Copse Hill by G.R. Wilgar

Copse Hill by G.R. Wilgar

"Garien the Green knew many secrets and many stories. He held back the darkness for the free people with a song and a smile"

- from The Tales of Garien the Green, Origin unknown.

Journeyman Caster shielded his eyes to the sun as he crested the hill. Dusk was drawing in and the setting sun bathed the surrounding meadows and farmlands in a golden glow. Below spread a small village, where people were just beginning to light candles and cook fires. The most obvious centre of activity was just on the village outskirts, where a low, two-story thatch and cob Inn stood like a sentinel, waiting to receive guests.

"You seem contented today, Caster." The familiar deep voice of his Fae, Ember, resonated through the young Journeymans head. It was true; Casters heart was unusually light today, even after days trekking through the wilderness. After a moment the young man replied, "Our Bond is feeling strong after resting in the Faelen Glade and I am now looking forward to a soft feather pillow."

Caster turned and called down to the main road that was little more than a dirt track. “Aye, Darret, the village is here! Told you we’d arrive today! No more complaining about no hot baths!” Caster had a jovial Amalarian accent that belonged in The Four Counties, though it was hard to place exactly where. Standing in the light of the waning sun, Caster cut an impressive figure with dark blond hair, blue eyes and unkempt stubble to match. He wore a cotton shirt rolled up at the sleeves and a roughspun green cloak clasped by a brass-lace broach. Most distinctively, he wore a waistcoat made of patches in every colour and style, marking Caster as a young Jongler.

Caster carefully picked his way down the steep hill to where a donkey and the man Darret waited.

“Thank Goodness” said Darret, “I thought we would be camping another night.” Darret looked very different to Caster. Tall and bespectacled, he had close cropped black hair and a well-made, if a little worn, tweed suit.

“Well if anything, at least Baffle here will be grateful to get the weight of his hooves,” replied Caster, patting their beast of burden as it lowered its head to munch on a tuft of grass.

“How far?” asked Darret,

Caster shrugged, “‘Bout a mile, give or take. We’d better get a shifty on though as their local Dog and Duck will be filling up.” Caster took a staff from the back of Baffle where it lay amongst their leather backpacks and other travel luggage.

The staff stood at around shoulder height and was carved from Ash, shod with metal and had a leather thong at the top. Caster strode forward, and the group continued its plodding way down the main road towards the village.

For all his complaining Darret knew that the journey had been worth it. Both he and Caster had needed a Faelen Glade, a place where the Fae world was close to their own, to replenish their Magic. Luckily, Caster knew of such a place deep within the wild forests between Treshire and Grenwald. Darret felt privileged to be taken there and would go to the grave before revealing such a secret place to any other, even though his college only knew of four. Feeling in his jacket he touched the hidden Everbranch, the source of a Magi's Power. Darrets Everbranch had been in sore need of infusing. 

Magic when used outside of a Faelen Grove was a finite resource; the more magic you used the more often one would need to return. Rest in those secret places made up for any arduous journey.

"I feel something in the air," came the voice of Ember from the air near Caster, "Hmmm, it has moved away, perhaps it was nothing."

Caster laughed, "I think you're being paranoid again, Ember. What you can feel is how much I want to get hold of Grenwald Ale."

As they approached the village they passed a sign proclaiming the village as Fallowroot of County Grenwald, upon arrival they headed straight for the local inn, The Fallow.

Approaching the entrance, a boy bounded up to lead their donkey away. Caster smiled, producing a penny from behind the boy’s ear, whose eyes went wide with excitement as he recognized the colours of a Jongler. Darret rolled his eyes and they entered the pub that was already in full swing for the evening. Warmth, light and conversation swept them into the parlour where a large group of farmers and assorted locals chatted, drank and smoked. The farmers here were speaking Dornanon, the rather brusque sounding language most spoken throughout The Western Kingdom. Grenwald had been particularly oppressed during The Harrying of The Four Counties around 50 years ago and the Old 

Amalrian language had been almost completely lost here. However, if you listened carefully you could still hear the sing song accent and the occasional word or expletive that harkened back to different times.

A huge fireplace took up most of the far wall, with a bar to its right. The place had a clean rustic feel to it, with a floor of beaten earth, strewn with reeds and a crowd of locals sitting around several wooden tables seeming to talk as one. They hardly noticed the two newcomers.

Approaching the bar, a middle-aged man wearing a stained brown apron came to meet the them. 

“Hullo there, lads," he began with a deep baritone, absentmindedly cleaning the bar, "welcome to The Fallow. Room is it? And I see we have a Jongler with us?” The barman smiled, “Well that will deal with your room and board, Master…?”

“Caster. We are here for a night, maybe two.” Caster returned the smile.

“And your friend…?” The barman turned to Darret.

"I’ll be paying as opposed to performing,” Darret replied dryly.

The barman nodded his satisfaction, “that’s tuppence for the bed and another for your board then.”

“Thankyou….” The conversation continued along the same tired ruts they had been running for the past three months since an unfortunate incident with a necromancer left both travellers indebted to the other and consequently became, though they would never admit it, quite good friends. Caster began to spin a yarn about their travels and Darret left the pair to it after receiving a pint of Ol'Mary, a strong perry from this region of which he was rather fond.

Darret walked to a small table away from the other guests. The patrons eyed him with not a little distrust as he took his seat. Darret was unmistakably a “not from round here” type of traveller. Born to a middleclass family of silver smiths in the Western Kingdoms most powerful country, Dorn, he was a far cry from the weathered and worn village farmers that populated this part of the world. Not to mention he had also attended the Queens University, earning the seal of an Adept. Furthermore, he had augmented his university education by attending The Secret College where he had become an accepted Magi. Magic was feared and not understood by most “right-thinking” folk. The Secret College taught and researched the ancient powers and Fae knowledge. This in mind, he was also confident that no one in the bar could read and retrieved a sheet of paper, ink and an unfeathered quill from inside his jacket and began to write.

‘My Jongler friend once again surprised me in showing me a previously unknown Faelen Glade, the location of which I shall not divulge. On our travels he told me of his secretive order of exiled Amalarian guardians that masquerade as storytellers and bards. As legend goes they have been protecting the territories of Old Amalar from the dangers of Fae and the Underverse since days of Garien the Green. However, since The Harrying of The Four Counties and the Viat Church Crusades, their numbers have been brutally reduced. Reportedly, there are less than five fully cloaked Masters and even fewer training novices.....'

Just as Darrat reached to re-ink his pen, the unmistakable lilting notes of a Treshire squeezebox cut through the parlours’ chatter and all became quiet as Caster began play his first piece. The Jongler had removed his cloak, revealing his bright, many coloured waistcoat. He moved to be in the rooms centre and began a sombre tune that cut to the hearts of all that listened, bringing thoughts of autumn harvest and gentle rain. The Treshire squeezebox was a most singular instrument from The Four Counties: two carved wooden hexagons with buttons to control the notes connected by a concertina. Casters squeezebox was dark brown, the concertina looked as if it had been repaired many times and the buttons were worn with use. The sounds the squeezebox made were earthy and powerful, as unstoppable as the seasons themselves. He brought the piece to a close and you could a hear a pin drop in the once noisy parlour.

Caster bowed, and the patrons began to clap, though it was subdued as if coming out of a dream.

“I am a humble Jongler, here to entertain, but don't tell your wives or they might think you're enjoying yourselves.” The audience chuckled, and Caster began to sing the bawdy classic "For One and All", jauntily accompanied by the squeezebox. From there Caster led the parlour on a merry ride of jokes, songs and stories for an hour straight. Ever the true showman, the Jongler danced around tables and cajoled audience members into singing new verses. Everyone seemed entertained and began to get pleasantly sloshed.

Just as Caster was thinking of throwing down his cap for a few pennies and drawing his first performance to a close, the parlour door burst open. Instantly, the spell was broken as men fell down or staggered away from the entrance. A hulking man shambled into the room. The intruder loomed in the door seeming to take up half the parlour. His eyes were wide and blood shot, staring straight ahead as if he could not see the chaotic scene before him.

Caster jumped away towards the bar where he carefully stowed his squeezebox under the desk. The barman had rushed out from the back at the sound of the disturbance. Upon seeing the figure in the door his eyes widened.

“Herric! What are you doing? What’s happened?!” The barman cried, quickly approaching the huge man. “C’mon lad, have a drink and sit down so we can get the Doctor to have a look at you!”

Herric looked down at the barmen with wide eyes. He roared and smashed the barman off his feet, throwing him like a ragdoll against the wall where he crumpled to the floor. His wife, entering the bar, screamed. The men who had seemed frozen in place scrambled further back. A short, portly farm hand grabbed a stool and grimaced tensely, approaching Herric with white knuckled determination.

Herric began to shamble forwards and suddenly moved with terrifying speed, barrelling over the farm hand who fell on his arm with a sickening crack, the stool smashing into pieces. The men in the bar broke, calling out prayers and curses, vaulting the bar and heading for the back door.

Only Caster and Darrat stayed where they were. Since the figure had hit the barman, Darret had been staring intently at the table, clutching his jacket and muttering. Finally, the barman’s wife and one of the braver farmers had dragged the barman’s prostrate body away leaving a nasty dark stain. With the last of the people gone, Darrat stopped muttering and pulled his Everbranch from the hem of his jacket. It looked like a freshly cut switch, just over a foot long, with green leaves and buds along its length.

Caster was looking warily at the figure in the centre of the room. “Watch it Darret,” he said grimacing, his voice uncharacteristically sombre, “it’s a Rotter- nasty business.” Then he whispered, 

"I need your help Ember,” and a silver ring on his finger dissolved into a red streak of fire that began to fly around Caster.

“At your command,” said Ember, the voice emanating from the ball of flame.

Herric, the Rotter, swayed where he stood, staring at his hands. Darret flicked his wand and several bottles from behind the bar flew at the wretched creature. They impacted him with sickening cracks and smashes, covering the thing in multitudes of coloured liquids, making it stagger sideways.

Its eyes darted up, focusing on Darret.

“That was not sensible, Darret,” said Caster calmly, as the creature flailed its arms and went for the unfortunate Magi.

Casters eyes went inky black, whites and all. He pulled the streak of flames that was Ember into his hands. Darret dived out of the way as the deranged figure barrelled into a table, back peddling with surprising agility to prevent itself from falling in the huge fireplace. Flames flew from Casters hands, striking Herric in the back. The scream was high pitched, the rough spun farmers clothes catching fire. With terrifying speed, it ran on all fours up the wall, head turned around at an inhuman angle. Like a fleshy spider it scrabbled round the ceiling towards Caster, who was following it with fiery arcs. Darret jumped to his feet and glowing silver arrows flew from his Everbranch. They struck the flailing Rotters side, it howled and hissed. Quick as a flash the Rotter was on top of Caster, screeching and clawing at his neck. Grunting and falling down, Caster kicked up, trying to prevent having his neck torn open. The creature kept coming.

“Caster!” Darret called, he tried to aim at the two writhing figures. He hesitated, this close he could easily hit Caster; flashy magic such as flame or lightening could be quite imprecise. Instead he looked around wildly for a way to help.

Caster could smell the rot from the beast’s mouth, its’ black spittle spraying onto him. With scrabbling hands, it gouged his arms causing blood to well. Roaring, Caster sprayed flame from his mouth into the Rotters face. It did not let up.

Spluttering as the things horrendous weight bore down, squeezing the air out of Caster, he got out four words to Darret, “GO. FOR. THE. HEAD!”

Gripped with a sudden purpose, Darret ran forward, producing a ghostly blue axe head from the tip of his Everbranch, screaming and cutting down as if splitting wood, burying the axe head deep into the creature’s skull. Suddenly it stopped, shuddered and went limp, eyes rolling to the back of its head.

Caster struggled out from under the slumped creature, swearing and getting to his feet.

“You look like dung,” said Darret dispassionately. Sleeves ripped and arms dripping blood from several gouges combined with his still black eyes, Caster looked like a Jongler from the Underverse.

“I’ve had worse, seems I am twice indebted to your swift action,” Caster replied with a grin, “Good thinking with that spell earlier getting everyone to leave."

Darret shrugged, "It was a simple case of pushing them in the direction they already wanted to go."

"How long will it last?”

“Only a few more minutes,” Darret frowned, looking at his Everbranch. He saw that the leaves were beginning to turn brown as if it was entering Autumn; he had used a significant amount of energy casting spells. Hopefully, not much more Magic would be needed this night. The Magi turned back to Caster, “Now what?”

Caster walked over to the crumpled mess that had once been Herric. “First we work out what sent it, magic like this must leave a mark.” He crouched down and began examining the wound, Darret joined him.

They peered into the gaping headwound. Inside the brain matter was black and beginning to ooze out, the smell was horrendous.

"Could be a Wych," Darret suggested putting a handkerchief over his face.

Caster grimaced, "I'm not sure, the attack just seemed too ham-fisted for a Wych." The Jongler reached his hand down and just as it touched the wretched creatures head he had a flash of clairvoyance. He saw Darkness, Symbols, a wood and then two yellow eyes staring with contempt. "Argh!!" Caster cried pulling back his hand as if burned.

"What did you see?" Darret asked, looking concerned.

Caster took a moment before saying, "I think it was a Hag. Do you agree Ember?"

"I agree," said Ember, who had come to float in his favoured fire ball form over the corpse, "Too dead to be a Wych, I could feel the Underverse pulsing within the vision."

Caster grimaced, "Now that's done let’s move this body into the fire." Darret nodded his agreement and together they hauled the huge man into the fire.

Caster then channelled Ember, stoking the flames until the body was covered by a raging inferno. Manipulating fire was a lot less costly on The Bond, Caster was very aware that in the panic of battle he had used much more magic than he had intended. The room filled with evil smelling green smoke combined with the smell of burning hair and cooking meat. At that moment men entered from behind the bar and through the front entrance. They carried cudgels and pitchforks, their faces grim and determined. Darret furtively returned the Everbranch to his coat and Ember once again became a ring on Casters finger and returned his eyes to their brilliant blue.

One of the men stepped up declaring himself the constable and asked the two men what had happened.

“We tried to calm him, but something had taken his mind,” Caster replied grimly. “After assaulting me he dived into the fire, must've been some Wychcraft from the Underverse.”

Darret always marvelled at how easily Caster rolled into half-truths and characters. “I can vouch his words, for what it’s worth,” He said evenly, “How is the Barman and that young farm hand who were injured?”

“I am afraid Darren the barmen died, the other has not yet woken, arm was badly broken.”

Darret and Caster looked down, thinking on how they didn’t even know the poor man’s name. “Well,” said Caster, clearing his throat, “Who was this man… Herric?”

“Herric, was a woodsman up on Copse Hill, North West of here, lived there with his daughter in a small cottage. Was always a nice enough lad…but now this…” The Constable looked at the fireplace and then quickly away as if ashamed.

Caster and Darret exchanged worried looks. “Had he started acting strange?” Caster said biting his lip. Darret could sense his urgency.

The constable held his hands in front of him in a gesture of calm, “I didn’t know him well apart from to buy charcoal.”

“I knew Herric!” Said a voice from the crowd, a short wiry man with a black beard, dressed in heavy homespun shirt and trousers, in his hand was a sturdy looking billhook. “I worked wit’ him in the same copse. He hasn’ been working recently, hasn’ been t’ same since he found that barrow in his back yard.”

The crowd started a low hum of chatter.

“That sounds an awful lot like superstition to me.” said Darret, the assembled peoples glared at him. To play the sceptical scholar was normally his role. He raised an eyebrow to them, light glinting from his round lensed glasses, “Perhaps he had the Froth from a wild animal.” Some of the crowd seemed mollified. Froth was serious business and not unheard of for those working in wilderness jobs. However, others were less easy to convince and would likely never be satisfied.

“Anyway,” Caster started loudly, “I need to clean these arms and I think we shall retire for the evening.” Before anyone could object, Darret and Caster swept out the room.

“Are we really going to bed?” asked Darret, concerned as they entered the backroom that led to the stairs, “that girl may be in some trouble.”

“Of course not,” Caster scoffed from the hall, retrieving his stave and cloak. They left out the back door. "And to think, I thought we would have a quiet night."

The pair sped through the village, women were standing outside their front doors in night gowns looking worried, crying babies pierced the night. Keeping their heads down, they headed to the dark hill that Caster guessed would be the one.

The night filled with a cold breeze and a cloudy sky, few stars could be seen, and the moon provided little light. Once out of the village, the darkness pressed even closer. Looking to see no one was about, Caster called Ember who lit their way. Anyone who saw would probably assume they held a torch. Darret took out his Everbranch, holding it ready as if he expected another attack at any moment. As they walked, Caster treated his wounds with an ointment, Grey Fungus Essence, from his cloak. It smelled foul and stung but would stave off an otherwise inevitable infection. He took a bandage from another pocket and wrapped his arms, chewing on some dulling leaves he pulled from the hedgerow. That would do, until this sorry business was concluded.

The dirt track they had taken, began to climb upwards and bent several times. As they walked, Darret asked in barely more than a whisper, "What exactly is a hag? They are mentioned in folklore as evil old women with magical powers. They were never mentioned in the Secret College."

Caster looked at him grimly and was slow to reply. "A Hag is the spirit of an evil witch, they have little body but can become quite powerful. It is what happens when a cruel magic user steps past what it is to be human." Caster shuddered, "Hags are extremely rare. Not many Wych-kin are powerful enough to stick around after death. Somehow, she must have been bound to that uncovered barrow. We will need to see it." They continued their trek in silence.

Finally, a shadow loomed in front of them, twisted hands reaching to the dark sky: the wood. The dirt path continued and was swallowed into the darkness of the woods. By the side of the path stood a sign that bore the legend:

                ‘Copse Hill, No Trespassing’

"This is a big wood and it's night. How are we going to search it, Caster?" said Darret in dismay. Caster smiled that sly grin that told you that he had already thought of an answer. 

"What?" said Darret, exasperated. Caster was a performer and could be counted on to add to a situations drama.

"Why..." Caster purred, "our coppice friend who has been following us for the last mile will take us straight there." He pointed into the dark behind them. "Ember! Give me light!" As commanded, the fireball of Ember zipped ten metres away and lit up dazzlingly bright. As Darrets eyes adjusted, he saw that Herric's friend from the inn was crouched behind a bush.

"Come out friend," called Caster, "you've already seen too much." The man slowly approached, billhook in hand and eyes wide with terror.

"What are you people? Black eyes like a demon!" He exclaimed, mouth hanging a little open, pointing at Caster.

"No no, that is a peculiarity from channelling a fae, but that is unimportant. We are Darret and Caster, other than that, he is a Magi who meddles with things best left alone. And I," he said with a flourish and a bow, "am a journeyman of the Ancient and Most Venerable Order of Jonglers who have been spinning yarns and holding back the dark since the time of our founder Garien the Green in days of old".

"I heard some of them University blokes orf East might do sommit magical like, but Jonglers? First I eard a ‘em," the man replied, still stunned at how far south his night was going.

"Well it wouldn't be a very good secret order if all and sundry knew about us now, would it?" Caster said annoyed. "Either way, that is not the concern of the moment. What is your name?"

"Ivan, Sir."

"Please, Caster is fine," Caster said waving a hand, "I require your services as a guide this night. Would you like to save your friends daughter and in the process save your village?"

Ivan looked at him fearfully then grimaced, "I want to try Mr Caster, Sir."

"Good!" Caster smiled, the combination of his eyes and toothy grin was like a shark and not an altogether comforting sight.

Caster narrowed his eyes at Ivan, "How long has it been since Herric uncovered the grave?"

"A week. I saw it the day after he uncovered it."

Casters face darkened with worry, "Oh merciful pantheon!" he whispered. "and all this time she's probably been glading"

"Like a faelen glade?" Darret inquired.

"Similar," Caster answered, "Faelen glades are normally old and well established, they also deal with, as the name suggests, Fae magic. This is different, it has moved past the Shadren, Hags by their nature bleed into the Underverse."

Ivan looked, if it were possible, more terrified.

"Oh, Lords above save us," he croaked.

"'Fraid he's out so we're gonna have to do," Caster quipped, putting a comforting arm round the woodsmans shoulder and giving him a smile.

"But what can we do? We could end up like Herric," Ivan said with pleading bleeding into his voice.

"Unlikely," Caster said comfortingly, "possession is a game played long and normally only works when the possessed doesn’t know what's happening."

"No," he continued, "I imagine she will more likely tie us down and play skip rope with our entrails while we watch". Ivan baulked and surely would have run away if Caster hadn't held him firm. "However, that will happen to the whole village if we don't do something about her now," Caster said pointedly. Ivan stilled and after a second seemed to muster himself.

"Okay," Ivan agreed finally.

Casters smile broadened, "Good, you've made the right choice." He sounded like an uncle consoling a favourite nephew about finishing a particularly unpleasant piece of schoolwork.

Ivan grimaced, "How?"

"Bones?" Inquired Darret, startling Ivan. "The Hag must have a physical tie somewhere, if it truly is the spirit of a Wych."

Caster nodded, "Quite correct, with the remains we can then perform a banishment. If Ivan shows us the grave, we do the ritual and the bad things go away. Simple. And if we move the bones into the house we should be safe."

Ivan looked puzzled, "Why?"

"Because Hags cannot enter a house without permission. Surely you've heard the stories?" Caster replied.

"I don't know what to believe anymore," Ivan admitted.

Just then the wind howled through the group, seeming to claw at their clothes, pulling them towards the dark forest. The group looked over to the forest. It seemed to suck any light, hope or happiness away, bending it like a gnarled hand snaring a small animal. Choking it. Darrets eyes wandered to the entrance. He noticed a small figure that stepped out from behind a tree next to the path. As he focused on it he saw that the figure was wearing a white night dress. He stepped back, fear gripping his gut and twisting.

"By the powers!" he breathed.

To Darret, the world seemed to bend towards the figure. It was closer now, hair, matted to its face, skin grey. Darret was rooted, transfixed with horror. The face loomed large before him. He could smell it; decaying flesh clawing down his throat. He tried to wretch. Suddenly it looked up and two yellow orbs stared. A hand grabbed him and he started. As quickly as it came, the vision was gone and the figure no longer there. Darret looked to Caster, who held both he and Ivan by the wrists. To Darrets amazement, he and Ivan were posed as if they were trying to walk towards the woods. Caster stared directly from where the vision came, statue like, face grim.

After what seemed an age Caster nodded, "She has grown powerful indeed." He pulled Ivan and Darret away, "Don't follow the voices or the visions."

Ivan shuddered, "Don't need telling twice."

Caster smiled, "Good. Visualise a sunny afternoon walking through the woods with friends. The Hags power lies in terror! We must resist."

"Do you have the foci?" Darret interjected. Caster rummaged in his cloak and pockets, after a moment he pulled out a small brown bag, a dull grey coin with an embossed pentagram and a yellow tallow candle.

"Salt, Iron and a tallow candle. Always at the ready." he put them away, "Now, Ivan lead on!"

They turned towards the wood and began to walk, shaky at first and then with a building determination. Anxiety and tension was thick between the three companions. As they approached, the trees seemed to beckon them, their gnarled faces sneering tall and sinister.

Upon passing the Copse Hill sign and entering the trees, the temperature dropped noticeably. All three men shivered and pulled their clothes tighter around them. Darret lit the end of his wand, causing it to radiate with a bluish light, adding to the firelight cast by Ember. Ember had been unusually quiet; he was probably trying not to break Ivans mind too much, a floating ball of fire was quite far enough for now.

They continued down the path, the darkness pressing in on all sides. Darret felt a prickle on the back of his neck as if he was being watched. He looked back the way they came. The girl stood there only metres away, yellow orbs staring. "Ahh!" he cried, turning his Everbranch and throwing a bolt of lightning. The girl disappeared, and the lightning struck bare earth. Laughter seemed to fill the air around them.

Caster pulled him around, "Don't draw attention! We should be safe in the light. The hag has little physical influence but- AHHHHHHHH!!!!!" Caster flailed, Ivan screamed too, and they fell to the ground.

"What the Underverse!" Darret cried. Gnarled roots grasped the legs of Ivan and Caster pulling them into the dark.

"Oh piddlestones!" Embers deep voice reverberated in its usual level tone and the fireball went out, plunging Caster into darkness. Darret instinctively flung lightning near his feet, withering a questing root. Ivan had not quite been dragged away and was putting up a good fight, hitting back the roots again and again with his billhook, roaring ferociously. Darret ran to help Ivan, throwing another lightning bolt into the dark where the roots were grasping at Ivan. The woody hands burned and withered away and Ivan scrambled to his feet. Darret felt the light of the Everbranch dim. Squinting in the darkness, he saw his Everbranch had now lost all its leaves, Darret could now only feel a trickle of residual Magic left. That meant no more flash magic and extra care would be needed to maintain the light spell.

"Look" shouted Ivan in awe. Looking up Darret saw what he meant. In the dark where Caster had been taken, a sphere of light was shining.

Caster hit his head on the ground as he was pulled away from Darret, stunning him. Dazed, he realised his stave was still clasped in his hand. Branches whipped at Casters face and the darkness pressed in around him. Caster tried to clear his mind to summon Ember. The Fire Fae materialised, a whizzing ball of flames, pushing back the dark. Caster felt himself be pulled off the ground, upside down. A shadowy form flew through the darkness around him. He grimaced and summoned the Power of Ember. It coursed through him like a maelstrom of heat pulsing in his veins. The Power strengthened him and filled him with a restless fury. Directing his mind, the Jongler channelled the Fae into his stave, pure fire, wind and fury. It flashed through the air striking around him again and again. The branches scratched at his face, Caster tasted blood enraging him further.

Suddenly, he was falling and the tree shrinking away. He hit the ground and the wind rushed out of him. Caster just about held his link with Ember. Darret and Ivan emerged out of the darkness as Caster got to his feet, feeling bruised but luckily nothing was broken. The Jongler felt for Embers bond and found it dwindled; he had used too much power. Now they were in trouble. The glade seemed to sap his Bond faster almost as if.... Caster cursed, it was the Underverse Glade, it was feeding off them like a parasite hungrily consuming their power. I should of thought of this, my master would of. The young Jongler had never felt more foolish or inexperienced. Master Hathorn should never have released him to Journeyman, now he could end up getting him and his companions killed.

"The Hags Glade is sapping our powers," he said as the others got to him, "We have to be quick!"

"That would explain a lot." Darret sighed.

"What!?" Ivan shouted in disbelief, "what are we gonna do if another of those things attacks us?"

The words tore at Caster, "I am sorry" he said weakly, "if I hadn't rushed here, perhaps we would have seen this coming."

Darrat patted him on the shoulder,"Don't take all the blame, I should have realised too. We at the College are not completely ignorant of this phenomenon. We are spiritually further from the Fae, therefore latent diffusion of magic is higher."

"Thank you for your kind words, whatever they were." Caster said coyly.

Ivan looked from one to the other, "But what do we do about it!" he shouted pleadingly. Caster and Darret looked at each other with similarly anxious faces.

After a pause Caster spoke "Ummmm, we run" and without further prompting the group of would be heroes sprinted into the darkness, back to the main path as fast as they could, Ivan leading them down the copse's dirt paths. Even as they ran, both the light of Ember and Darrets Everbranch began to dwindle, reducing visibility considerably. Out the corners of their eyes they saw dark shapes and bright yellow orbs that seemed to press in as the light around them reduced. They all knew instinctively that when their lights went out nothing would hold back the evil things that lurked in the shadows. Ahead a light pierced the darkness, a ray of hope. As they got closer the light turned out to be a window in the door of a small cottage. Without pause they crashed through the door, which was luckily unbarred. Caster was last through and slammed the door behind them.

Inside, the cottage was a stark contrast to the gloom they had just exited. The room that they had entered was brightly lit by several oil lamps. Wicker chairs and a wooden table dominated most of the room and a small wood burning stove in the corner had warmed the room to a very comfortable temperature. A door lead to the cottages rear, another door lay open on the right.  A cry sounded from the open door.

Then a young girls tearful voice cried out, "Please, leave me alone!"

Ivan called back "Anna! It’s me Ivan, we're here to help!" Silence, and then a young girl with long blond hair, face streaked with tears, hesitantly peaked around the corner of the room. Upon recognising Ivan she slowly came forward. The girl, Anna, could have only been eight or nine years old, was slightly spindly and wore a simple blue dress.

"Where is Father?" Anna said shakily. Caster and Darret looked away, hearts suddenly heavy. Up until this point, neither had thought of the sad news about her father and how he met his end.

Ivan approached the girl and knelt before her, "I am sorry to tell you that your father has died, the thing out there killed him".

Anna did not scream or cry. She fixed Ivan with brilliant blue eyes and nodded, "In some way I think, I already knew. Father had been acting so strangely. He frightened me." In many ways her reaction made Caster feel worse, someone so young should not need to be so comfortable with death. Anna looked to Caster and Darret standing uncomfortably still only just on the threshold of the door.

"What is it?"

"It's a Hag" Darret replied evenly, "We need to banish it."

Caster hurriedly interjected, "where is the grave?"

She pointed to the back door, "Out the back"

"Plan Caster?" Darret asked.

The Jongler shrugged, "Probably a strong word for what I have right now. I need a distraction out front."

Darret nodded, "I have just enough magic for a small heatless flare, but it will only last a couple of seconds. You will have minutes before the Hag realises what is happening."

"That’s a risk we have to take." Caster picked up one of the oil lanterns. He then took a sack from near the wood burning stove and walked to the back door, crouching hand on the carved wooden handle. He took a deep breath, "Ready."

Darret moved to the back door brandishing his Everbranch. "Go!" he shouted, pulling open the door and firing out a ball of multicoloured light, it flew silently for a few yards before bursting with sparks in every direction. At the same time, Caster threw open the back door and sprinted out.

In the back of the garden, the darkness was complete and the wind howled around him. The feeble light given off by the oil lantern hardly lit the ground before Casters feet. It was a simple plot of land well tilled and planted with potatoes and herbs. After some fervent searching, Caster found a dug out hole near the gardens rear. The hole was around three and a half feet in a perfect square. By its side lay a large stone that presumably had been on top of it. Inlaid on the stone was a copper Seal, green from age in the shape of a pentagram surrounded by a circle. Caster recognised it as probably being a simple binding seal.

Caster set down the lantern and sat on the holes lip. If only I had Ember to light my way, he thought, at least there would be someone with whom to talk. But he daren't use the last of his Bond. Mustering resolve, Caster lowered himself into the pit.

The claustrophobic grave must have been about six foot deep. Why would someone dig such a grave? He thought. Retrieving the sack and oil lamp Caster illuminated the mud walls, they had deep gouges spaced suspiciously like a small hand. The story of the poor wretch began to come together. Crouching, with a little difficulty, he shone light on the ground. A faded and torn white night dress was wrapped around a pile of small bones. A screech nearby brought Caster out from his reverie and he reached to start pulling the bones into the sack.

Light filled the grave, and where the bones had been, a small girl stood crying in a white night dress, dark hair matting her face. She was looking out from the hole pleading. Caster could not hear what was said, it was like listening from a long way off. He turned to where the girl was looking and saw a man standing above. He wore black priestly robes with a wide brimmed and pointed hat. Over one shoulder was a spade, the haft and handle also black. The spades head shone, seeming plated with silver, it was bent down the centre, a groove making it more blade than farming tool. The man looked down with undisguised contempt and turned away, gesturing to some unseen other. A stone was lowered over the hole, cutting out the light overhead, leaving the girl and Caster in darkness.

The vision ended and with no time to think on what he had just seen, Caster pulled the pile of bones into the sack. He threw the bag over the lip of the grave and, with an effort, pulled himself out. Sprinting towards the house, Caster heard the scream again close and getting louder. An inhuman and wretched noise of hate filling the night. Closer. He wasn’t going to make it, the world moved slowly like running through treacle. Closer. Caster could see the door, but he could also feel a cold clammy hand begun to touch his ankle.

Caster crashed through the back door, almost knocking it off its hinges and falling in a heap just inside. That had been too close for comfort. Everyone in the room stared shocked at the young Jongler. Getting off the floor, Caster put the bag of bones in the rooms centre, shaking slightly as the adrenaline began to dissipate. Ivan and Anna were in the rooms corner warming themselves by the stoves fire. In the centre of the room, Darret was drawing the first seal of the banishment, a large circle known as the Moon seal.

Darret got up from where he was working “You’re bleeding.”

Looking down, Caster saw that the calf where he had felt the grip of the Hag was oozing blood from scratches that looked disturbingly like nails. As he calmed, the pain began to build. The cuts were not deep, but they reminded him how close that Hag had gotten to catching him. The young Jongler shivered involuntarily.

Darret inspected the wound, “I shall bind it,” he said. “Anna, may I have some linen or a shirt that I may use for bandages?” Anna gave a start at hearing her name spoken. Then wordlessly ran to the bedroom and fetched several large cotton shirts that presumably had been her Father's. A braver child than I would have been in the same circumstance, thought Caster. Darret bound Casters calf, which now stung like nothing else. Wound dealt with, they returned to where Darret had spread the Seal and together continued its construction.

The noise of the wind and trees outside the cottage seemed to have lulled, as if the copse itself was holding its breath in anticipation.

Standing and inspecting the finished key Caster nodded his satisfaction. “OK,” he said, “now for the difficult bit, for this to work we must allow the Hag to enter this building.”

Ivan and Anna's eyes widened in terror.

Caster continued, “And Darret or I must stay in contact with the Seal using the last trickle of our Magic. I elect Darret to do this as I am the better non-magical fighter.” Darret nodded his agreement.

Ivan stepped forward towards Caster, “I’ll ‘elp too, for what it’s worth.”

Caster looked hard at Ivan before replying,“During the ritual will be the most dangerous two minutes of your life.”

Ivan nodded gravely, “We’re too much done now tut’ start worrying about my life bein’ in danger. I could’a met my end easy before now”

Caster felt a stab of guilt from Ivan’s words, “Ok, when we allow the Hag in, she can enter from anywhere. We stay as a group and then I will try and draw the Hag away.” Said Caster. Everyone agreed, Darret moved to the Seal with his back to the wall and was joined by Ivan and Anna who anxiously stood behind him. Caster picked up his stave in both hands and stood in a short-stave fighting stance. The young Jongler could feel the sluggish thoughts of Ember behind his eyes, worried and frustrated. I know old friend, Caster thought, this will be over soon.

The Seal was set out before Darret. Two pentagrams at opposite orientation surrounded by a circle. In a triangle within were the offerings: pile of salt on the left, Iron coin on the right and a tallow candle at the Apex. In the centre, they had placed the pile of bones wrapped in the night dress. On the top sat the small skull staring at him accusingly. Darret was worried, this was the deepest banishment he had ever performed. The Underverse was deep and complex, if he did not perform this correctly, he could easily get trapped there himself. Darret placed his hands inside the circles edge, Everbranch under his right hand. He was ready.

“I am ready,” Darret said a hint of hesitation entering his voice. The Magi looked over his shoulder at Ivan, fearful but determined, billhook ready and to Anna, terror plain to see. Darret just hoped that this worked. Before him was Caster crouched and coiled like a spring and in that moment Darret saw the Sentinel of Old Amalar fearlessly ready to defend its people.

The noise outside was completely silent now. Tension palpable in the air.

Casters voice cut the silence bellowing,“Come in Hag!”

Silence once again filled the room. Anna quietly sobbed crouched behind Ivan.

The light in the room seemed to flicker and quaver. They all started as the front door cracked open. Caster shifted his stance, readying himself for the worst. The door opened fully and in walked Herric. He had a young handsome quality to his broad features. Upon his face was a placid openness with a broad smile. Before Caster could shout a warning, Anna had darted out and was running towards the figure.

“Father! You're alive!” she shouted with joy, tears running down her face. For Caster, the world seemed to fall into slow motion as he attempted to intercept the girl. But Anna was already only  two feet from the form of Herric. Suddenly the image sagged and melted, becoming the little girl in the nightie, face pulled back in a grimace, yellow eyes hungry. The Hags mouth opened into a huge Mawr with sharp yellow teeth, hands stretched out, claw like to grab at the girl. Anna’s joyous face turned to horror, inches from death.

Casters staff hooked round Anna's waist. He flung her to the floor whilst placing himself in front of the Hag. It leapt onto Caster, who had placed his stave across in both hands to block her attack. The Hags crazed strength threw Caster to the ground, where he would have surely been gored, but he continued the momentum with an upwards kick, putting the creature on its back, behind him. With incredible speed, the Hag rose and started towards the banishment seal. Darret was midway through the ritual. When the door had first opened, he had summoned the last trickle of power from his now withered Everbranch. Light from the Seals outline shone with a bluish green light. The Magi needed more time, only the first two doors were open, the salt blackened and burned and the iron red with heat. Darret looked up and saw the crazed Hag coming towards him. Suddenly, Ivan leapt by Darret, swinging his billhook like a crazed mountain barbarian. The Hags attention moved to Ivan. It seemed to grin. With a casual movement the Hag caught the woodsman’s wrist, Ivans face turned to horror as the hag twisted. There was a sickening ‘crack!’ and Ivan was brought to his knees with a grunt. The Hag casually flicked its wrist and Ivan was sent flying into the cottages far wall and slumped into a crumpled groaning heap. Anna, who had crawled away in the confusion, made her way to Ivan. The Hags attention turned back to the seal.

“Too late!” Darret spat, moving his hands from the seal, as the Tallow candle burst into green flames. The Seal on the floor and the bones fell away into a black churning hole of absolute darkness. The Hag turned to run, but Caster kicked her savagely in the chest, throwing her towards the hole. A thousand blackened and rotting arms leapt from the hole and grabbed the Hag. It scrabbled at the ground trying to get away, scoring deep groves in the floor, screaming all the while. The dead arms pulled her through and the floor reappeared, all contents of the seal gone. Only black marks of the symbols remained scorched into the earth.

Once again silence filled the room, punctuated now by the groans of Ivan, the sobs of Anna and the heavy bull like breathing of Caster. The young Jongler threw his stave away and sat down heavily on the ground trying not to shake. Darret made his way to Ivan and began to tend his broken wrist making a splint. Ivan came round from his stupor and apart from many bruises, he seemed quite alert. Ivan and Darret tried to comfort Anna, but she was still in shock from the events. Eventually they sent her to bed for some well needed rest.

The men moved slowly to sit round the table and Darret found clay cups and a half bottle of Vitan wisak. They all took a long silent drink of the fiery liquor with little cheer and like this they sat for a long while till dawn began to grey the outside. A birdsong split the air in the cottage. With that tiny sound it immediately felt like a weight had been lifted from the group. Ivan smiled at Darret lifting his cup.

“To the Dawn,” he said, “may she ever rise.”

“Hear, hear!” Replied Darret enthusiastically, raising his own cup. Caster looked up from the table, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He raised his glass.

“Thank you,” Caster said finally, “I made many mistakes today and without the both of you, all would surely have failed.”

“Nonsense!” said Darret, “but I will take the compliment. Let us not dwell, it is a new day.”

The rest of the morning passed swiftly. After tidying up the house. Darret and Caster knew they had tarried too long. They needed to leave town before too many questions were asked. They were both dog tired but knew they could sleep on the road after a few hours. Ivan vowed to look after Anna as his own daughter and would take her to his house near the village to live with him and his wife. They all clasped hands at the door and Caster said they would swing by if they could.

Only once they had spirited away Baffle, Casters squeezebox and their other possessions and were safely on the road did Caster tell Darret of his vision.

“She was likely innocent apart from being born a Wych,” he finished.

“But who would do such a thing?” said Darret. “Few people know of the born magics.”

Caster nodded grimly, “The Viat Church Crusades were a dark time in the Four Counties. I believe it was a Grave Digger.”

Darret inquired further but Caster refused to say more and they walked in silence. The path turned before them opened up into a large straight cobbled road. On either side ploughed fields undulated into the distance. The two men and Baffle stopped.

“The Queens Road!” said Caster triumphantly, “it is far to the next Glade, but it will be faster this way.”

“Where next?” inquired Darret.

The young Jongler looked into the distance and felt the wind on his face. The sure grip of his stave on the firm ground. Caster felt battered, bruised and weary, but anticipation of the next step welled in his soul.

“Trouble, probably.” Caster said. They both laughed, giddy with having lived through last night’s terrifying ordeal and began to walk.

The End.