The Crone of Midnight Embers by Iris Beaglehole

Author:Iris Beaglehole [Beaglehole, Iris]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: New, Fantasy
Amazon: B0CCCBRJ4Q
Goodreads: 193548782
Published: 2023-09-30T07:00:00+00:00

39

The Rogue

Declan had continued to observe the chaotic scene below him from his vantage point in the oak tree, the cottage consumed by flames, the red-cloaked guards shouting and scrambling. Despite the violence of the situation, the laughter still bubbled in his chest. He couldn’t help but admire the ingenuity of the witches.

The way they had escaped, floating above the town in a magical bubble, was both whimsical and clever. It was a tactic he’d never seen before, and in his long life, he had seen much. The notion that there was still magic that could surprise him was both exciting and terrifying.

He should be back at camp, preparing his lunch, but still, he waited in the oak, and he watched.

The guards were now frantically trying to douse the flames, their red cloaks flapping like wings of strange birds. The scene looked surreal, like a frame from one of those old movies he used to enjoy.

He waited until the Order members had cleared off, and the town’s fire fighters had come to tend to the blaze. They were too busy to notice him slip silently down from the oak tree and begin walking.

The knuckle bones, still warm in his hand, pulsed with energy. They were an ancient tool, but their magic was as sharp as ever. Through them, he could still sense the witches’ presence, their magic trail like a glowing thread weaving through the sky.

A sudden realisation hit him. He could follow that trail if he wanted to. He could keep track of the witches and see where they went.

But why would he? He had no follow up orders yet. He was hired to locate the fire witch, not to follow her and her escapades around like a lost puppy.

Yet something about this case gnawed at him, tugging at his conscience. The fire witch, was not just another target. She was different. Her magic was raw, powerful, and unique. And her eyes, those haunting eyes, seemed to see right through him.

He shook his head, trying to clear the wayward thoughts. He was a professional, a rogue for hire. He had no business getting involved in the affairs of witches and secret orders.

He reached into his rucksack again, his fingers brushing against various magical artefacts and tools he carried. They were all there for a purpose, each one with a specific use. Yet now, he felt a sense of disconnection from them, as if they were relics from a different life.

The Order’s intentions were clear as mud, but either they wanted the witches dead or they wanted to use them, manipulate them for their own gain, and then dispose of them. It was a plan as old as time, and one he had seen play out again and again.

Delia was oblivious and he was complicit in her peril. He found himself wishing he could warn her, tell her to be careful, to watch her back. But that was not his place. He was just a hired hand, bound by contract and duty.

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