Witches’ Brew by Terry Brooks

Rydall laughed, and his laugh was as big and deep as his voice and decidedly mean. “I would not advise you to try that, High Lord. It would not be as easy as it looks.”

Holiday nodded. “Pick up your gauntlet and go home. I’m hungry for breakfast.”

“No, High Lord. It is you who must pick up the gauntlet if you do not accept my demand for surrender.” Rydall eased his horse forward a step. “Your land lies in the path of my army, and I cannot go around it. I will not. It will fall to me one way or another. But the blood of those who perish will not be on my hands; it will be on your own. The choice is yours, High Lord.”

“I have made my choice,” Ben answered.

Rydall laughed anew. “Bravely said. Well, I did not think you would give in to me easily, not without some proof of my strength, some reason to believe that your failure to do as I have commanded will cause you, and perhaps those you love, harm.”

Ben flushed anew, angry now. “Making threats will not work with me, Rydall of Marnhull. Our conversation is finished.”

“Wait, High Lord!” the other exclaimed hurriedly. “Do not be so quick to interrupt—“

“Go back to wherever it is you came from!” Ben snapped, already turning away.

Then he saw Mistaya. She was standing alone on the parapets several dozen feet away, staring down at Rydall. She was perfectly still, honey-blond hair streaming down her narrow shoulders, elfin face intense, emerald eyes fixed on the riders at the gate. She seemed oblivious to everything else, the whole of her concentration directed downward to where Rydall and his companion waited.

“Mistaya,” Ben called softly. He did not want her there where she could be seen, did not want her so close to the edge. He felt sweat break out on his forehead. His voice rose. “Mistaya!”

She didn’t hear or didn’t want to hear. Ben left the others and walked to her. Wordlessly he grabbed her around the waist and lifted her away from the wall. Mistaya did not resist. She put her arms around his neck and allowed him to set her down again.

He kept his annoyance hidden as he bent close. “Go inside, please,” he told her.

She looked at him curiously, as if puzzling something through, then turned obediently, went through the door, and was gone.

“High Lord Ben Holiday!” Rydall called from below.

Ben’s teeth clenched as he wheeled back to the wall one final time. “I am finished with you, Rydall!” he shouted back in fury.

“Let me have him seized and brought before you!” Abernathy snapped.

“A final word!” Rydall called out. “I said I did not expect you to surrender without some form of proof that I do not lie. Would you have me provide that for you, then, High Lord? Proof that I am able to do as I have threatened?”

Ben took a deep breath. “You must do as you choose, Rydall of Marnhull. But remember this—you must answer for your choice.”

There was a long silence as the two stared fixedly at each other. Despite his anger and resolve, Ben felt a chill pass through him, as if Rydall had taken better measure of him than he had of the other. It was an unsettling moment.

“Good-bye for now, High Lord Ben Holiday,” Rydall said finally. “I will return in three days time. Perhaps your answer will be different then. I leave the gauntlet where it lies. No one but you will be able to pick it up. And pick it up you shall.”

He wheeled about and galloped away. The other rider lingered a moment, all hunched down and still. This rider had not moved or spoken the entire time. It had shown nothing of itself. Now it turned away unhurriedly and moved after Rydall. Together they crossed the open meadow through the wildflowers and grasses, black shadows against the coming light, and disappeared into the trees beyond.

Ben Holiday and his companions watched them go until they were out of sight and did not speak a word.

Breakfast that morning was a somber affair. Ben, Willow, Questor, and Abernathy sat huddled close at one end of the long dining table, picking at their food and talking. Mistaya had been fed separately and had been sent outside to play. As an afterthought, Ben had dispatched Bunion to keep an eye on her.