The first thing Isabel felt when she woke was throbbing pain in her head. It took several seconds for her to regain enough sense to be alarmed, then she sat bolt upright, looking around in near panic, pain exploding behind her eyes from the sudden movement.
She was lying on a blanket spread out in one corner of a cozy little cottage. A fire burned in the crudely constructed hearth with a black cauldron warming over the flames. Ayela sat across from the old woman, listening to her every word with rapt attention. Hector and Horace were nowhere to be seen.
Isabel’s weapons were gone. She rose quietly, unleashing her rage to protect herself from the pull of the firmament, but the rage didn’t come. Instead, she felt the all-too-familiar emotional numbness caused by malaise weed. She cast about, looking for anything she could use as a weapon, when the old woman turned and appraised her coolly.
“How’s your head, dear?” she asked, knowingly.
“Who are you? What did you do to me?”
“My name is Hazel Karth, aunt of Severine Karth, though he doesn’t know of my existence. As for what I’ve done to you,” she patted a little pouch at her belt, “I dosed you with henbane.”
“What’s henbane? Have you poisoned me?”
“No … well, not in the traditional sense of the word,” Hazel said. “Henbane is a potent herb. When properly prepared, it renders a person completely obedient for a period of several hours. One under the influence of henbane will comply with almost any instruction during that period of time, then fall into a deep sleep for about an hour as the effects wear off, waking with no memory of the experience … and a powerful headache.”
“Why?” Isabel demanded.
“I needed to question you and I needed the truth,” Hazel said.
“What about Hector and Horace? What have you done with them?”
“Ah … the boys are outside chopping firewood,” Hazel said. “Aside from some sore muscles, they’ll be just fine.”
“What did she ask me about?” Isabel said, turning to Ayela.
“Everything,” Ayela said. “Where you came from, who your allies are, your purpose here on Karth, and where we were going. You told her everything.”
“So what now?” Isabel asked, pointedly. “You’ve abducted us, disarmed me, and rendered my magic useless. What do you plan to do with us?”
“First, I thought I would offer you lunch,” Hazel said, ladling stew from the cauldron into a wooden bowl and offering it to Isabel. “Sit and eat. I will explain.”
Isabel took the bowl, still somewhat suspicious of her host, and sat down, trying to shake the fog of pain from her head and focus on the situation at hand. She reminded herself that battlefields come in all shapes and sizes.
“By all means, explain,” Isabel said, making no move to eat the stew.
“The House of Karth has been at the mercy of the Sin’Rath for centuries. Since the men are hopelessly charmed by the demon-spawn witches, the women of our house set out long ago to break the stranglehold they have on our family. That has proven a more difficult task than we imagined.
“I am the last of the true witches of Karth and now my family line is perilously close to its end. I can’t allow that to happen, so I’ve called Ayela to me to become my apprentice. I didn’t expect her to bring you as well, but perhaps that’s for the best. We have common enemies, after all.”
“Then why disarm me?” Isabel asked.
“Caution,” Hazel said. “I’m old and frail. You are young and vibrant. In a fair fight, I wouldn’t stand a chance, so I needed to ensure that any contest between us would be decidedly unfair.”
“So what happens next?” Isabel asked.
“We wait until the demon-spawn and the soldiers who serve them give up looking for you and move on, then you leave and Ayela stays here.”
“Is this what you want?” Isabel asked Ayela.
“I don’t know,” she said. “I think I could learn a lot from Aunt Hazel, but I also think the House of Karth is running out of time. Your plan may be the only hope we have for eliminating the Sin’Rath for good.”
“Don’t be foolish, Child,” Hazel said, dismissively. “If you go to the mountain, you will die with your friends and all hope for your family line will die with you.”
“What makes you so sure we’ll die?” Isabel said.
“Because no one ever returns from that cursed place,” Hazel said. “Few venture into the swamp, even fewer return, but in all my years