WitchHunter ✔️

Bandits

Hale

Given the choice between a ship and a horse, I will choose to mash my balls against a saddle any day. I raise myself in my stirrups as we race through the trees, taking some of the pressure off my aching ass. Cozy and Candor ride behind me, one on each side of me on the wide path. Far ahead of us, the Ace's cloak billows out behind her as she stands in her stirrups. Every now and then, when we ride through an open pasture or meadow, she will bring her left foot out of its place, set it on the horse's rump, and raise herself to stand there, on top of the round black pelvic bone of her steed. It's amazing to watch, though I'll never admit it. She really is different from the young teen she had been when I had last seen her. I remember her awkward, and clumsy, with minimal actual skill, besides her habit of sneaking around. She has been obnoxious, always in my way, always in my sight, it seemed.

And no one else's! Maybe it was because of how angry she made me, but I always somehow knew where she was. It's like she radiated my anger back at me from the shadows. Now, it's not necessarily anger radiating back. It's an assured knowing. I've been back for little more than a day, but I feel a solidness in my chest. I trust the Ace. I don't know exactly how much, and I don't know when it happened or why. But it's there, nearly as strong as the trust I have for the twins. I have confidence in her loyalty to Velius, and thereby to me.

Her skills on the other hand, are a different story. I haven't seen much, aside from her sloppy takedown of the Cinderous bastard in my room last night. That was messy to say the least, and then after. I was drunk off my ass, like she'd said, and she provoked me. I had only wanted to embarrass her, to prove a point that every woman, even prudish assassins, could be seduced. When she gasped my first name, the only time I can recall her ever calling me anything other than 'my lord', the familiar rush of victory had washed over me. When I pulled back though, I saw tears in her eyes and panic on her features, and that victory had vanished, replaced by leaden guilt.

And the horror when she threw herself from the cliff! I thought I had killed her!

The barmaid had seen me as I rushed downstairs, and when I told her, she'd merely laughed. No one gets close to the Ace. She had openly called me a fool for it, but had assured me that Master Niran had drilled it into his apprentice how to properly throw oneself from that particular cliff. Now thinking about it, I'm grateful to that honey-eyed barmaid for saving me from looking a fool in front of Velius, and for helping me discreetly dispose of the leaking corpse in my chambers.

Prints in the dirt path whizzing by below me catch my eye. Multiple horses were here recently. My eyes snap forward to where the road disappears into the oncoming treeline where the meadow meets forest. A black horse stands there sideways, looking back at us, no rider to be found. The Ace is gone.

"Woah!" I pull on the reins and slow my own buckskin stallion. "Where?" I shout.

"The trees. She jumped up." Cozen tells me.

My eyes search, all my senses heightened. She must have seen something. Is it just the tracks? Something more? She's too far ahead of us. I can't sense her, and the mottled green and grey cloak conceals her in the aspen and moonwood trees. "Draw." I command, my 6 years as WitchMaster suddenly taking over. "Approach with caution. Eyes peeled." I draw my broadsword, heavy, but evenly weighted, the perfect weapon to quell the enemy.

Cozy draws his large battleaxe, and Candor, his bow, as we approach the oncoming treeline. The horses sense our caution, quieting their steps, not uttering a single whinny to one another. That familiar anticipation fills me as we plod on, growing ever closer to the wall of green. The battle, where I am closest to death, is where I feel most alive. I assume it's the same way for the other Hunters, and people who do battle for a living. We crave the adrenaline that swinging a blade or shooting an arrow gives us. The jarring thud that runs up my arm when I parry a downward swing sends goosebumps racing over my limbs. Those same goosebumps rise on my skin now as my eyes search the treeline.