The Wayward Witch Chronicles

Vera kept her nose in a textbook the entire walk, and watching her, West teetered between fascination and concern. How could she be so relaxed, with the fort of the Vaari cultists nearing with every step? Was her trust in her companions – or maybe not so much West, but at least Roman – so complete?

As the group crested the hill and took their first tentative steps among the ruins, Vera’s danger sense finally seemed to trigger. Pulling a wand from her case, the scholar licked her lips, darting her eyes at each shadow in turn.

No menace appeared, though, and now she’d gone too far the other way – from too relaxed to too jumpy. Hoping to distract her from her nerves, West asked, “Lass, ye dinnae ever mention how this castle fell, did ye?”

Preoccupied with eying a particularly suspicious shrub, Vera let several seconds pass before answering. “Got on the wrong side of a wizard,” she said. “Bad luck. Old story.”

“What happened to the wizard after?”

“Got on the wrong side of a sword.” Vera chuckled quietly, shoulders relaxing.

“Ah. Aye, that’s the way o’ things.”

They continued on, through crumbling walls standing well over their heads. They found the ruins spread out much, much larger than they’d anticipated– it was not just a castle that had fallen here, West decided, but some stretch of settlement as well. Nature and time slowly tore its lingering bones apart, in the form of strangling vines and tenacious shrubs. Among the decimated remains, they passed signs of past camps– dead fires, or logs as seating. The leavings of uninvited guests to the ruins, ones who hadn’t bothered setting up camp as far away as theirs had.

Despite the decaying sprawl, West knew that all roads would lead to a single main thoroughfare. When they reached it, at Vera’s direction, they followed it east. Soon, they came upon the fortifications of what must have been the castle’s inner bailey. The walls here were unbroken, though the gates unlocked. Beyond the gates was an unblemished courtyard. This massive stretch must have been where the castle once stood; now, it was as open to the air as the surface of a lake, polished stone gleaming. There was more rubble stuck under the treads of their boots than to be found here, where the castle had once stood.

“This is the place,” Vera said, certain of herself. “Look– same material as the castle around here, but the work is different. Much better, smoother stone and sharper corners. Telltale signs of Zorrocean craft.”

“Aye, and a whole muck of old camps here too,” West said, nodding at a corner half-sheltered by a wall where bits of old rubbish and broken charcoal remained. “Well and truly old, some of them. Doesn’t look like this path gets a whole lot of use. Arenae we expectin’ there’re folks actually livin’ here?”

Roman waved a hand dismissively. “I wouldn’t expect that Zorroceans care too much for tidying up aboveground,” Roman said, but he shifted his weight unsurely.

“Oh, aye. They’ll take the time to build up a pretty wall like this, but not sweep away the trash foulin’ it,” West drawled. This earned him a rebuking stare from Roman, so he sighed and let it go. After all, from this moment on, he was relying on Roman’s information on how to open up the way into the rumored Zorrocean fort– no sense in provoking the swordsman. “Well, what’re we doin’ next?”

Vera already moved forward, scouting the courtyard carefully. “It should be somewhere here,” she murmured. Then, with a cry of triumph, she reached a foot over one brick in particular and pressed her weight down. “Found it, sir!”

Even as she called, West felt a shiver run through the ground. Something clicked, and then released a massing grinding. Four thin pillars arduously rose from concealment under the polished stonework. With ever more herculean groans, the thick stones on the far side of the courtyard drove themselves up by the dozens.

Roman whistled a low note of surprise as the walls of a great gateway rose beyond the four pillars. Its builders must have used hundreds of tons of ornamented stone in shaping its grand archways, and even more in shaping its imposing doors. “Well, there it is,” he said, smiling, as the grinding slowed to a halt and the dust of movement began to settle.

“Aye, there it is. And if there are any Zorroceans ‘bout, they’ll sure as shit know we’re here,” West said.

“So keep an eye open for them,” Roman suggested.

“Dinnae ye think yer bein’ a wee bit too relaxed with all this?”

“Not at all. After all, you’re the one that pointed out that nobody’s been up here to clear out messes, right? Well, I see no signs of any fights up here, either. We should be fine as long as we’re still on the surface.” With an open-handed gesture, Roman invited the scholar forward. “Vera, the door?”

Vera inspected the doorway, then shrugged. “Sealed,” she called back.

“As expected,” the swordsman said, undaunted, and pulled a pocket notebook from his pack. Flipping through the pages, he made his way to the nearest pillar and began comparing it to his notes.

Each of the pillars was about a meter tall, with a small alcove cut into one side near the top. Pleasing grooves ran up and down the sides, and on the flat, circular top, a design of some manner of flower– and each pillar, a different floral.

“A puzzle, eh?” West said.

Roman nodded. “An herbalism puzzle, to be exact,” he said, proceeding to the next pillar and inspecting it. He jotted down a few notes as he visited each pillar in turn, and as he inspected the last, gave a satisfied nod and snapped the book shut. “Exactly as expected!”

Roman produced a few small pouches from his pack. Vera retrieved one from him, and Roman tossed a second to the Investigator. “Here, take this. Put a few pinches of this in the nook of the pillar facing west there.”

West did as told, adding some spice-smelling dried petals to the small cavity, as Vera and Roman sorted out the other pillars. Once complete, Roman collected the pouches and tucked them away. “Now, we just need to wait for midnight. Keep alert.”

As they waited, the shadows of the distant hills stretched out, reaching the stony courtyard. At first, Vera occupied herself with a detailed inspection of the architecture, while Roman rested himself up against the front arch of the wall and West kept a patient watch. As one by one, stars began to peek out, the group gathered around the remains of a dead campfire in the corner.

With the dark of the moonless night setting in and the summer air cooling, West found himself thinking wistfully of the comfortable camp they’d set up back by the road. Passing the time, he ate half the provisions he’d gotten from the innkeeper; chatted idly with Vera about her career as a field researcher; whiled away the hours telling old fables. All the while, he kept an eye sharp to the shadows, just in case there might be someone else lurking around, drawn by the sound of the gateway.

It didn’t make sense that no Zorroceans had come out to greet them. The original designers of this place must have intended their entry method as a means to gain entry in a pinch– if a hostile force had seized control of the fort, for example. The Zorroceans had to have other ways in and out of the place from within, and for them not to confront invaders was beyond suspicious. More and more, reality called the group’s research into question.

But Roman clearly didn’t welcome his doubts. It would take more than suspicion to convince the swordsman that something was amiss. West only hoped that they’d be able to solve the mystery before they had gotten in over their heads, like all the other groups to have disappeared here before them.

Ruminating, West hadn’t realized he’d let the conversation fizzle out until Vera broke the silence. “Tell me about your magic.”

West cocked his head. “What magic, lass?”

“The one around your neck.”

"Ah." West’s fingers found the copper talisman hanging by a strong bit of string around his neck. It bore the shield-and-wings symbol of Avdris, the god of travel and bounty. “Jes’ a trinket, lass."

“It's old,” Vera said, never looking away from her work. “What’s it do?”

West didn’t answer right away. His gaze floated off toward some distant point of the plains, his mind wandering. “Reminds me o’ someone, is all. Nae much good fer anythin’ else.”

Vera huffed. “Liar. Magic.”

West’s face tightened into a forced smile. “Like I said, it’s nae good fer anythin’ practical. It’s meant as a counter fer one spell, and jes’ one spell only. Without that, it’s nothin’ but a bit o’ copper."

"What's the spell, then?” Met with silence, she prompted again, "Well?" When he still offered no answer, she huffed quietly, but gave up.

Near midnight, something sparked. The three adventurers rose as one, loosening weapons and drawing wands, although they didn’t know what for.

Thin, glowing lines spiderwebbed from the doorway between the stone cracks of the courtyard. Where they reached the pillars, the lights ran up the grooves on the sides, and with a flare of smoke and flame, the small pinches of herbs smoldered, and the scent of burning florals filled the air.

As the last pillar blazed, West heard a great click of a mechanism activating.

An intake of air, like the first gasp of breath after waking from a nightmare, sucked the light from the fires and blew the ashes from their pedestals. A crack of light appeared at the doorway, widening smoothly and quickly into an open archway. The unnatural wind stilled, leaving only the normal night breeze.

The gateway was open.