Running and spinning, Russel brought his sword down on the
wretched creature's head. They had called her Tabitha and witch and crone, but
she didn't look human with large lips, leathery skin and horrible pointed
teeth. She had breasts, but that was all that made her female. He rifled
through her pockets, looking for the bean. It had been a great idea to send
Matilda, the barmaid, in ahead of him. He'd heard the beastly woman tell her
all about the spells she could cast to help Matilda escape from an oafish
husband.
The worst curse, she assured Matilda, was the spelled
death-sleep. He wouldn't wake, ever, she promised. The witch would even give
her the bean cure, in case she ever changed her mind. She hadn't begun
gathering her materials when Russel broke in and knocked her unconscious.
Matilda screamed and ran for the door. He doubted she would
stop running before she was back behind the bar. Russel, however, was cautious.
It was unlikely the witch was alone. He hunted through her pockets, finally
coming up with a green-brown bean. He stowed it away and backed slowly from the
cottage.
He backed into a beautiful blond woman. “Who are you? What
are you doing?” she yelled as he ran to his horse and mounted, yanking the
reins free from the branch he'd lashed them to. “Come back here! Stop!” The
last word was accompanied by an arc of power, magic, that made his hair stand
on end. It missed, and he rode on. He didn't go home and he didn't approach the
cliffs either. He wanted a moment to regroup before he did anything.
The witch had been quelled. The cure for the curse was his.
And who was the beautiful woman that attacked him? Helen perhaps? Victor's
wife? He didn't envy the man a wife like that. Gritting his teeth, he realized
that he was getting one just like, her own daughter.
The kingdom came with it, he reminded himself. And he knew
how to quell the daughter. He would do a better job of it than Victor had.
After finding a quiet cottage to rest in, one with a woman with open arms, he
set out in search of the fortress. The witch and mother would no doubt be close
on his heels.
