The Wizard's Ward by Jules McAleese

Author:Jules McAleese
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Vale Media
Published: 2022-04-21T21:30:26+00:00

20

Medea’s Plea

Take this,” Ms. Chapman said, trying to catch her breath as she handed Medea a burning torch. The castle dressmaker’s cheeks were flushed from trudging through the humid tunnels of the servants’ passageway. She pointed down the dark tunnel, illuminated by a few decrepit lanterns scattered along the pathway. “You’ll find him just through there.”

Medea grabbed the torch and swept by the dressmaker without a word of thanks, her new blue velvet cloak dragging in the muck as she headed towards a rusted studded door at the end of the tunnel.

At the door, she turned the lock with a set of keys given to her by the chaplain. She’d easily persuaded the old minister that she desperately needed to do the bidding of the goddess Astra and address a heathen locked in the castle prison, alone. Her story wasn’t a complete lie, but she wouldn’t have felt an ounce of guilt even if it was.

As the door slammed behind her, a piercing shriek echoed against the prison walls.

Through the bars of a cell door, Medea spotted a witch with silvery white hair so long that it swept the floor. Her dark eyes twinkled crazily in the light from Medea’s torch. The witch’s face held a youthful beauty, yet it was covered with deep wrinkles. She cracked a smile, exposing her rotted teeth.

Medea knew exactly who this prisoner was: the notorious Cruor Conjuror. Medea had heard tales of her as a child. Mortus had told her that the witch practiced blood magic, a cruel and barbaric witchcraft. She was a cannibal, Mortus said, who claimed to have discovered a secret elixir to immortality. Billington had locked her away in the Cardinal Dungeon with the approval of King Mortimer, Medea’s father. This old woman had been awaiting trial for cannibalism and brewing illegal concoctions since Medea was a child.

When she was young, Medea had been so afraid of the Cruor Conjuror that she’d once had a night terror and dreamt that her brother fed her to the old witch. But now, withering away inside her cell, she was anything but scary.

“Bring me Billington!” the witch shrieked.

Medea stared at her, unblinking.

“I said, bring me Billington!” the Cruor Conjuror shouted again. “That evil old monster tricked me. He forced me into this dungeon, but I’ve done nothing wrong. Except being more powerful than he is!” She let out a cackle that echoed through the stone corridor and waved her arms at Medea through the grates. “Let me out!”

“Quiet, you old witch!” a prisoner shouted from a nearby cell. “Or I’ll break in there and snatch both of your eyes.”

The old witch burst into peals of eerie laughter. “You’ll never be released!” she shrieked.

“My trial is in two days,” the voice shot back as Medea passed them both, treading carefully down the prison corridor. “Pray I’m found guilty—for your own sake.”

A chill crawled up Medea’s spine, as she felt something tug at the hem of her cloak. As she peeked over her shoulder, she saw the grimy hand of an old prisoner, catching at her velvet cloak from the dank prison floor.

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