The Penwyth Curse (Medieval Song 6)

“Kill her, Mawdoor! Kill that ugly bitch!”

“No, I won’t kill her,” Mawdoor shouted over his shoulder, never looking away from Brecia’s face.

“In that case, let her go, and I will kill her!”

Mawdoor slowly turned, taking Brecia with him, to see Maida standing twelve feet away, two of his wolfhounds at her side.

Mawdoor shouted, shaking Brecia’s neck, “This doesn’t concern you, Maida. Get back inside.”

“Last night you told me that you wanted me to stay with you. If that is true, then why do you want this creature?”

Mawdoor yelled at her, “Can’t you see I’m choking her?”

“You’re doing it with lust in your eyes. Let the wretched woman go, let me kick her in the head.”

Mawdoor gave Brecia a good shake, and again yelled at Maida, “She isn’t a woman. She’s a witch.”

“A witch? Aye, she looks like one, doesn’t she, the hag? Just looking at her makes me shudder.”

Brecia’s eyes narrowed. “And just what does that mean? Make me shudder? I’ll make her shudder.”

Maida yelled, “Aye, it’s obvious to me now that she is a witch, and you’re choking her, but she doesn’t feel it at all. She’s hanging there and she’s laughing at you. Aye, she’s making fun of you. My lord, she isn’t worthy of you.”

Maida went flying backward and landed on her back, the breath knocked out of her.

Mawdoor dropped his hand from Brecia’s neck, and she landed lightly on her feet. He said, “You did that, didn’t you?”

“Of course,” Brecia said, smiling to herself even as she rubbed her neck. “I’m a witch.”

“I bedded her,” he said. “I enjoyed her. I will continue to enjoy her after we are wedded.”

“I believe she broke her leg when I threw her against the wall, Mawdoor. Maybe I broke her neck as well. Is she gagging, lying there with her arms twisted at such odd angles?”

He turned quickly and ran to where Maida was lying on the ground. Brecia heard the woman screeching, “The witch! Kill the witch!” and Mawdoor saying, “Be quiet, woman. That witch will be my wife. Are you all right? Are you broken?”

Brecia smiled, watching the woman grab his arm and shake him. All his attention was on her. Brecia looked skyward and began chanting. When she stopped, after just two breaths had passed, everything else stopped as well, including Mawdoor—thank the gods.

Time froze.

Only the wind moved, fanning the warm air in her face. She looked toward Mawdoor, locked in the instant t

hat time had stopped. He’d left himself vulnerable by touching the woman, letting her humanness into himself. He was concentrating on her, feeling anger, hate, love—it didn’t matter. And thus the spell worked on him as well.

The earth stood still and one very strong wizard as well. But not for long, not for long.

She ran to the well and called down, “Prince, would you like to join me in some unnatural acts?”

She heard his laughter even as she drained the power from the spell. The prince stood beside her, shook himself like a dog, then flicked his head back and he was as dry as she was.

“I am a very clever witch.”

The prince looked toward Mawdoor and the mortal woman and nodded. “You have become more clever since I am with you. But Mawdoor isn’t mortal, Brecia. We haven’t much time, you know that. We must hurry.” He lightly touched his fingers to her jaw. “Do you have it?”

“Aye, I have it,” she said. Brecia smiled as she brought the golden cask from beneath her gown. She held it in her hands. It wasn’t so cold now since Mawdoor was as still and silent as the score of old people huddled together near the pigsty.

“Look at him,” the prince said even as he readied himself. He slowly pulled out his wand, gently caressed it with his fingers. “Soon now. It can’t hold him much longer. Do you know, Brecia, I was right. He was unfaithful to you, and with a mortal woman who wanted to kick you in the head. Aye, he would have forced you to wed him and taken her as his concubine. That is disgraceful.”

She wanted to laugh, but she was too afraid. “He has the key.”