The Channeling (Rise of the Witch Guard Book 3) by Wachter Luke Sky

Author:Wachter, Luke Sky [Wachter, Luke Sky]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Pacific Crest Publishing
Published: 2016-05-23T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 27: Someone else catches up with the main army

The sun had set hours earlier, and everyone in the camp had already eaten supper when a tall and proud woman, her back unbent or broken by the privations of the road and camp life, marched up to a certain tent and thumped the bit of wood sewn into the tent flap with the bottom of her staff.

“I’m closed for the night. Go away,” came the irritable response from within the tent. “If thou want something come back in the morning.”

“You’ll come out or I’m coming in,” the woman outside said severely.

“Oh, thou will, will thou,” demanded the old woman inside the tent, throwing the flap open and coming out with a gnarl-headed wooden cane clenched in her hand. The knob of the stick seemed to glint in the darkness. “Don’t know better than to beard old Tulla in her own tent when she’s only looking to sleep after another hard day’s walk? It’s time someone taught thou some manners!” She said, shaking away a few stray cobwebs that seemed to stick to her hair as she stepped outside the tent.

“The only one learning any manners tonight will be you, daughter thief!” Muirgheal thundered, moonlight gathering around the head of her staff as she raised it up and brought it down with punishing force.

Tulla shouted incoherently, bringing the gnarled head of her walking stick up to meet Muirgheal’s descending staff in the nick of time. The clash of opposing powers was enough to send both women staggering backwards.

“What?!” Tulla demanded, falling back into her tent with a thump before her mouth tightened and, grasping the cane with both hands, levered herself back to her feet.

Meanwhile Muirgheal, staggering and overbalanced, managed to finally find her footing and leveled the staff back at the other witch.

“Who?” Tulla hissed spitting mad with fury at the attack. “Who dares…?” she repeated angrily.

“Muirgheal of the Common Brood,” the younger witch declared proudly.

“A common coward, and a name I’ve never even heard of,” Tulla scoffed. “If you think either of these things moves me. Me a Branch-”

“By custom, I have the right of training along maternal lines when, where, and how I wish! You will release my daughter or I’ll grind your bones for blood meal and stretch your skin over a drum!” Muirgheal hissed. “And we’ll see if that is enough to remove your hexes!”

“Thou have courage, but as the last survivor of root and branch…all thorns…are mine!” Tulla panted, raising her cane high, prompting a black and brown swirl to form around the gnarled head of her cane.

“You’ve got a lot of guts!” Muirgheal shouted, raising her staff high. Bringing her offhand up, she clasped it into a near fist next to the hand holding the staff, “Old hag!”

“Who are you calling an ‘old hag’?” Tulla snarled, jumping fully six feet into the air and spinning forward with preternatural speed and grace. She did a full rotation midair before bringing the head of her cane into a downward strike infused with the power of her magics.

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