Introducing the Witch of the Woods

As soon as they had passed the guards standing at the edge of the camp Conn had hurried towards Cormac’s tent. Lucan meanwhile spent his time introducing Althaea to every person they ran into, not noticing the strange looks the green woman received. Althaea seemed hesitant to make conversation with anyone, merely nodding her head politely anytime Lucan made his introductions. It was clear to her that some of the men feared her the second they saw her. It wasn’t uncommon for fearful men to shy away from witches when they spoke, believing every word they said to be a spell cast. Some had in the past even gone as far to punish witches by forcefully removing their tongues. Althaea decided it be best to just remain silent.

Lucan pointed towards a row of blue tents, standing in a half circle, in the middle of which a big cookfire had been built. “That’s where the higher ranking officers sleep and over there are the pavilions, where the armorer and cooks have set up.” The Western Army had made their home of the outskirt of the forest for a little over a fortnight now, though every where they went and set up camp, the lay out remained mostly the same. “Mine and Conn’s tent are all the way at the back, on the outside perimeter, by the stone bridge.” Lucan only had a small little tent, one provided to him by the army, him and the other foot soldiers would always be relegated to the furthest point along the camp. Cormac told him once that it was because he needed him to protect the camps perimeter, but Lucan had long ago guessed that it was simply because they were the most expendable. “I’ll show you it after we meet Cormac. He’ll be so excited to see you!” Lucan was happy to finally have brought Althaea back to camp, as had been requested. He hoped all would go well from here on out, though he was well aware of Cormac's rather questionable temper.

“Lucan! Hurry up man.” Conn barked at him, standing outside of Cormac’s tall, circular tent. Lucan grabbed hold of Althaea’s hand once more and guided her towards the entrance, watching Conn step aside to let them through. “I’ve already told him about the scout you encountered, so no need to worry him about that. Oh, and Lucan, maybe leave out some of the details about our excursion?” Lucan nodded, though hardly listening to what his friend had to say. Instead Althaea stopped, letting Lucan enter the tent before her and turning towards Conn.

“Don’t worry, I’ll do most of the talking.” That seemed to bring Conn some relief, as he held open the flap of the tent for her.

Sitting there before her, on a crooked stool at a low table, studying the tattered edges of an old map, was Commander Cormac. The first thing Althaea noticed was the darkness of his hair, the black beard and bushy eyebrows, furled into a scowl. His left eye had been blinded by a deep scar, running from his forehead down to his upper lip. His large hands were scarred too, his knuckles calloused, his fingers sprinkled with hair. Cormac did not look up from his map, he kept his eyes, or rather, eye, focused on the map before him. One of his fingers trailed the outlines of a river, drawn in blue ink upon the map. Althaea recognized it as The Scythe, the curved river running on the opposite end of the forest they had just traveled through.

“Cormac! Sir, I bring you Althaea, the Witch of the Woods.” Lucan made a show of introducing her, his bellowing voice loud and clear. Althaea couldn’t help but smile at his excitement, though she still felt a little embarrassed when Lucan pushed her forward. When he had finished his introduction Cormac finally looked up at them, having to crane his neck to meet Lucan’s eyes.

“Did you grow again, you mutt?” He said, grinning slightly, gesturing towards two stools on the other end of the table. “Sit, the both of you.” Cormac let his eyes fall on Althaea, studying her, firstly noticing the knife hanging from her belt, then her slate black eyes, peering at him. “So, m’lady, I suppose I have to thank you for so graciously leaving your forest home to come and meet with me.”

Lucan had plopped down on one of the stools, sitting on it awkwardly, his tall legs sticking up and out. Althaea took her seat besides him, letting him pull it back for her, doing her best to seem callous and calm. “I suppose you aught, Sir, though I won’t hold it against you. But now that I am here, what is it that you so urgently needed my attention for?” Althaea rested her hands on the table, looking down to see potential routes and enemy territories marked out on the paper. Cormac had seen her looking too and began rolling the map back up, pulling a leather strap over it and laying it down on the ground next to him.

“In due time, m’lady, in due time. Until then, let’s have a drink!” Cormac leaned over and grabbed hold of three cups and a stone flagon. Quickly he poured a dark red wine into the cups, careful not to spill a drop. When he had finished he shoved two of the cups in their direction, taking one in his own large hand and lifting it upwards. “To safe travels, from here on out.” He spoke, studying the way Althaea inspected the cup and its contents. Lucan already had the cup to his lips, taking a large sip and wiping wine from his mustache with the back of his hand. When he put the cup back on the table again he looked to Cormac and Althaea, the former of which now also drank. Only after he had downed his whole cup, in two large gulps did Althaea grab hold of her own and tasted the sour wine. The liquid burned the back of her throat, yet tasted as any other wine she had drank before. “I appreciate your hospitality Sir, but I did not come all this way to drink with you.” Althaea had no interest in being pampered into a false sense of security, she knew far too well the sudden cruelty men were capable of, especially the career soldier types. Cormac reminded her of most generals, captains and commanders she had met in her lifetime. He was gruff, tough, cunning and cruel. Not the type of man to be trusted, but certainly the kind to be respected. It was clear from his energy that Cormac was a man well suited to war.

“Fine then, I’ll not waste your precious time.” Cormac poured himself another cup of wine, shrugging his shoulders. “I’ve been told that you’ve already been introduced to our enemy, those traitorous dogs from the East? Well they be the reason why I have requested your presence in our camp, for I am of the belief that they intend to rid the earth of your kind, witches that is.” Cormac took another deep gulp from his cup, smacking his lips as the liquid poured down his throat. “All things magic or otherwise peculiar are on the chopping block, or so I’ve heard. That fake King Madoc is a known zealous nut, he has declared a new age, the age of man, he says. You’re not safe no longer, at least not on your own.” Cormac left a small pause as Althaea folded her hands over one another, trying not to show any emotion in her eyes. “So I suggest an alliance, between us and your sisters, wherever they may be. I believe together we can rid the lands of Madoc and his Eastern dogs, before they do anymore harm than they’ve already caused.”

It was all a pretty story, a story based on truths, yet truths that were awfully convenient to Cormac and the people he served. Althaea had a hard time figuring out what to say in response to him, unsure of how best to handle the situation. Madoc Blackmeer, the brother of the Great King, Managold Blackmeer, who ruled all the lands to the west of The Mother, the river that ran north to south throughout the land, had betrayed his brother not long ago. King Managold had ruled over the lands on both sides of the river, as the Blackmeer’s had done for generations, yet Madoc had revolted against him, declaring himself the rightful King and usurping all the lands east of The Mother. It was true that the man was a zealous sort and Althaea had been well introduced to his brutality, a memory she did not wish to think back on too often. Yet aligning herself with the Western Army seemed a rash and bold decision and certainly involving her sisters into the fight was an idea that made her terribly uncomfortable. Perhaps Cormac and Managold were the lesser of two evils, perhaps they remained just evil enough.

Before she had the time to response, even as Cormac and Lucan sat waiting silently, looking at her chewing the inside of her lips indecisively, a sudden intrusion shook them all. A short statured man came rushing into the tent, hailing Cormac. “Commander! The Easterners, they’ve set the forest ablaze!” Cormac rose from his stool faster than a man of his heft aught be able to and as quick as he stood he began barking orders, running outside to rouse his soldiers. Lucan too stood up, opening the flap of the tent to peer outside, stepping aside to let Althaea stand next to him. In the near distance black smoke billowed up, filling the morning sky and blackening the sun. Althaea felt her heart sink as the whole camp in front her ran around, arming themselves. There went the forest, there went her home. The smell of burning timber already clung to the air, as the smoke and fire only seemed to grow.

Lucan laid a comforting hand on the small of her back, his other grabbing hold of his axe. “Stay close to me Althaea, It’ll be okay.”