The Witch Hunter Chronicles: Hunted

I found myself in full armor in the middle of a thickly wooded forest a day’s march east of Lothian.

Where? Who’s narrating this?

The air was warm and dry, and I smelled the scent of pine mixed with the stench of my own sweat and earthy aroma of the damp dirt below my feet. My right arm dangled limply, and Carnwennan I gripped tightly in my left hand. I heard a man scream in pain and I ducked behind a thick tree.

My men are wounded or dying around me, and I’m forced to hide like some craven coward. My sword is buried in a man’s chest a stone’s throw from here, and my right arm is neigh useless. If it weren’t for the blood clotting properties of Excalibur’s scabbard, I would have bled out by now.

Um...

I heard the creak of metal I associated with a man walking in armor. I peeked around the tree and spied my loyal friend Sir Bedivere a dozen stone away, walking down an incline with his back to me. An enemy combatant lay unmoving on the ground next to him.

That’s Jordan?

I swung around, looking wildly from one side to another.

Where is that feminine voice coming from? Are the witches in my head? Am I going mad?

You can hear me?

I am Arthur, King of the Britons. I command you to state your name and intentions.

I’m Mackenzie and, um, ok, how do I explain this?

I sighed.

Let me guess. You’re a future, reincarnated version of me, and this is some sort of vision or shared memory or some such thing.

You seriously got that from my description?

My life is complicated.

I looked down at the knife. Blood was dripping off the handle.

I can see that. So, what’s going on here exactly?

My party was returning from the Scottish Lowlands after the marriage of Lot’s second son, Agravaine, to the Lady Lucinda of Cornwall. Trust me when I say that family and friends alike hoped that marriage and fatherhood would cool some of the young knight’s aggression and bloodlust. But between you and me, I could use some of that savagery right about now. Alas, Agravaine is off visiting his family homeland in Norway, along with his brothers Gawain, Gareth and Gaheris.

That was way more exposition than I was looking for, man. What is all this?

I tried to wave my arms around for effect, but nothing happened.

We were ambushed by the Black Witch. She and her two sisters and their Saxon mercenaries tore through most of my traveling companions and the bodyguards that Lot sent to escort us home.

She uses black magic or something? Dresses all in black?

No, she’s of Bharatan descent. We call her the Black Witch because skin is dark like tea, or-

That’s totally racist bro. Skin tone is off limits. How would you like it if I called you the pasty king?

I frowned and scratched at my hairy chin.

I wouldn’t like that at all.

Right. Then can we just call her the evil witch?

I care not what you call the wench. Look what she did to poor Sir Guy.

I pointed a few yards up the hill to where the remains of a suit of armor still smoldered. The ground around his remains was burned to ashes.

Where are his arms?

I shrugged.

That’s not cool.

No, she used fire. If only Sir Lancelot was here.

Let me guess...

He graciously volunteered to stay behind to guard Queen Guinevere, who was under the weather and unable to make the week-long trip from Camelot.

Yeah, he sounds like quite the guy.

I nodded in agreement, oblivious to the sarcasm.

We’ve been living in a time of peace for so many seasons that I let my guard down. Because of that laxity, good men are dead, and children are orphaned. I fear for the fall of Camelot itself since, I still have no heir.

You’re monologuing again, bro. Let’s man-up and check on Jordan?

Who?

Um, Belvedere?

Sir Bedivere?

Sure, whatever.

I took another peek around the tree and saw pre-Jordan trudging up the hill, sword and shield in hand, as two knights advanced down the hill towards him. The witch that used black magic dismounted a massive white horse and followed the knights down the hill. Pre-Jordan saw them approach and banged his sword against his shield in challenge.

I remained quiet as the knights and then the witch passed by. As the knights approached Bedivere’s position, I stepped out from behind the tree and moved towards the witch. I was close enough to smell her rosewater perfume when I stepped on a dry branch. The witch spun her head in my direction, and a ball of blue-white fire appeared cupped in her right hand. She looked right at me and for a brief moment, my heart stopped, and a cold sweat gripped my body. I was too far away to slash with Carnwennan, and there was no way I could make any sort of decent throw with my left hand. Then she narrowed her eyes and looked past me, searching the trees around me for movement. I smiled.

What the what?

Suddenly there was a yell and the sound of metal on metal. The witch spun around in time to see Bedivere yank his sword from the brain the lead knight.

Lass, you may want to look away.

We’re sharing the same eyes bro.

I was already running at the witch. She turned back at the sound of my footsteps, and I saw the horror in her brown eyes just before my blade removed her head from her neck.