“Hand over your prisoner and we’ll go our separate ways!” a man from the other group called, apparently their leader. Next to him, a rather large fellow in a strange black suit of attire and hat was showing his teeth rather menacingly, punching one fist into an open hand over and over, likely as some show of intimidation. Oddly, his eyes were vibrant green, crystalline, and faintly glowing. “Otherwise, you’ll be turned into street smears. You’re outmatched here. Or do you not see whom you face?”

  Street smears! A creative taunt.

  On the other side of the group, there was a loud crackling of power. Gelmak Por — among others — turned to see a striking figure amid the other warriors. A woman, but floating a bit off the ground, and long, wild, white hair flowed upward as if in water. Her eyes were fierce and baleful with energy, and she wore a robe like caught fiery shadows. Gesturing with a wicked-looking staff, black and white lightning-like energy swirled and danced around it and her in general, pulsing as if ready to unleash. She cackled like she was getting ready to do just that.

  Among those near him, frightened mutters came from some of the men. “Madam Witching!”

  “Wait,” Gelmak called out, gazing in puzzlement at Dirtboy, who looked among those who were more defiant than their lesser brothers about the matter. “Dirtboy… is that Madam Witching? But not your mistress. Hmm. Are there… two Madam Witchings?”

  Dirtboy blinked and looked over at him. “What? Oh- y-yes! Yes, there are! Th-they’re fierce rivals! Twin sisters! It’s terrible — she’s terrible!” He pointed at the obvious cackling witch. “She’s evil. The wicked one!”

  Gelmak Por shifted his gaze over, befuddled but curious. Well, that staff is quite wicked when it comes down to it. “Hmm. Perhaps we should consider giving over this ‘prisoner’ then.” He looked around at the men he’d been with, trying to find one that matched the description. He felt a bit foolish because he couldn’t pick them out. I’m terrible! Humans all look the same to me. I should be flogged. “To avoid bloodshed.” His eyes flickered around desperately for some sign, but they all were brandishing weapons! Humans didn’t seem likely to give prisoners weapons.

  Dirtboy was at a loss for how to respond to this, signaling a potential faux pas on Gelmak Por’s part. Oh, no… have I done it again?

  “Hey!” the big black coat and hat guy called. “I’m listening to this and are you fucking serious, dude?! You can’t be that dumb! You are the prisoner we’re talking about.”

  Gelmak Por did a slow blink. “Me? I am no prisoner. I came with them willingly to meet their Madam Witching… twin. The good one. I think.”

  “There’s no fucking twin, you idiot! They’re tricking you! They’re lying through their fucked-up teeth!”

  Gelmak Por glanced at Dirtboy, who was shaking his head emphatically in disagreement as if his life depended on it. “He denies it, clearly. Dirtboy here has been nothing but courteous to me. Which is more than I can say for you lot, who appear to have accosted us as rogues.”

  The big man looked furious. “To save your ass, you- oof!” Someone cut the big man off by elbowing him hard in the gut. “Damn you, Bob…” he groaned, a bit breathless.

  ‘Bob’ shrugged. “Boss’s orders, ya mouthy idjit.”

  Gelmak frowned. “Perhaps this is a… misunderstanding? I do have those often myself. Let’s pivot to the ‘separate ways’ suggestion again. I would prefer to follow Dirtboy to meet the other witch first. And then after, I could meet your witch?”

  “Hey!” came a voice from the other side. It was their Madam Witching, though she sounded younger than Gelmak Por would’ve thought. She was glaring at Dirtboy. “Just what kind of bullshit con are you pulling here?! You Wizzy scumbag! There aren’t multiple fucking Madam Witchings!” She turned to Gelmak Por and cleared her throat. “Sir, I’m sorry for the confusion. I sympathize with someone who’s come from afar into a bewildering new world. But you really have been deceived by these agents of our enemy. You should come with us. Please.”

  “Don’t listen to her!” Dirtboy called loudly and desperately, shaking his head. He was licking his lips as if to find more words, eyes shifting between them all.

  Gelmak Por held his hands up defensively. “I am… at a loss. As never before. I need to… think. Yes. Think slowly and carefully, here.”

  Can I maintain peace, somehow? I would not want to be the cause of a human incident. They fight each other enough as it is. I’d feel terrible.

  Dirtboy finally found some words. “She’s a liar! That’s all she does, my big friend. I’m telling you, she’ll witch ya with her… her forked, enchanting tongue! That’s what women like her do with their… feminine wiles!”

  The glare from Madam Witching was murderous. “Excuse me?! What do you mean, ‘like me?’ What is that supposed to mean?”

  Dirtboy grimaced, his face going red. He growled balefully and his hand flashed, a spinning dagger flying hard and fast for the witch — she flinched, but not in time for the unexpected blade and it took her in the chest… or would have. It passed right through as if she wasn’t there.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Oh. That’s interesting. Illusion! I know this to be a sign of Little Sister. ‘She Hides Her Light in the Bosom of Darkness.’ Hmm. Perhaps it is her, after all? She was also said to have the spring of youth, and this one certainly does.

  Though he opened his mouth to comment, he suddenly became aware that all hell had just broken loose around him. Violence between the groups was exchanged in a whirlwind of ranged fire and charging bodies. Magic flared. Some was from the witch, but it was mixed in with the cries and screams of war.

  Gelmak Por ached to act and answer the call honorably, but he was too confused at the sides. It seemed likely there was too much offense committed between them, and they’d have to resolve it in their own way. Furthermore, they were not attacking him. So he slid away to the side with his hands up. Though he felt bad about it, it was the lesser evil to making the wrong choice in a foreign land and culture.

  I suppose right by combat to dictate destiny is as honest as it gets — from a certain point of view. To the victor goes the spoils. Me, in this case. What a bizarre and uncomfortable scenario! How they’d snort and carry on back home, to hear this story…

  ??············???···········??

  Estara, in religious discipline, kept a cool head as the likely inevitable altercation flared up on the streets of Caneboro. It was true that the Dominion thug ‘Dirtboy’ had gotten a little under her skin — enough to surprise her, at least. But his advantage had been wasted, and he should’ve known better than to target something so obviously fanciful. But she supposed she gave the Wizzies exactly what they wanted; what they so desperately ached to destroy.

  He just couldn’t help himself. Probably has mommy issues — not that I can’t relate.

  The first thing she did was drop a Dispel Magic to try and soften up layers of protections she knew were stacked on her foes. Thugs though they were, the Dominion spared no expense on their expendable proxies. Expendable, but made to dish out casualties regardless. And that meant enchantments — enough to make common thugs into cocky champions. Natural bullies handed a big stick and the authority to swing it.

  We have a few more in numbers, and also Dart, Seraphiel, and the two Resemblants. Bob. Me. But one-on-one, most of our people would be outmatched. This could get ugly.

  At least the target of the whole ordeal, the confused ‘prisoner,’ appeared inclined to sit it out. He backed away with his hands up, his eyes darting around as bewildered as ever. That was all just fine with her. Not only was he quite big, but he was also under a powerful illusion and had a generally formidable, if restrained, demeanor. Like a giant who feared stepping on fragile figurines around him. Dart had briefly communicated that his scent was inhuman though unfamiliar.

  While she went through the casting of the dispel, REX buff auras blossomed around every Follower, varying slightly by roles, as controlled by Jeeves. It was one hair before the fighting erupted, nearly everyone already having been poised to strike. Fortunately, REX buffs were immune to vanilla Dispels and typical removal methods.

  Not a soul went down in the initial barrage and melee, as there were just too many protections on both sides. Her real position was not at all in harm’s way, on the entire opposite side of where the ridiculous illusion of the witch was. Nonetheless, a stray crossbow bolt suddenly hit Estara in the leg and effectively bounced from her protection.

  Ugh! Bad luck.

  She noted that Dirtboy slung an enchanted blade that pulsed with force and knocked two men to the cobblestones. Bob was moving to engage him with his spear and shield. Dart meanwhile charged in with a scream, bowling through two men swinging his huge, hammer-like fist wildly, and absorbing attention from three more slashing and stabbing him. His ‘Wiseguy’ form, as he called it, could take a mountain of punishment. He took pride in being the most ‘bloodied’ after a battle. The times he wasn’t, someone was dead.

  A woman who looked like any other common soldier slipped in, dodging a blade and — as though chopping a log in the backyard — cut one spear and then another in half, leaving her foes bewildered at what happened. Seraphiel. A swordsmith veteran angel of dozens of battles all over the world by then, she was just as desirable as Michael, Gabriel, or Athos in a fight. When you wanted lethality, she might top them all.

  Estara was not so pleased to notice two ‘thugs’ spellcasting. That was something the Dominion had wisened up on recently — not pridefully labeling their wizardly agents for convenient preemptive neutralization. Now they were nearly impossible to tell apart until the first exchange unless one could observe for a long period for their particular behaviors.

  One was doing what she was doing — conjuring a Dispel. The other was dropping something offensive.

  Great. We’re behind and we’ll likely lose more wound negations. We’ll have to focus on them now. Hopefully, the Dispel gets some good stuff.

  Even as her spell was dropping and flaring, Estara was pointing out the spellcasters to Jeeves, and thus distributing information instantly to the group, as her identification of the priority targets ‘Big Nose’ and ‘Sleepy.’ The group got the command as a whole to ‘stall’ while their killers such as Bob and Seraphiel were instructed to shift attention to deal with the new priorities.

  Dispels dropped on both sides, to her judicious senses removing many layers of protection all around. Only Big Nose and Dirtboy appeared mostly unaffected, showing they had higher-level enchantments.

  The second spell dropped in perfect timing right after, from Big Nose. Something black and foul burst and flared from his hand making a fist, signaling a spell component being expended. Auras of black fire erupted around Estara and every other on her side, while white fire blossomed around each of the thugs. Estara felt a wicked cold suffuse her, but a wound negation cleared and blocked what would be further pain and damage.

  Unfortunately, that wasn’t the end of it. The scouring aura didn’t go away.

  Poop on a pastry pie, it’s a damage aura! It’s persistent.

  Those wicked staffs are dead giveaways. Probably secretly a broom!

  Next Chapter...

  Estara had a big selection to make for the fate of the encounter.

  Backers go here! Huzzah! Thank you! is a link to the claim thread for those who want a spot.

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