The Wayward Witch Chronicles

West’s pack didn’t weigh heavy, but that didn’t mean he traveled light. He had practically everything he needed for the one-night investigation. In the hour before seeking Roman and Vera at the meeting spot, he only needed to procure fresh provisions, and the innkeep happily obliged his needs. With food sorted, he struck out for the west road, sat himself on a tree stump just outside town, and waited.

Roman and Vera arrived with a clanking wooden cart half-full of supplies, which West suspected had probably enjoyed a long occupation hauling firewood before being called to its new life of adventure. Climbing into the back and making a comfortable seat on a hay bale, West stored his pack by his feet and stretched his legs. The cart wasn't a smooth ride over the patchy dirt road, but it beat a long walk under the cloudless summer sky. In the distance, a small herd of cattle picked up their ears at the crunch of their wagon’s wheels over stray pebbles, but there was otherwise no one in sight. It was looking to be a quiet ride, and they should reach their destination sometime mid-afternoon.

Vera had produced a wooden tray from her wand case. The flat plank was smoothed by frequent use, and West could see runes grooved onto its edges. It sat on her lap strangely, holding steady despite the jostling cart, almost like it hovered in the air just above her skin. From her satchel, she pulled a small tool case and laid it beside a wand on the tray.

“Is that the same wand from yesterday?” West asked, side-eyeing it.

Vera glanced up. “Harmless now.” Holding the wand for him to see, she tapped a polished bone trigger on the side to no effect. “Not charged.”

“Ah.” He relaxed, but only marginally. “What’s it yer doin’ with it?”

“Restoration.” Returning the wand to the tray, Vera pulled a long probe from the toolkit and fiddled over it. “Got left in the corner of some drafty estate for too long, no charges. Forgot what it was, and when it started to remember, got too excited. Poor thing.” Sympathy softened her expression, and she stroked the wand with one finger.

West watched her work, curiosity bubbling up. “Got an affinity fer the things, do ye?”

“Always have.” West saw a glimmer of blue light in her eyes– magic sight, like all Mani had, and some lucky share of their mixed-blooded Glamori descendants like Vera had. “Somebody lived to make it wonderful, you know. They thought and thought over it, dug into themselves, put a little bit of their life into it. Whoever they are, they’re dead by now, but they left this behind to keep living after them.”

The way she spoke was no less reverent than one admiring the great frescos of ancient cathedrals. Tucking the probe behind her ear, Vera selected a slender toothed blade with a barbed tip from her tools and used it to lightly scrape the wand’s surface. The tip hooked a golden thread that had been invisible a moment ago, then severed it. West watched the writhing ends snap and disappear into the wand’s solid matter with a slight shiver.

West hadn’t been entirely sure what to make of Vera– standoffish, blunt, and antisocial– but now he saw her face warm with what he could only term love, and understood better. “I see what yer sayin’, lass. That’s a wonderful thought. But… nae to question yer expertise, but is it really safe to be messin’ with that?”

Vera pursed her lips. “It’s magic. It’s not safe, ever. But predictable enough, sure.”

“Ah,” West said hesitantly. Vera bent over the tray, tongue poking out of the corner of her lips as she focused in on her work. Mebbe I oughta quit botherin’ her and let her concentrate… jes’ in case, the Investigator thought, scooting further away as she fussed over the wand, snipping at something barely-seen here, tightening something glittering and ghostly there. He resolved not to pay it much worry– as much as he could, anyway.

One creaky turn of the wheels at a time, the town faded from sight behind them. All the world was a stretch of road behind them, a stretch of world ahead, and the tall shrubs and grasses of the plains hugging their world on either side.

"Say, Roman, I’ve been wonderin',” West mused. “What ever got a fellow like ya out in the wilds? I gather that Vera's here with scholarly intentions, but ye dinnae seem the sort."

Roman obliged the change in subject, warming up with a grin. “Hah! For me, it’s simple. There’re more sons in the House of Corinth than anybody needs. Carrying on among the political maneuverings of so many sheep-brained lordlings is tedious enough to drive a man to murder. I’d rather do something useful and exciting with my time.”

“Aye? Nae a bad answer.” Since joining the Bureau, West was well acquainted with the sort of person Roman described so disdainfully– grown children from the many noble houses of the kingdoms, who needed occupying more than an occupation. They flooded every open position their connections could get them, floundering toward glory and leaving lesser-borns to clean up in their wake. Roman seemed callous of the impact of his choices on others, but at least he wasn't sitting back on his haunches and begging for a handout. “Though I imagine it doesnae hurt yer standing in yer House if yer making a bit of a name for yourself on yer adventures either, does it?”

Roman flashed a grin, saying nothing as he directed the cart to turn at a crossroads. The wheels met a path that couldn’t be dignified with a word like "road", and the cart jerked and bobbed with teeth-slamming force.

Further words would risk their tongues, so the adventurers clamped their jaws down and shut up. By the time the road had evened out, thoughts of continuing the conversation had faded away as well. Yawning, West slouched down on his grain-sack chair and rested his head back on folded arms. His mind drifted, wandered, and at some point, slipped away entirely into sleep.

***

"Are you awake, Investigator?"

There was no urgency in Roman's voice, so West took his time prying open his eyes. The sun was past its peak, filtering through a few high clouds to make a warm, pleasant afternoon. Trees congregated like gossipers at a church, dotting a hilly landscape filled with thick grass, red-dotted bushes, and bobbing blue flowers. Unseen and distant, the sound of tumbling liquid suggested a stream running between the hill troughs, boding well for their waterskins. The ride was smoother now as it rolled along the cobblestones of an old highway, wheels crunching softly over them.

"Aye, I'm awake now," West answered, rubbing the heel of his palm on first one eye, then the other. Vera had packed away her tools in favor of a tattered tome, and smirked at him around its pages. He looked at her quizzically.

"You snored," Vera snickered. "Loud."

“Did I now?” West blinked, then chuckled. “Pardon me, lass."

Cackling again, Vera wiggled down until only the top of her head was visible behind the vellum cover of her book.

Stretching out his limbs, West straightened up and studied the road ahead. They’d gone far while he was sleeping, and the road wound its way across the gentle slope of a hill. "Roman, any news?"

"We’re nearly there." Roman pointed ahead and upwards. "Just up there. See the old walls?"

Following his finger to the hilltop, West saw the lines and shadows of structures. "That's the castle, is it?” He stood to better study it. “Nae much left of it, is there?”

“So it seems. We’ll be camping here and walking the rest of the way,” Roman said. “It’s best to establish a safe retreat away from the ruins, in case we get into more than we expect. Over there, I think. Those should give us some proper cover.” At the slightest tug of the reins, the mule eagerly veered into the lush grass, grabbing mouthfuls as it ambled along. The cart rumbled to a halt alongside a copse of trees. “Well. The adventure begins, doesn’t it? Let's set up camp."

West found himself volunteered for water-fetching. It wasn’t the most glamorous job, but it gave him a chance to stretch his legs. He couldn’t complain about either Roman or Vera not pulling their weight, either. By the time he’d found a clear-looking stream and returned with water, Vera had assembled a campfire and set it alight, and moved on to checking the integrity of their rickety cart. The mule indulged in mouthfuls of hay under the trees, and Roman was putting together a small but proper meal of cooked oats, summer squash, and a mild, honey-noted cheese.

After sitting together and slurping down their lunch, the group readied for the hike up the hill. West slipped on his steel knuckles. Their weight gave him a sense of readiness, and his heels itched to get moving. Roman made a similar weapons check, wiggling his gladius in its sheath to make sure it drew smoothly and unstrapping the buckler from his back.

Vera, on the other hand, didn’t seem to need any preparation at all, nibbling at a ruined nail while she waited. Once Roman settled his sword back into its sheath, she looked up. “Ready now?”

“It seems so,” Roman answered. “Keep your eyes open on the way there, no sense in inviting trouble. You too, West– I expect you to contribute.” The noble automatically took the lead, returning to the road by the swath of flattened grass they’d created on the way in, and Vera fell in step behind him.

“Of course.” West followed after. Despite Roman’s rudeness, West enjoyed a mild optimism. It wasn’t that he expected this to go well– no, he was pretty certain it was going to be a nightmare, and only hoped that clashing egos would be the worst of it. But at least now they’d be in his element, and he wouldn’t be getting ordered about like a hired hand. Or if he did, he’d have a few good words to say about it.