Witch Hunt: A Pitchfork County Novella by Witt Sam

Author:Witt, Sam [Witt, Sam]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Pitchfork Publishing
Published: 2015-08-28T04:00:00+00:00

11

The Beast wanted to lunge over the stalagmite and charge straight at the witch finder. The Beast wanted blood, and it wanted it now. But even the Beast knew that the witch finder was a wily and dangerous opponent. He’d managed to lay traps for Al in the wilderness; there was no telling what he had waiting in his own lair.

Instead of charging blindly, the Beast hunkered down and kept his belly close to the cave’s floor as he slithered up on his foe. He slipped from one stalagmite to the next, from flowstone to shadow. He circled the witch finder, watching as the dark ritual unfolded.

As the witch finder intoned his ancient verses, he lifted his arms and turned his implements in complex patterns. The scores of candles littering the room flared in response to his words. The scattered light sources threw shadows in every direction and created overlapping, confusing patterns of light that made it difficult for the Beast to focus on the old man.

He circled the witch finder, hoping the man was lost in his ritual. The Beast didn't know how long he had until the chanting stopped, but as long as it continued he felt comfortable that the witch finder wouldn't be paying attention to much of anything else. He used the time to position himself behind the witch finder, edging around one pillar then another, to get within striking distance.

The witch finder arched his back and raised his hands as high as he could, holding the scepter parallel to the floor and the knife with its tip downward, ready to stab. The Beast knew he was out of time.

He rushed forward, coming in low and fast. The witch finder's voice reached a crescendo, words screaming out of his dry throat, the tortured syllables spilling out of his mouth in a torrent of Left-Hand Path sorcery that inflamed the candles and sent their light soaring toward the ceiling.

The knife was coming down, its tip glowing with golden light. The Beast watched it fall. He'd been too slow, too late.

He slammed into the witch finder hard enough to rattle his thoughts like dice in a cup. His tackle caught the man at the knees and tore his legs out from under him. The witch finder came down on the Beast’s back, grunting with pain as his legs twisted up with the Beast’s arms.

The chant cut off, and the Beast saw the knife where it had fallen out of the witch finder’s hand. There was no blood on the black blade. Rae hadn't been stabbed.

A wave of relief washed over the Beast, but it was short-lived. The witch finder was still in the fight, even if he was tangled in his own furs.

Worming his way out from the tangle of the man's legs, the Beast threw punch after punch into the witch finder's middle. He got to his knees and pummeled the old man, whipping a flurry of wild blows at him.

The Beast couldn't stop, wouldn’t stop his attack once it started.

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