The Witch's Tower by Tamara Grantham (uplifting novels .txt) 📖

Evening approached as we traveled west toward the Outerlands. After passing through a small village, we’d managed to barter a horse from a farmer. Drekken rode a gray nag whose ribs protruded, and had a swayed back. If we were attacked, I doubted the horse could keep pace. Still, he had a horse, which was more than he’d had before, although I wasn’t sure if he deserved it. Something about the man made me uneasy, yet I pitied him at the same time. Either I was making a new friend, or I was trusting a complete cheat. I would most likely find out soon enough.

After leaving the village, the landscape changed. Grass grew in clumps amongst the rocks. The trees disappeared, replaced with sage brush. Color drained from the world. Greens and reds and yellow were replaced with the faded hue of the sand. Even the plants took on the same color, as if the sand had drained all the brightness away.

“We’ll not make it to the border before nightfall,” Raj said. “We’ll have to make camp.”

“Where?” I asked.

“Maybe we’ll find a cave.”

“Or an inn,” I said with a sigh, “with a hot meal and a bath drawn.”

Raj laughed. “There’ll be no chance of that the closer we get to the Outerlands.”

“One can wish.”

“I suppose so.”

Our horses’ hooves echoed through the expanse as the sun approached the horizon, leaving only a few rays to light the world. The wolf plodded alongside us, not making a sound, moving forward as if in a trance. He hadn’t taken his dwarf form since we’d met Drekken, and I wondered how the elf would react to having a shapeshifter as a traveling companion. Maybe we should have warned him of it, but I doubted he would have changed his mind.

As we rode, the wind blew stronger, its howling drowning out all other sounds. On the horizon, a dilapidated hovel and a stable appeared. Rotting wooden timbers and crumbling stones formed the outer walls, and the thatched roofs had collapsed in places. We stopped our horses and scanned the area. There were no animals about, and all that remained of the fences were a few posts peeking from the sand.

“It looks abandoned,” I said.

“I agree,” Raj said. “I doubt anyone’s lived here in years.”

“Do you think we should stay?”

“Yes. We’ll not find anywhere else this far out.”

“What if it’s unsafe?” I asked over the wind.

“If it is, we’ll find out.”

I wasn’t thrilled by his answer, but anything was better than staying outside in the sandstorm, so I dismounted.

The soreness in my legs was still present, but it seemed my muscles were growing accustomed to riding. I walked with the others toward what had once been the stable but was now a ramshackle structure with a half-collapsed roof.

Inside, stalls lined either side of the walkthrough, and we stabled our horses in them. We’d purchased a few scoops of grain from the previous village, and though it wasn’t much, especially for three horses who’d been traveling so much, it made me feel better that we had at least a little to give them.

After leaving the horses, we made our way to the house. The air had grown cold. My skin shivered with goose bumps, and the biting wind only made the chill worse.

When we got to the hovel, Raj grabbed the door handle and, with a shove of his shoulder, pushed it open. We entered a musty smelling room. Stone and timber columns supported what remained of the thatched roof. My boots treaded quietly over the hardpacked dirt floor. Broken clay pots lay strewn about. Outside, the wind beat against the walls, but inside, without the wind, it was a little warmer, though I still couldn’t shake my chills.

In the light of Raj’s lantern, I spotted a spinning wheel sitting near the room’s only window which was covered in furs. As I looked at the room’s back wall, I spotted a rocking chair and a broken baby’s cradle near the stone fireplace. Raj stepped toward the hearth, and his lantern’s light glinted on an iron cooking pot hanging over the empty coals. Gray ash was scattered about, and tiny footprints, like those of a rat, were visible in the dusty cinders.

“What do you think happened to the people?” Drekken asked.

“Whoever they were, they must’ve come upon hard times,” I said.

“Do you think we’ll find their bodies?” A gruff voice said behind us.

We turned around to find the dwarf sitting on the floor. He looked on us with a bloodshot eye as he arranged his eye patch.

“What in the—” Drekken stumbled back and hit the wall. “Who’s that?”

“Drekken, meet… umm…” I started. “Meet our wolf. He’s a shapeshifter.”

“Shapeshifter?”

“Aye,” the dwarf said.

“But… how?” Drekken asked.

“Long story,” I answered. “It involves a witch’s curse. He also can’t remember his name, so don’t bother asking.”

The dwarf grumbled. Drekken’s eyes darted from me to the man on the floor, as if he couldn’t decide if he liked what was going on.

“I’m pleased to meet you,” he said, formally, almost forced, as he gave a stiff bow.

“Save it,” the dwarf bit back. “No dark elf is pleased to meet me unless they’ve laid eyes on my coin purse.”

“Ah,” Drekken said darkly. “I assure you, I’ve no interest in the coin purse belonging to a dwarf. Probably full of cursed gold.”

“What?” the dwarf spat.

“You heard me, Dwarf. I’ve known enough of your kind to know your capabilities.”

“I’ll break your legs, you filthy elf.”

“Will you? With what weapon? Your peg leg?”

“Why you—”

“Dwarf,” I interrupted. “That’s enough. If you’d like to continue on this journey with us, I’d ask that you respect our traveling companions. That goes for you as well, Drekken. If we could get a fire going, would you be inclined to play a tune or two?”

His eyes lit up. “Play for you? You really want me to?”

“Yes, I would love it.”

“Then I shall acquiesce,” he said with a formal bow.

“I think a tune by the fire is a wonderful idea,” Raj said. “I suppose we can use what’s already here for fuel. Dwarf, Drekken, would you mind helping me with this chair and cradle? Gothel, you can dismantle the spinning wheel. We’ll use them all.”

He placed his lantern on the floor, unsheathed his sword with the quiet sound of metal rubbing against leather, and hacked the cradle in two. I cringed. It seemed wrong to so casually destroy an object that had been used to hold someone’s infant, but we needed warmth, and as the cradle was already broken, I put aside my misgivings.

Removing my knife from my boot, I walked to the spinning wheel and began cutting away the spokes. We worked without speaking until we’d dismantled the wooden furniture. After we arranged the wood in the fireplace, Raj lit the fire. A cheery orange flame burst into existence, chasing away the shadows, seeming to lighten the mood. As I sat on the floor beside the blaze, my skin warmed.

It didn’t take long for the fire to chase the chill from the small room, and as we sat near the hearth, we ate a dinner of sausages—that we’d managed to buy in the last village—and some cheese and vegetables.

After riding all day and eating very little, the food tasted divine, and I savored every bite. The others made small talk, and I was grateful Drekken and the dwarf no longer argued, though I was too exhausted