James let out a long breath. “When darkness finally comes, those blood-drinkers will be back, and I think they are here for no other reason than to keep us busy. So whatever we do, we have to do it quickly.” He looked at Jazhara. “One thing strikes me. Rowland and Alton were too anxious to get rid of that witch for it to have only been about finding a scapegoat. There’s something about her they feared.”
Jazhara said, “Then we should go talk to her.” Glancing at the sun, she added, “And quickly. I think we have less than two hours before night falls again.”
James nodded. Walking past Jazhara he said, “Let us go visit the witch at Widow’s Point.”
As they climbed the hillside toward Widow’s Point, the woods turned ominously dark. The fading sun created darker shadows on the trail than usual. “It’s like traveling at twilight,” whispered Solon.
James laughed. “I feel the need to speak softly, too.”
Jazhara said, “Stealth may be prudent, but time is fleeting.”
As they rounded a bend in the trail, James held up his hand. “Someone’s ahead,” he whispered.
They moved forward and James soon clearly saw a figure crouched in the gloom. It was a boy of no more than nine years of age. James walked up behind him, making no effort to be silent, yet the child’s attention remained fixed upon a small hut near the cliffs. When James put his hand on the child’s shoulder, the boy shouted in alarm and nearly fell down in surprise.
“Don’t be afraid,” said Jazhara. “We mean you no harm.”
The boy’s eyes were large with terror. “Who are you?” he asked.
“I am Jazhara, and this is Squire James of Krondor. That’s Brother Solon, and Kendaric. Who are you?”
The boy’s voice lost its quaver, but he still looked frightened. “I’m Alaric. I’m here to watch the witch. Pa says they’re going to burn her real soon, so I wanted to see her do some black magic stuff before they get her.”
“I think you should hurry home before it gets much darker,” said James.
Jazhara asked, “Is she in the hut now?”
“I haven’t seen her. Sometimes she wanders the beach below Widow’s Point. I’d be careful; she’s really dangerous.”
James said, “Thank you. Now, get on home. Your family will be worried about you.”
The boy didn’t need any more urging and turned and ran down the trail.
They walked on toward the dwelling and James shouted, “Hello, in the hut!”
There was no answer.
James approached and climbed the single step to a wooden porch.
The small stoop had an overhang from which hung a variety of gourds. Jazhara inspected the corpses of a couple of small animals hung there to dry and then an assortment of herbs. “This ‘witch’ is either a practitioner of magic or simply an old woman well-versed in the arts of remedy. I recognize several of these plants. They are used for poultices and herbal teas.”
The hut had been constructed on a wooden platform, the porch extended out a few feet from the front wall. Looking down, Solon said, “At least she’s dry when it rains.”
“And it rains a lot along this part of the coast,” Kendaric added. He wrapped his arms around himself as if he were cold and said, “Not only is it getting darker, but it feels like rain is coming.”
“Just what we need,” said James. He pushed aside a piece of hide strung across the lintel, serving as a door. Inside the hut were a crude table and a single stool. A cauldron simmered before a fire.
Kendaric looked at the brown mixture. “Not a witch? Then what’s that?”
James walked over and inspected the bubbling liquid. He took a ladle from a hook over the fireplace and dipped it into the cauldron. Raising it he sniffed, then sipped it. Turning to Kendaric he said, “Soup. And very good, too.”
He replaced the ladle when a voice at the door said, “Come to burn me?”
James turned to see a frail-looking old woman standing in the entrance, holding a bundle of sticks.
“Well, don’t just stand there, staring. You expect an old woman to gather all the wood for her own burning?”
The old woman looked barely larger than the child they had just sent home. Her skin was almost translucent with age, and her hair was completely white. Her tiny fingers looked like skin over bones, but she had all her teeth and her eyes were bright and alive.
James smiled. “We’re not here to burn you, woman.”
“Oh, that’s what they all say,” she said, pushing past Kendaric and throwing the bundle of sticks down next to the hearth.
Jazhara said, “You practice magic?”
The old woman sat down on her small stool and shrugged. “I know a thing or two. But mostly I mix up remedies for people, or tell fortunes.” Her eyes got a faraway look. “Sometimes I see things, but that’s . . . difficult. It’s rarely pleasant.”
Kendaric said, “I’m from the Wreckers’ Guild in Krondor and I’ve tried to raise a ship recently sunk off the Point. Something is blocking my magic. It’s powerful and I need to know what it is.”
The old woman studied Kendaric for a moment, then turned to face Jazhara. “You practice the craft?”
Jazhara said, “I am the court magician to Prince Arutha.”
“Ah,” said the old woman, a bemused smile on her face. “A woman magician. Time was you’d have been put to death for even claiming to know the arts in Krondor.”