A Quest of Heroes (Book #1 in the Sorcerer's Ring)

coins rang in the room.
    He
prayed it would pacify her, that she would give him what he wanted and he could
leave this place.
    The
witch reached out a single finger with a long, curved nail, picking up one of
the bags and inspecting it. Gareth held his breath, hoping she would ask no
more.
    “This
might be just enough to buy my silence,” she said.
    She
turned and hobbled into the darkness. There was a hiss, and beside a candle
Gareth could see her mixing liquid into a small, glass vial. It bubbled over,
and she put a cork on it. Time seemed to slow as Gareth waited, increasingly
impatient. A million worries raced through his mind: what if he was discovered?
Right here, right now? What if she gave him the wrong vial? What if she told
someone about him? Had she recognized him? He couldn’t tell.
    Gareth
was having increasing reservations about this whole thing. He never knew how
hard it could be to assassinate someone.
    After
what felt like an interminable silence, the witch returned. She handed him the
vial, so small it nearly disappeared into his palm.
    “Such
a small vial?” he asked. “Can this do the trick?”
    She
smiled.
    “You’d
be amazed at how little it takes to kill a man.”
    Gareth
turned and began to head for the door, when suddenly he felt a cold finger on
his shoulder. He had no idea how she had managed to cross the room so quickly,
and it terrified him. He stood there, frozen, afraid to turn and look at her.
    She
spun him around, leaned in close—an awful smell emanating from her—then
suddenly reached up with both hands, grabbed his cheeks, and kissed him,
pressing her shriveled lips hard against his.
    Gareth
was revolted. It was the most disgusting thing that had ever happened to him.
Her lips were like the lips of a lizard, her tongue, which she pressed onto
his, like that of a reptile. He tried to pull away, but she held his face
tight, pulling him harder.
    Finally,
he managed to yank himself away. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand,
as she leaned back and chuckled.
    “The
first time you kill a man is the hardest,” she said. “You will find it much
easier the next time around.”
    *
    Gareth
burst out of the cottage, back into the clearing, to find Firth standing there,
waiting for him.
    “What’s
wrong? What happened?” Firth asked, concerned. “You look as if you’ve been
stabbed. Did she hurt you?”
    Gareth
paused, breathing hard, wiping his mouth again and again. He hardly knew how to
respond.
    “Let’s
get away from this place,” he said. “Now!”
    As
they began to move, to head out of the clearing into the black wood, the sun
was suddenly obscured by clouds racing across the sky, making the beautiful day
cold and dark. Gareth had never seen such thick, black clouds appear so
quickly. He knew that whatever was happening, it was not normal. He worried how
deep the powers of this witch were, as the cold wind rose in the summer day and
crept up the back of his neck. He couldn’t help but think she had somehow
possessed him with that kiss, cast some sort of curse on him.
    “What
happened in there?” Firth pressed.
    “I
don’t want to talk about it,” Gareth said. “I don’t want to think about this
day—ever again.”
    The
two of them hurried back down the trail, down the hill, and soon entered the
main forest trail to head back towards King’s Court. Just as Gareth was beginning
to feel more relieved, preparing to shove the whole episode to the back of his
mind, suddenly, he heard another set of boots. He turned and saw a group of men
walking towards them. He couldn’t believe it.
    His
brother. Godfrey. The drunk. He was walking towards them, laughing, surrounded
by the villainous Harry, and two other of his miscreant friends. Of all times
and places, for his brother to run into him here. In the woods, in the middle
of nowhere. Gareth felt as if his whole plot were cursed.
    Gareth
turned away, pulled the hood over his face, and hiked twice as fast, praying he
had not been discovered.
    “Gareth?”
called out the voice.
    Gareth
had no choice. He froze in his tracks, pulled back his hood, and turned and
looked at his brother, who came waltzing merrily towards him.
    “What
are you doing here?” Godfrey asked.
    Gareth
opened his mouth, but then closed it, stumbling, at a loss for words.
    “We
were going for a hike,” Firth volunteered, rescuing him.
    “A
hike, were you?” one of Godfrey’s friends mocked Firth, in a high, feminine
voice. His