The Witch and The Thief

5

Lachlan tensed, forcing himself to reach out and grasp the handle. For the first time in his life, despite having heard similar threats from every striga who'd paid for his skills, Nathair was the first one he believed would follow through.

Maintaining a calm tone that he didn't feel, he replied over his right shoulder, "And here I thought we were becoming friends."

Once Lachlan reached the woods outside, he pulled the shadows around him like a comforting old blanket, doubled over, and vomited. A few minutes later, he straightened and took a deep, shaky breath. Without a doubt, whether he returned with the stone or not, he was a dead man. Nathair had made that abundantly clear.

Should he cut his losses and make a run for it? With the Elvish copper he'd procured and the amount he had stashed away over the years, he'd be able to live comfortably and quietly for the rest of his life. T'was tempting. Lachlan sighed and shook his head in dismay, knowing if he did so, he'd always be looking over his shoulder, wondering when he'd be found and disposed of.

Nay, he needed a more permanent solution. He supposed he could wait for dark and kill Nathair while he slept. His skill with both sword and dirk was renowned throughout the land. But his meager weapons were no match against such a powerful foe, and his untrained magic would be far weaker.

After making camp for the night, Lachlan decided to sleep on the matter, hopeful the solution to his dire need would reveal itself before reaching Kenneroch.

It wasn't until a week later outside the city walls, Lachlan had devised a scheme against Nathair. He wore new clothes and rode a handsome, muscular black steed he'd named Brutus. His plan was brilliant and yet simple.

He'd return to the vault and convince the Deepwood coven, somehow, to engage Nathair in a wizard's duel instead of turning him over to the Aegis Council or killing him themselves upon sight. It was perfect and would see Lachlan safely away to live the quiet life he'd dreamed of with the money he'd saved while they battled out the ownership of the stone, with the smallest of chances Nathair would end up the victor.

And if the fates smiled upon him, the old warlock would never see it coming. Eager to set his plan in motion with only a slight qualm it may fail, he procured rooms at the Broken Lance Inn and Tavern, which sat kitty-corner to the vault.

His room conveniently allowed him an unobscured view of his target where, for the next three days, he shrouded himself in shadows to watch the comings and goings of the coven and patrons of the vault without discovery and assessed the new magical protections in place.

The overall feel of the building seemed more menacing than before, as though silently warning people not to trespass beyond its walls without permission if they favored their life. But instead of heeding the threatening thrum of magic, Lachlan smiled in anticipation. He looked forward to the new challenge it presented.

Several times throughout, he caught glimpses of the beautiful, chestnut-haired witch on one errand or another, and whenever he saw her, he'd find himself growing more enamored. Considering how they'd parted when last they met, he didn't know why he didn't feel vexed with the wench, or if not angry, mildly irritated.

Instead, he found himself growing entranced by her beauty and the gentle way she interacted with beggars and peddlers alike on the streets. Each day that passed, he found himself increasingly desperate to know her name, and why some days she looked so haunted and sad.

When the night he intended to put his plan into action finally arrived, he could barely contain his eagerness. He waited for nightfall before slipping out of the tavern unseen and making his way to the vault.