The Witch and The Thief

17

Olly paused for a moment, then grunted. "Aye, perhaps 'tis better if I leave ye two be. Poor lass is no doubt frightened out of her wits. I'll keep my eye open for the knave's return and do my best to give ye ample time to see her safely away."

"I'd appreciate that."

Withdrawing the key, Olly left a moment later, his heavy footsteps retreating down the hall and stairs.

Maera tightened her hold on the dirk and squared her shoulders. Tonight would be the end of Hamish's fear-inducing presence in her life, and even if she was going to die, she vowed to do her damnedest to kill him in the process.

Magic suffused her limbs, building in intensity with each beat of her heart. She slowly retreated to the shadows furthest from the door, taking each backward step with breathless caution, her eyes trained firmly on the latch as it lifted.

Hamish nudged the door open with the edge of his sword. A bright flash of lightning glinted off the blade, seeming to make it all the more threatening when its abrupt disappearance plunged the room back into the darkness only broken by the dying amber glow of the fire.

He entered the room far more quietly than Maera thought a man of his size would be able to and shut the door softly behind him. After pausing for a moment, he threw the bolt home; it's soft metallic clink sounded as loud as thunder to Maera's ears. Her heart thumped madly against her ribs, and sweat slickened her hold on the dirk.

"Maaeeeerrrrra," Hamish said in a low, sing-song voice that sent chills up her spine.

With a wicked grin twisting his lips and his eyes fixed firmly upon her, he waved his sword back and forth in a slow, methodical display of his skill. He raised his sword to a threatening angle, then stalked toward her. "Did you truly believe you'd be able to escape me?"

She bit back a whimper of panic and waited for the right moment. There would only be one chance to surprise him with her attack, and she couldn't waste it by striking out in fear.

His putrid stench reached out like tentacles of a fetid demon grasping for its prey in the dark. Maera's eyes watered from the smell, and her stomach lurched. She swallowed the bile burning the back of her throat and tightened her fingers around the dirk.

Hamish narrowed his eyes, his lips curling in a snarl as he feinted and thrust his sword. Maera flung out her arms and pushed him away with a tentative blast of air, stopping his blade an inch away from sinking into her flesh. Growling, he stumbled back a few steps but managed to regain his balance with relative ease.

Baring his teeth, Hamish attacked, wildly lashing out with his sword. Maera threw another burst of air at him, more forceful this time, and shouted in approval when he stumbled several paces back and fell to his knees.

"Enough," he snarled, staggering to his feet. Hamish taunted her in a deadly dance, advancing two steps with a quick thrust, then retreating when she parried and countered, drawing blood.

Strong winds rattled the window panes as the storm grew to a fevered pitch. The wind screeched outside like a banshee demanding entrance. Thunder crashed in the heavens, and the entire building trembled from the power. Hamish cast a puzzled glance over his shoulder to the window, and Maera seized her moment.

Rushing forward with dirk held at the ready, she jabbed the blade toward his stomach, cursing when he turned and deflected the brunt of the blow. Instead of gutting him as she'd hoped, she only managed to slice his forearm from wrist to elbow.

Panic filled her, and Maera lashed out in desperation, grunting when blood spewed from the wound she inflicted at his neck, but it wasn't mortal and seemed to do little more than anger him. They circled one another with weapons held at the ready, looking for another moment of weakness.