The Hag's Contract

Prologue

In the dark, in a cave high in the Warde Pass, a huge iron cauldron bubbled and frothed over a dimly burning fire, letting loose a fetid stink that would have reminded lesser creatures of death and decay. But not the Hag. She cackled as she worked, tossing in feathers and bits of moss, exotic herbs and colored pebbles, bones and still-warm strips of flesh from creatures her guards had trapped the night before—squirrels, mostly, but also snow hares, a few crows, and even a stray bull moose that had wandered too close to her encampment.

Light suddenly flashed from the cauldron. An eerie glowing mist began to rise from the unholy mixture. Outside, a soft, moaning wind began to howl.

Now, the Hag knew, the time had come.

Leaning forward, she spoke the words of her scrying spell. The glowing mist parted, and she found herself gazing down through the cauldron at a ship on the ocean.

One comes.

She felt a strong source of power on that ship. She had scried upon it thrice in the last two days, and each time it was nearer the rocky shores of Grabentod.

He will be a danger.

She drew in her breath suddenly, knowing her fate was intertwined with the one on that ship. Nothing good would come of their meeting. Blood and fire and death lay in the future. But whose would it be?

He must be killed.

A light step sounded behind her, and suddenly the scrying spell collapsed. It did not matter, the Hag thought. She had seen enough.

She raised her head. The mass of snakes that made up the lower half of her body began to hiss, a sound of recognition rather than fear or anger.

“Pretty-pretty,” she said softly, without looking. She combed her long, thin, scraggly white hair with her fingernails. “What news do you bring?”

Orin Hawk, the lieutenant who guarded the northern border of her realm, spoke in a low, powerful voice: “All is ready, Mistress.”

She glanced over her shoulder. Hawk’s strong blue eyes met hers without hesitation. She saw love and admiration in his gaze, and such devotion as a man would have for his intended bride. Giving a low chuckle, the Hag turned back to her cauldron.

Many years ago, Hawk had been a ranger in the service of the king of Drachenward. He had led a force of thirty men against her. Rather than fight, she had charmed Hawk into her service … him and most of his men. Now they worshiped her. They would have died for her, and gladly, had she so commanded. Her bloodline ran deep, all the way back to Azrai the Shadow and the final battle at Mount Deismaar, and she knew the full extent of her powers. Men, she could charm with ease. They were such fools.

But not the one who comes, a tiny voice inside her said. You cannot charm him.

He would have to be dealt with more subtly … but already her plans were afoot.

“All?” she asked.

“Aye, Mistress.”

She chuckled once more. Leaning forward, she caught a faint glimpse of herself reflected in the cauldron, her normally sallow white skin looking green and puckered, the boils and open sores of her face wreathed by the rising steam. Once, she thought, studying her reflection, she had loved gazing into mirrors. That had been a long time ago, back in dim and distant days when she had been human and beautiful. Now she was awnsheghlien, a being of true power. The people of Drachenward and Grabentod might call her an abomination, but she knew better. She was a power.

“Good,” she said. Yes, every piece of her plot had begun to fall into place. She would kill this newcomer to Grabentod. “We leave at dawn.” “Yes, Mistress,” Hawk said.