They say the people of Witch Hills were created when Beauty mated with Magic. But it could also be said they were too ugly to be borne, hidden as they were behind their masks and veils. To be sure they had little use for outsiders, and rarely ventured beyond their own borders.
So it was with surprise the warlord Rankin received a summons to the city of Alandria, the largest of the cities of Witch Hills. He went, accompanied by twelve of his best knights, curious to see what the people of Witch Hills would need from a warrior. From all accounts, the Witchers, as they were called, were fierce themselves and needed no one’s protection.
Even the cities of Witch Hills were beautiful to behold. They were built of white stone – tall, slender towers, graceful arches spanning a deep crevasse, gardens spilling over low walls and waterfalls misting the air. While the men accompanying him looked around in wonder, muttering to themselves, Rankin remained impassive.
They were led to the audience chamber, a room not overly large, made of the same white stone as the rest of the city, only this stone sparkled with flecks of silver. It was brightly lit, but the source for that light was unseen. The men with Rankin muttered nervously about magic, but quieted with a glance from their leader. The walls were hung with finely woven tapestries, the brilliant colors showing mostly landscapes and fantastical beasts.
King Theron sat at one end of the room on a throne made of blue glass. Even seated he gave the impression of being tall. His shoulders were broad and his long dark hair was threaded with silver. He was dressed in black armor that shone in the light.
There was a full complement of guards, twenty in all, ranged behind and to the sides of the thrones. They were dressed in a dull grey armor that seemed almost out of place surrounded by so much opulence.
“Welcome, Rankin of Varellia,” the king said when Rankin was halfway to the throne. “You prompt response to our request is met with gratitude.” The king’s voice was deep and sonorous.
Rankin waited until he was only a few feet from the throne before stopping to answer. He bowed and said, “I am grateful for your summons, and I admit to some curiosity as to its purpose.”
The king wasted no time on formalities. “The nomads of the wastelands to the north have long harried our borders. For years they have been insignificant, a minor irritation like fleas on a dog. However there has been a cult rising in their midst, one dedicated to the Ice Lords.”
“I have heard of this cult,” Rankin said. “I agree that it is becoming a growing concern to many of the surrounding kingdoms.”
“I wish to form an alliance to deal with this matter.”
“An alliance you say?” Rankin’s gaze narrowed. “This is all but unheard of.”
“Indeed. But as with all things, times must change.”
“And what have you to offer in exchange for this alliance?”
“Ah, what indeed?” King Theron got to his feet. “I offer you my hospitality that we may speak of this further.”
“Accepted,” Rankin said readily. He would have been a fool not to accept. As well as rumors of the magic and great beauty of the inhabitants of Witch Hills, they were also rumored to be incredibly wealthy.
He ordered his men to stand down and follow the servants to a less formal dinner, while he followed another to a room where he was to refresh himself. A bath had been drawn and a fresh clothing laid out for him. He fingered the fine cloth with appreciation. Obviously armor was not welcome at the dinner table. The dark blue trousers were a perfect fit, as was the tunic with gold trim to go over them. Finishing the outfit were a pair of low heeled boots of dark blue leather.
There was another servant waiting for him when he was finished, who led him to a small, but elegant, dining room. A fire had been laid in the fireplace at one end, and the long table was set for four. The king and a young man were already seated, rising when he entered the room.
“This seems a far more fitting way of greeting one we hope will be a friend,” King Theron said. “May I present to you my son, Orin.”
The king was still dressed in black, trousers tucked into half boots with a silver trimmed tunic much like the one Rankin was wearing over top. Orin was wearing a similar outfit, save his was in a smoky grey and there was no ornamentation on the tunic.
Neither man was wearing a mask and Rankin would have had to been blind not to be struck by their beauty. Their features were perfectly symmetrical, high cheekbones, piercing blue eyes, lashes any woman would have envied. Rankin gave a start when he realized he’d been staring.
“I am honored to meet you, Orin,” he said. “Word of your prowess with the bow has reached even my poor castle.”
The eyes that had been staring at him so indifferently suddenly brightened. “I have heard that you have developed a cross bow that can be used from horseback. Perhaps we can speak of this at a later time.”
“It would be my pleasure.”
“We but wait upon my daughter, Sharina,” Theron said, taking charge of the conversation once more.
No sooner had the words left his mouth than the door to the dining was opened and a servant announced, “The lady Sharina.”
She swept into the room in a cloud of a floral scent that went straight to Rankin’s head. At least that was what he told himself, that it was the scent and not the beauty of the woman herself that went to his head. And she was beautiful, the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen. It only took that one look and he was utterly lost.
“Sharina, my daughter,” Theron said, although he might as well have saved his breath for all the attention Rankin paid to him.
“Pray let us be seated. I know the royal cook has spent the greater part of the day preparing this feast,” Sharina said.
Rankin sat automatically. Her voice was like bells, no, more like a choir of angels. He could sustain himself just listening to the sound.
The meal was delicious, but Rankin tasted very little of it. Words were spoken, but he had no idea what was said. Most of the meal he spent staring at Sharina while trying to make it look like he was not staring. Had he been able to pay attention to anything else, he might have noticed the look of satisfaction on Theron’s face.
