Rhistel’s jaw tightened. He had listened longer than he should have. The air between them thickened, a storm gathering between silence and tension.
"If it’s land you want..." Rhistel finally spoke in a low and cold voice, "Then I will give you land. I will grant you a title far greater than these frostbitten villages. In exchange," he stepped forward, his eyes burning with sharp resolve "tell where the witches are!"
Clondoire didn’t move. He looked at Rhistel for a long mont, and then, he laughed. A slow, hollow sound that echoed across the barren garden like a funeral bell.
"Oh, your grace," he said mockingly. "How noble of you. You are ready to give up your title and land for sothing you will never reach in ti."
Rhistel’s nostrils flared. "Answer ."
"You don’t need to pay anything," Clondoire said, in a cold and cruel voice, "Olivia is already with them. Or should I say, they are with her. Wherever she is, they will find her. They will co. Or..." He smiled like a fox eyeing a trap. "You could just stay here. You have hired a room in that inn, right? You can wait in your little inn with your guards and your people. The witches will co to you."
Rhistel’s face darkened like thunderclouds rolling over the horizon. "You’ve orchestrated this from the start."
"Yes," Clondoire admitted freely. "I did. After all, you have asked my daughter to bring proof of the witches. How could she refuse your command when she had been deeply in love with you?" the man laughed softly as if life and death were nothing but a bet for him.
Rishel could not keep his calm anymore, he snapped. He lunged forward, drawing his blade in a fluid motion and swinging it with a force that made the wind hiss. Clondoire barely had ti to parry, but he took out a strange dagger. It looked so harmless yet it had abundant power, it stopped Rhistel as if he was bitten by freezing waves.
The two n stood locked for a second, muscles tense, eyes burning.
"Still so blinded by emotion," Clondoire spat, pushing back against the weight of Rhistel’s blade. "You waste your strength on when your people need you."
"You should have died years ago," Rhistel hissed, stepping in again with another calculated strike. But Clondoire danced back, the dagger was not a simple item, it was lending strength to Clondoire.
"You can kill ," Clondoire said, breathless but unafraid, "but by then, it’ll be too late. Damon and Olivia... they are already in the forest. The witches are watching with them hatred since it was not only Olivia’s betrayal now but she had also ruined their last ritual, their last hope. They would never let them go. They will burn them both to ash."
Rhistel froze, blood pounding in his ears.
"You have a choice, Lord Rhistel," Clondoire continued, straightening his coat as if the fight hadn’t happened. "You can waste your ti here, in righteous fury. Or you can go and save them. Or better yet, save your manor. You sent Oriana back there, didn’t you?"
Rhistel’s eyes went wide.
"Oh yes," Clondoire smiled cruelly. "I know everything. And I promise you this, by nightfall, your lands will bleed."
Rhistel stepped back, fury tightening in his fists. He wanted to strike again, he needed to kill this bastard but Clondoire was right. Every heartbeat wasted here was another heartbeat closer to ruin.
He turned away.
"Oh?" Clondoire called after him. "No farewell? No threats? At least show so gratitude before leaving!"
Rhistel didn’t answer. He was already running out of the garden, out of the cursed manor, back toward his horse with only one thought burning in his mind like wildfire. He had to reach them first. But who should he choose! His n in the village, his innocent people that were dragged in a war that did not belong to them or to Oriana who he had promised that she would live. He did not even know where Damon and Olivia went with Lilliana.
For the first ti Rhistel felt helpless in his life. As a warrior, he had never feared death. But he had never felt helpless or not able to do anything.
He inhaled a breath then two until his cold hand started to move again and he pulled the reins of his horse. Rhistel’s breath ca in short bursts, white clouds escaping his lips as he galloped toward the village. his knuckles were pale from how tightly he gripped the reins. But the mont he reached the village, he saw fire burning everything.
There stood five won in the center of the chaos. Their faces were covered with cloaks, but there was no doubt that they were witches. They had made a small circle in the center and were chanting sothing. As their fingers moved, the flas moved.
They have the power to control the fire that is burning the world down. A woman noticed Rhistel riding toward them. She laughed and the earth trembled with her laughter.
Behind her, the village’s main granary collapsed into a fiery heap. Another house went up in flas. Screams erupted from the far end of the village just with the flicker of her fingers.
Her voice ca out like velvet soaked in ash.
"Lord Rhistel. Finally, I thought you had run away, abandoning your people." rhistel dismounted from the horse and took out the sword from the hilt.
"Let them go! They are innocents!" he warned but it only brought another laughter from her.
"And what made you think you have the power to command and control !" she hissed. "You have ruined our ceremony. I am here to collect my debt! You have killed our head priestess, I will kill the village in exchange." she swore in a cold and deadly voice. Rhistel gritted his teeth,
"Then you will lose the only thing you have ever desired, your freedom and safety! Your coven would die tonight too."
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