As she flew, the Grandmatron laughed. She threw her head back, wind whipping her long silver strands in the brisk night air. She finally had him. She had that stupid boy King and she and the Western Covens were going take him for everything he was worth and free themselves from the grips of the East.
Sidesaddle on her broom, she relished in the night. In the cold air, in the clear starlight and the three mother moons that lit her way home to the Western Palace. In the information they were so careless with. In the way she and the West were going to kill the Witch King of Tyanth.
A boy. He was just a boy, stupid and silly and a child. He was so young, a mere breath in the span of her life and the lives of so many Witches in the Western Covens. They came from ancient magic and ancient magic had been disrespected by the East for too long. He was not the originator of the oppression of the West, but he would pay the blood price all the same. And now, with the small droplets of blood staining the hem of her midnight blue robes, the Grandmatron had that which could make him bow-make him break under the weight of the Western Covens.
He and that girl of his. The Godslayer, they called her. Oh yes, the Grandmatron had heard the tale, had recounted the story of a young Witch venturing into the forests to free her lover and a thousand souls. The story of a Witch who had broken the very bonds of the world by cleaving a lesser God in two. A Witch she would have liked to have on her side, aligned with the Western Covens in their quest for freedom.
A Witch like that could go places. Places where she wouldn't just be an assassin, bound by a boy King who made her do his bidding, reduced to a Witch who shredded marked men in their beds while they slept or ran them down in the woods. There was a place in the Western Covens for a Witch smart enough, strong enough, ruthless enough to serve the Moirai. A Witch that enjoyed the hunt, enjoyed the kill as she knew the Godslayer did. A Witch that wasn't bound by childish whims or love.
A Witch that could rule.
And the Grandmatron would have her. That girl would never become the Seer, not with the curse the God had placed upon her. The Western Covens didn't care about the Seer at all. They were older than any Seer, older and more careful with their plans. Now, the plans could begin. She would break that stupid, useless boy and free the Western Covens from the rule of Aresvine. She would take that which was his and force his hand, force him to bow to the Western Covens. She would have the Godslayer and deliver her willingly to the Moirai.
Soon enough she would be home in the depths of the Western Palace. Soon enough she would gather the leaders of the Covens. She would show them the hem of her robe. Make them taste it, make them smell it. Make them confirm what she knew the moment the Godslayer's snares had pierced that pretty little wrist of hers:
The Godslayer was a mixed blood and the Witch King of Tyanth was protecting her.
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Wraith Walker
الخيال (فانتازيا)Tamsin Caraxis is a Wraith Walker, one of six elite assassins of Tyanth, the Witch Kingdom. For the last year, Tamsin has been hunting for the continent's next Seer-the supreme spiritual leader who communes with the Gods and bestows blessings on the...
