side, his body warm under the covers but that he was not snoring was a dead giveaway that the human was awake. Thaelen tensed, alerted by the human’s wakefulness. It was still night, and the dungeons were quieter during the night-time hours, as the guards would leave off torturing their prisoners.

A burst of male laughter had him gritting his teeth, however it was distant, and faded away – the night-guards at the entrance of the dungeons playing dice as they passed the time.

No, it wasn’t the guards that had Gera sleepless in the night. It was the murmuring of a female voice, repeating the same phrases over and over, her voice barely above a whisper but the words delivered with such fervency that it carried, humming through Thaelen’s bones, standing the hair across the back of hi