Forest Kingdom Trilogy 3 - Down Among the Dead Men

witch called Salamander, who had died three months before. Three months almost to the day. Salamander had been a pretty good witch, in her way, but she had always thought herself a swordswoman as well as a magic-user, and in the end that killed her. She had drawn her sword when she should have cast a spell, and the bandit had been just that little bit faster with his ax. She took a bad wound in the gut, the wound became infected, and Salamander died in a filthy village tavern, out of her mind with fever and calling for a husband who’d been dead five years.
    MacNeil had killed the bandit, but it didn’t help. He’d led his team into that village. He’d told them it was safe.
    He’d had a lot of trouble finding someone to replace Salamander. Every Ranger team had to have a magic-user; there were far too many magical creatures and occurrences lying in wait in the Forest these days, left over from the Demon War. Unfortunately, most of the kingdom’s magic-users had been killed in the war, so instead of a sorcerer or sorceress he’d had to settle for a witch—first Salamander, then Constance.
    Although he hadn’t exactly chosen Constance. Truth was, he’d spent so long hedging over his choice that his superiors got impatient and appointed a witch for him. Constance had been a lot younger than he’d expected, but since she’d been raised and trained in the all-woman Academy of the Sisters of the Moon, he had no doubt as to the power of her magic. The sisterhood didn’t turn out underachievers. You either graduated with honor or they buried you in an unmarked grave and scratched your name off the academy rolls.
    He bowed politely to the witch beside him. “Well, Constance, this is it. That fort is what all the fuss is about.”
    “Poxy-looking place,” said Constance airily. “Any sign of life?”
    “Not so far. As soon as the others catch up, we’ll go and take a closer look. See if it’s still habitable.”
    Constance looked at him quickly. “You’re not thinking of spending the night in there?”
    MacNeil shrugged. “There’s a storm coming, and a bad one by the feel of it. You can sleep out here in the rain if you want to, but personally speaking, I’m not at all averse to the idea of having a solid roof over my head for a change. You’re new to field work, Constance; the first thing you learn in this business is to take your comforts when you can, and be grateful for them. They’re few and far between in our line of work. There’s plenty of time to give the fort a thorough inspection before nightfall.”
    Constance shook her head. “I don’t know, Sergeant, I—”
    “Constance,” said MacNeil easily, “there’s only one leader in this team, and that’s me. I’ve taken the time to explain some of my reasoning to you because you’re new to this group and this is your first mission, but I’m not going to make a habit of it. When I give an order I expect it to be obeyed, without question. Is that clear?”
    “Perfectly clear,” said Constance coldly. She turned away from him and studied the fort with great concentration. “I take it you have noticed that there are no guards on the battlements.”
    “Yes.”
    “Could they all have deserted, do you think?”
    MacNeil shrugged. “It’s possible. But if that’s the case, what happened to all the messengers the king sent?”
    Constance pursed her lips thoughtfully and tried to look like she was thinking hard. She wanted very much to impress MacNeil, but at this distance she couldn’t See anything useful about the apparently deserted fort. She was still learning how to use her Sight, that mystical mixture of foresight and insight, and there were limits to what she could do with it. Unfortunately, the only cure for that was experience, which was why she’d applied to become a Ranger. It was one of the quickest ways to graduate from witch to sorceress. If you survived.
    She heard a noise behind her and looked back sharply into the Forest as the rest of the party appeared out of the shadows. Flint and the Dancer guided their horses along the difficult trail with casual ease. They both looked extremely competent and completely relaxed.
    Jessica Flint was a good-looking brunette in her late twenties. She was a little over average height, wore her hair cropped like a man, and had a figure that would have been voluptuous if she hadn’t been so muscular. Flint was a trained swordswoman and looked it. She wore a long chain mail vest that