Page 96 of The Noldrin Witch

“I’ll be fine,” Morgaine added. “This is not the first time I’ve had to travel with a delicate stomach.”

“Thank you, Morgaine.”

Elise rested her head against the witch’s back, and as she recited every prayer at her disposal, they flew even faster.

The land seemed endless from high above the forests and farms they passed.

They did not stop a single time. Neither of them suggested it. Neither could bear the thought, knowing what was at stake.

In that moment, there was only one kind of magic Elise and Morgaine truly cared about. Not the magic that made the broom fly, nor the magic of the potions inside Morgaine’s satchel, but the magic of making things happen. The resolve to turn one’s deepest wish into reality through one’s own actions. It was that resolve that carried them to the duke’s camp in nearly half the time the journey would have taken under ordinary circumstances.

“We’ve arrived,” Morgaine said, turning to Elise.

Elise drew a sharp breath. “So soon?” She glanced about. Smoke rose above the treetops. She looked frantically around. There it was: the shallow river dividing Falaine and Bromheim, the forest beyond it, and, farther still, a cluster of tents and pavilions.

The few houses in the distance seemed far too battered. For a moment, Elise wondered about the state of the rest of Noldrin. What had happened since she left? Was Lady Patrice’s manor also in ruins?

It was not in Elise’s nature to wish anyone harm, not even those who had wronged her. She felt a pang at the sight of the destruction of her hometown, yet it all felt strangely distant. She found it difficult to see the devastation as a personal loss or the people of Bromheim as her enemies.

Morgaine must have sensed her unease, for she said, “You don’t owe any loyalty to Noldrin. Love of one’s homeland is a tale meant to keep people obedient.”

Elise managed a small nod. There was always a measure of wisdom in everything the witch said. It was plain she had lived for many years. She wondered how many, though perhaps that was one piece of knowledge Morgaine would never reveal.

Among the tents, she quickly spotted a flag bearing the insignia of House Dornheim, its golden embroidery glimmering in the firelight from the watch posts scattered throughout the camp.

The night sky was fading into pink hues of dawn, the sun beginning to rise. The red and blue of the camp appeared brighter by the minute.

Bruno kept flying overhead, a distant watchful ally in their quest to save Kurt.

Soon enough, they descended at the edge of the forest. With one final lurch, the broom came in for a landing. Once on the ground, they could see the pavilion bearing the emblem of House Dornheim heavily guarded. Around it stood eight men of considerable height and solid build, men of battle without a doubt.

To Elise, they looked less like guards and more like the final obstacle between her and Kurt. In Morgaine’s seasoned eyes, however, the men looked more like the final course of a fine meal, a dessert of some sort.

And the witch was not far from the truth. Unknown to them, these were no ordinary guards but an elite company assigned to watch over and protect the duke in his weakened state. They all stood around six feet tall, their broad, well-defined arms left uncovered. Their powerful legs strained against their leggings while fitted leather armor outlined the strength of their torsos. The fellows were undeniably tempting, if one happened to have an inclination toward outrageously handsome men.

And Morgaine most certainly did.

“I’ll distract them while you go to the duke,” Morgaine whispered as she unlatched a satchel from her belt.

Elise took the bag and opened it. Inside were three different potions. She tightened her grip to keep her hands from shaking. She then glanced at Morgaine and the men guarding the pavilion.

“There are far too many soldiers. Are you sure?”

Morgaine drew a slow breath and shook her head. “Darling, I’ve been outnumbered by far worse.”

One of the men stood apart from the others, his dark hair a stark contrast to their golden manes.

“I’ll go for the dark horse first,” Morgaine said decisively as she cinched her already narrow waist and loosened her bodice at the neckline to air a bit more of her rather generous bosom.

“Morgaine!” Elise gasped but before she could object, the witch strolled toward the group with the confidence and poise of someone approaching an old acquaintance rather than eight men armed with swords.

The moment Morgaine stepped away from Elise, Bruno flew to her shoulder. Together, they watched the witch employ what appeared to be remarkably polished tactics.

Morgaine approached slowly, like a lioness closing in on a group of hares. There was something in her way of walking that could not quite be imitated, a confidence earned through years of successful practice. As she approached, the men parted without a word, as though welcoming a queen returning to her court.

Morgaine reached her target. The dark-haired man stood a good two heads taller than she did.

Elise wanted to hear what was being said, but with the song of the birds in the early morning and all the noises that accompany the waking of a new day, she could only imagine what Morgaine had told them. It took no more than a few moments before the men followed the witch to a more private spot, leaving the entrance to the pavilion completely free for Elise to slip inside.