The Steel Queen - Prologue

Chapter 6 - Steffan

6

Steffan

The dank gray sky pissed rain. Steffan hunched in the saddle, under his oilskin, but it was no use, he was soaked to the bone. He cursed the sky but kept the horse moving deeper into the woods. The crone’s cave had to be nearby.

Sick of the rain and the endless forest, he forced the gelding to a faster pace. Wyeth was such a godforsaken land, nothing but old-growth forest and the occasional small village full of superstitious peasants. As the third son of a baron of Wyeth, the back woods should be familiar, but Steffan was merely passing through on his way to something better. He used his father’s title with those who were ignorant, but it was a hollow joke. Steffan’s family was so poor that his signet ring was made of tin and his lord father’s was merely silver. He shook his head. Only his family would stoop to using signet rings of tin.

Disgusted with an empty title cloaked in poverty, he’d left his father’s keep years ago to make his own fortune, shaking the dung from his boots as he walked out of the door. Relying on his dark good looks, his quick wit, and skills at dice, he’d traveled the southern kingdoms of Erdhe. He’d dallied with a rich widow in Coronth, run a con in Radagar, and diced with the wealthy of Lanverness. He’d done all right for himself, acquiring a taste for the finer things in life. Gold filled his saddlebags and he rode a good horse with solid bloodlines, but Steffan wanted more, much more. He’d heard rumors in the backrooms of alehouses about a quick way to power, a way to a better life. The rumors had cropped up often enough that he’d decided to take a chance tracking down the truth. The old crone, Helsbeth, was the next link in the chain of dark whispers.

The gelding plodded through the mud. The sky brightened and then dimmed again but the rain never let up. He was beginning to think that he’d drown in the saddle when he found the cave. A bear skull hung with beads and red feathers stood impaled on a pole, marking the entrance. Steffan reminded himself that the hedge witch had a reputation for potions laced with curses from the Dark side. He’d be sure to avoid anything she offered to drink or eat.

Tying the gelding to the pole, he ducked under the low entrance to the cave. A wall of smoke stung his eyes and he coughed on the harsh tang. As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he glimpsed a figure huddled beneath blankets feeding herbs to a small fire.

“Saw you coming, we did, come in, come in.”

Steffan let his sodden oilskin drop to the cave floor and walked forward to take a seat in front of the fire. Warmth from the fire was worth the bite of the strange blue smoke.

The snaggletoothed crone leaned forward, peering at him through the flames. The crusty blanket slipped back to reveal a shock of white hair and pale skin stretched thin across a hawk-nose and a pointed chin. The face was ancient but the eyes were filled with cunning. She studied him and laughed. “A young lordling no less, come to Helsbeth for something from the Dark side, but we wonder if he’ll pay the price? We wonder if he even knows the price?” Her head bobbed like a chicken pecking at each word. “Tell Helsbeth what you came for, lordling, and together we’ll find the price.”

“I’m chasing dark whispers about a way to power, power that comes from the Dark Lord. I’ve been told you know the way.”

The crone cackled. “The Dark Lord is it? The lordling reaches high.”

Soaked from the long wet ride, Steffan had little patience for the crone’s prattle. “Do you know the way or not, old woman?”

“Only a hedge witch am I, brushing crumbs of power from the hem of the Dark Lord’s cloak, but I know what you seek. The dedicates, the ones with the gift.” She leaned toward the fire. “Only a hedge witch, but we know more than you lordling, oh yes we do, for the bones tell me, they tell me true.”