The Witches of Dirragion

By William Harvey

When Nolya, a desperate, starving refugee from a foreign war, finds herself at the gates of a hilltop castle, she hopes for nothing more than a crust of bread and a roof over her head. Instead she crosses the threshold into a dangerous new world of magic and deadly ambition.

After all her years of wandering as a penniless, friendless vagrant, scorned and rejected by all, Nolya is flattered and grateful when singled out by the sorceress Kalayin. She repays her benefactor with a fierce devotion, but as her own power grows she will find the fate of the kingdom resting in her hands. Nolya's love and loyalty will be put to the ultimate test.

First book in the Dirragion series. A tale of magic and adventure set in a changing world where the last glowing embers of the supernatural refuse to fade quietly away.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Aug 20, 2015
• ISBN: 9781326397128

William Harvey

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The Witches of Dirragion

The Witches of Dirragion

William Harvey

Copyright © 2015 by William Harvey

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review or scholarly journal.

ISBN 978-1-326-39712-8

PART ONE

Chapter One

Beneath a broiling, threatening, dirty-brown sky twisted a narrow road of dirt and stones.  Rutted by cart wheels, broken and pot-holed by snow, wind and rain, it wound its way along the bank of a wind-whipped river, deserted but for a single small figure.

The girl’s name was Nolya.  As far as she knew she was about fifteen or sixteen years old but her skinny, undernourished body and the large eyes in her pale, thin face made her seem younger.  Head bowed beneath a tangle of straw-coloured hair, she stared down at her grimy feet, bound in strips of cloth in place of shoes, doggedly setting one in front of the other as she moved step by step deeper into this strange land.  Her only garment was a ragged dress of rough hemp, gathered at the waist with a frayed strand of rope, and she clutched her arms tight about her middle and shivered, the skin on her bare arms and legs rising in goosebumps.

Hunger clawed savagely at her insides.  She ignored it as best she could but the growling of her empty belly was a constant reminder.  Her head swam for a moment and she was on the point of sinking down into the dirt right there in the middle of the road, the luxury of resting her aching limbs and sore feet so enticing that it almost overwhelmed her reason.  Determinedly she kept on moving.  Can’t stop, she told herself.  Can’t still be out here in the open when night falls.  After all this, can’t be one of the ones who goes to sleep in a ditch and never wakes up.  A feast for rats and crows.

The terrain had flattened out and that was some relief.  Scrambling and slipping along the stony hill paths had almost finished her.  Each time she had fallen she had gained fresh scrapes and bruises and each time she had had the same sickening moment of doubt that she would be able to persevere.  Each time she had picked herself up and shuffled on, and now at last she was starting to see signs of civilisation.  There had not been a living soul since she had been forced to leave the last village five days earlier, but now there were some cattle and sheep grazing in the fields.  She had a moment of envy watching them.  The beasts seemed so placid, so untroubled, their days spent wandering their small domain and munching their plentiful food.  Perhaps being eventually slaughtered would not be too high a price to pay for a short life of such contentment.

She found herself walking alongside a low stone wall, trees flourishing on the other side, and allowed herself a moment of optimism.  This land seemed fertile and prosperous.  Surely somewhere there would be a little spare food for her?  She trudged along a while longer, thinking that the trees were just a patch of woodland, before her eyes were drawn to the heavy green fruit hanging from their branches.

An orchard.  Nolya swallowed and licked her broken lips, her eyes wide with yearning.  The gleaming ripe apples bobbed temptingly in the breeze.

She took a quick glance left and right, then scrambled up onto the wall, her mouth already flooded in anticipation of that first bite into sweet flesh.  Jumping nimbly off one foot, she snatched a dangling apple from its branch and dropped down to sit cross-legged on the wall, the precious fruit cradled like treasure in both hands.

She allowed herself one delicious moment of self-denial, the delicate aroma of her prize wafting to her nostrils, then raised the apple to her mouth.

Hey!  You!

Nolya started, her whole body jolting from shock, and crouched down defensively at the angry shout from amongst the trees.  With a crashing of heavy boots through the dried leaves underfoot, a burly figure emerged into view.

Thieving little vermin!  Stop right where you are or I’ll set the dogs on you!  Stay there!  Don’t move!

She was running before he had finished speaking.  The apple dropping unheeded from her hands, she sprang from the wall and sprinted away down the road, her head flying back, her bound feet smacking jarringly against the ground.

I warned you! yelled the angry voice.  Go get her boys!  Go get her!

Nolya heard the excited barking of unleashed dogs and gave a sob of fear.  She ran with all the strength in her starved, weary limbs, her little light body flying along the trail, the sound of their eager slavering filling her ears.  Just as she was certain that she felt their hot breath on her heels, an overhanging branch appeared above her like a proffered hand and she leapt, stretching out full length, her fingers snapping tight about rough wood.

The jaws of a springing dog seized the hem of her dress and she kicked out desperately, connecting with a bony head.  The dress tore and the dog dropped away, but at the same instant the branch cracked and one hand slipped, the skin of her palm scraping itself raw against the bark.  She wrenched the other shoulder painfully with the effort of swinging herself back up to gain a fresh handhold and managed to wrap one ankle about the branch.  She clung on for her life, the dogs leaping and yelping beneath her, the farmer storming along the road towards them.

I’ve got you now, you little thief, he bellowed.  I’m going to thrash you bloody!

Nolya turned her head and saw him clearly for the first time.  He was a bulky figure in sturdy boots and a leather coat, his body swollen with fat and muscle, his moustache bristling and his big square face red with anger.  In one hand he held a thick, knotted stick which he smacked against his boot with every stride as he approached.

Please, she managed, her hands scrabbling for a better hold.  I just wanted one apple.  I’m so hungry.

I don’t work all day to provide free meals for idlers! he thundered.  I won’t have my orchard plundered by the likes of you!

She sucked in a breath and gathered what little strength she had.  Pulling herself up close to the branch, feeling it sway beneath her small weight, she squirmed round like a snake and managed to get on top of it, then thrust upwards and grabbed a higher branch.  Hand over hand, she worked her way up deeper into the foliage, out of his reach, and clung there staring down like a trapped animal.

He whacked his stick hard against the trunk of the tree, his twisted, furious face directly below her.

Come down!  Get yourself down here right now!

The two dogs, big barrel-chested ugly black ones with drool foaming on their slobbering lips, capered and leapt about the tree in a frenzy.  Nolya stayed where she was.

Come down! he bellowed again.  Come down and take your beating, thief!

Nolya shook her head mutely.  He grabbed a stone and flung it up into her refuge.  It rattled through the branches a foot from her face.  Seething in frustration the farmer circled the tree, forming a trio with his bounding dogs, till at last he had to accept that he had no way of laying his hands upon her.  He halted, grabbing a lower branch and shaking it in fury.

I see you round here again, I’ll have my dogs tear you to shreds, you understand? he shouted.  They’ll rip your face right off!

He stood there fuming a few seconds longer, the desire to do her harm exerting a powerful hold upon him, before finally turning and storming away, back towards his orchard, still yelling as he went.

Thieves!  Layabouts!  What’s a man have to do to earn an honest living?  What’s the world coming to?

The dogs scampered about the tree a few moments longer before finding themselves torn between their quarry and their master.  At last loyalty won through and they blundered off to join him, tails wagging joyously, the three of them disappearing through a gate into the trees.

Nolya exhaled weakly and rested her head upon the branch, feeling the perspiration cold on her brow, wondering if she would ever be able to move again.  She knew that she had just used up precious strength which she could not spare.  Her head span and unconsciousness reached out to claim her.  She shook it off.

Not now.  Not after coming so far.  Casting a cautious glance back at the farm gate, she half climbed, half fell out of the tree, then picked herself up and resumed her journey, sadly inspecting her newly acquired cuts and bruises as she went.

The open farmland became a valley and Nolya’s eyes cleared with fresh hope at the sight of a small town ahead.  It appeared well-kept and thriving, fifty or sixty low buildings of timber and stone clustered on either side of the river, with thatched roofs and smoke rising from their chimneys, their shutters standing open to admit the afternoon light.  The wooden bridge arcing over the stream looked new, the streets were broad and largely free of filth, and several people were visible going about their daily business.  Probably well-fed, she thought.  Probably wearing nice soft clothes with hardly any holes or lice.  Surely here… she quelled that wave of optimism, reflecting that it probably just showed that she was getting light-headed from hunger.  Still she quickened her pace, hurrying at a limping trot down the path and then along the main street, a row of houses to her right, the river to her left, until she arrived at the small square in the centre of town.

Nolya hunched up her shoulders uneasily, alert for the least sign of aggression from the townspeople.  A woman carrying a basket of bread on her shoulder gave her a suspicious look in passing and there was an appraising inspection from a lean, long-nosed character slouching against the door of the tavern with a mug of ale in his hand, but no one shouted anything or threw a stone at her.  Like a shy wild animal inspecting a discarded piece of food, wanting it badly but darting glances in all directions with the expectation of an attack at any moment, she approached the well at the centre of the square.

The well was old but clean and well-maintained: a cylinder of cut stone rising to her waist, sheltered by a conical wooden roof supported on  six foot stilts.  There was a heavy wooden crank with an iron handle, wrapped about with a thick chain attached to the bucket which rested on the well’s edge.  She doubted whether she’d have had enough strength to work it, but thankfully the bucket was already filled.  She grabbed the rusted iron ladle which hung on a piece of string from one of the roof supports, and drank deep.

Her hunger had been so all-consuming that she hadn’t realised how thirsty she was.  The cool, clear liquid ran over her lips and tongue and down her throat, then seemed to flood every nerve and vein in her body.  She tipped the ladle back further and further, gulping the precious liquid down until she inhaled some and doubled over coughing.

Nolya leaned with her hands against the well’s edge, breathing deeply in relief, and straightened to find herself face to face with a hard-faced, narrow-eyed middle-aged woman.  They stared at one another in silence, the woman’s haughty, disapproving expression apparently demanding some explanation for her presence.

I… was thirsty, said Nolya.

The woman didn’t respond.  She just hefted an empty bucket up onto the side of the well and with a thin-lipped expression of distaste shouldered Nolya aside so that she could begin filling it.  Nolya backed away meekly and looked around.  The man outside the tavern smirked at her.

The tavern, then.  Feeling invigorated from her drink, Nolya took a bold step forward and was shocked to be reminded of her weakness, her leg almost buckling beneath her.  She continued on more cautiously with shuffling little steps, giving the leaning man a wide berth as she slipped through the open door into a darkened interior.  He watched her all the way, his eyes slithering over her from head to toe.

The tavern’s interior was a dark, warm cosy place with fresh rushes on the dirt floor and a cluster of well-scrubbed wooden benches and tables, the only light coming from the door and the unshuttered windows, and from the glowing fire burning in the hearth.  It was too early for customers and Nolya took a moment to shuffle closer to the fire, close her eyes and soak up the warmth, losing herself in the bliss of being, for however brief a time, not cold and not blasted by the cruel north wind.  There was a small cauldron hung on chains over the hearth and her stomach turned over in longing at the smell of meat stew bubbling within.

She dragged herself out of this daze and looked around to see that one end of the room was taken up by a row of barrels supporting a long slab of wood to form a rudimentary bar.  From behind it the landlord watched her closely, his gut pressed against the edge, his thick-fingered hands weighing down on the counter top.  His large, round-cheeked head was topped by a curtly cropped little tuft of hair and his chin was dark with stubble.  From a look at his glowering expression, she judged that he had already realised that she had no money and was moments away from ordering her out of his establishment.

Concentrate, she told herself.  Remember, you are not a thieving, workshy little tramp.  You are a nice, polite, honest, hard-working girl.

She adopted a demure expression and approached the bar, head bowed, hands folded in front of her.  The landlord eyed her closely, his big hands not shifting, planted on the counter as firmly as if they had grown roots.

Please sir, she murmured humbly.  I am new to this region and seek only to work and earn a little food.  Could you use a pair of willing hands here?

The landlord gave a scornful grunt.

I have three daughters, girl.  You think I should throw one of them out into the street to provide a job for you?

Nolya’s lips tightened at the pointless injustice of his reply and she was silent for a moment before she found her humble voice again.

No sir, of course not.  In that case, do you know of anyone else in the town who might be able to use me?

I’ve got a use for you.

The thin man from outside had sidled his way into the tavern.  Pale-faced and sunken-eyed, his wide mouth curled up lasciviously at the corners, he looked her slowly up and down while he spoke.

What will you do for me for two coppers, girl?

It wasn’t the first such offer Nolya had received in her travels, though it was the first for such an insultingly low price.  Two coppers.  The awful thought hit her that it was probably enough for a bowl of that stew over the fire and in that moment, her hunger seeming to bleed out from her stomach and into her veins, the loathsome idea of his lanky, sweaty body against hers and his bony hands upon her was almost bearable.  It was the curl of the landlord’s lip that brought her back to herself.  She saw it out of the corner of her eye, the vindication on his face of all his expectations of the little vagrant girl.  She was a good for nothing little piece of human jetsam who would do anything for a coin.

Nolya turned back to the bar.

I’m seeking honest work, sir.

The landlord lifted his chin a fraction and gave a grunt.  It wasn’t much, but it was recognition.  She saw in his eyes that he was re-thinking a little, allowing himself to consider the possibility that she was not entirely degraded to the level of an animal.

Well, he said grudgingly, there is one place you might try.  I’m not promising anything, mind.  Here, come with me.

He wrestled his way out from behind the bar, his belly jiggling with release once he was freed from that narrow space, and let a warm, heavy hand fall on Nolya’s thin shoulder.  He guided her out into the street and pointed.  Not at one of the surrounding houses, but up high over the rooftops.  She followed his finger along a narrow track which cut back and forth up the slope, rising to the head of the valley where a sequence of waterfalls tumbled down the rocks to feed the town’s river.  There in the distance, clustered about by thick woodlands, the hills becoming mountains at its back, rose the tower of a white stone castle perched like an eagle’s nest upon its high place.

Castle Dirragion, the landlord informed her.  They’re always short of servants there.  You go on up to the gate and ask, maybe they’ll have something for you.

The thin man had crept out behind them and resumed his position leaning against the tavern door.  He gave a harsh, high-pitched laugh.

You know why they’re short on servants?  The Baroness slits the throats of young girls like you and bathes in their warm blood to keep her youthful looks.  She’ll be glad to see another fresh little chicken ripe for the plucking!

The landlord glared and raised a hand as if to cuff him.

Quiet, you.  You want to cause trouble with that sort of chatter, don’t do it in my place.  The man just smirked and the landlord turned back to Nolya.  Well, girl, that’s my best suggestion.  Take it or leave it.

Nolya gazed up at the dizzying climb and felt faint just thinking about walking all that way on her cramped, empty stomach.  It must be fully two miles, most of it uphill.  She swallowed and looked up at him in supplication.

Thank you, sir.  I’ll do as you suggest.  Please... could I possibly have just a stale crust of bread?  Anything you can spare, just to give me a little...

She was caught unprepared by the savage force with which he grasped her by the scruff of the neck and sent her stumbling away to fall in a tangled heap on the ground.

You ungrateful, shameless little brat!  I try to help you and this is my thanks?

He aimed a kick at her as she tried to rise, striking her on the hip and sending her sprawling back into the dirt.  From long experience Nolya quickly curled herself up into a tight ball, her hands wrapped protectively about her head in expectation of another blow.  The landlord loomed over her, face red and fists clenched.

I should have known! he bellowed.  You’re nothing but another beggar. You say you want to work, and then the hand goes out wanting free food.  I should have thrown you out of my place as soon as I set eyes on you!

He didn’t seem to be about to strike her again so she grasped the opportunity to unwind herself and scramble away, going a few yards on all fours before rising to a low, limping run, the thin man’s sneering laughter grating in her ears.

We’ll have no beggars here! the landlord bellowed after her.  This is a decent place for decent people!  Try that again and I’ll have you whipped out of town!

Nolya struggled miserably away, her cheeks burning with humiliation, his threats still ringing in her ears.  It was a relief to be clear of the town in which she had placed her hopes, and to be alone again, standing at the bottom of the path up the mountainside.

It was not quite so narrow as she had thought on first sight.  It was wide enough to accommodate a horse and perhaps even a small carriage, but it was steep and rocky, and just tilting back her head to look at the distant castle hundreds of feet above made her feel weak.  She really wasn’t sure that she had enough left to do this, but with nowhere else to go she gathered herself and started the climb.  Exhaustion was hitting her at the smallest effort now and each step she took seemed to sap more of her dwindling reserves of strength.  Her sandy hair tumbled over her eyes lank with perspiration, and more than once she crumpled to her hands and knees and could do no better to crawl the next few paces before summoning the willpower to force herself back up onto her feet.  Twice she felt her head spinning and collected herself just in time to find herself wandering drunkenly towards the edge of the path and the stony drop beyond.  Nolya wiped away tears of self pity at her constant, unremitting effort and pain, fighting back the desire to just sink to the ground, curl up there with her head buried in her hands, and let darkness descend.

But step by step she climbed, barely thinking any longer of her hopes of a morsel of food and a safe place to sleep at the top.  Each step became a challenge and a tiny victory of its own.  If she could manage one step, she could manage another.  If she could manage that, she could manage the next.  Her face a deathly white and her limbs trembling with weakness she climbed, the wind growing colder and stronger as the sun sank below the hilltops and she was submerged in twilight shadow.  Her sweat chilled on her body, her tattered dress clinging like a used rag to her skin.  She stumbled, fell, crawled, swayed to her feet and walked on.

Like awaking in a strange place, still half asleep and uncertain what was a dream and what was real, with no awareness of how much time had passed, she became dully aware that she was standing by water.  She wanted a drink so she dropped to her knees and lay full-length, dipping her cupped hand down to scoop up a little of the murky green liquid.  It tasted like nectar.

She lifted her head and saw where she was.

The castle stood in a lake fed from above by a gushing white waterfall.  Rolling and splashing down the rocks, the water swirled into a great green

The castle stood in a lake fed from above by a gushing white waterfall.  Rolling and splashing over the rocks, the water swirled into a great green pool and out through a sluice gate on the other side to continue its journey down the mountain.  The fortress itself was not the largest Nolya had ever seen, its perimeter a simple curtain wall twenty feet high with a square tower on each corner, but the keep within was astonishing. Built from pale smooth stones so skilfully cut that they seemed to merge into one, it shot up into the sky, narrowing at the summit so that it appeared to dwindle into the clouds, then bursting out into a cluster of spiked turrets, crenellations and balconies.  Banners flew and metal spires glinted in the last rays of daylight.  The owner was stamping their authority on the valley, letting everyone down there know that they lived under the watchful eye of one person.

The gatehouse was reached by a long drawbridge of dark wood, and Nolya realised that two spearmen on its far side were watching her with an idle lack of interest.  Painfully, one limb at a time, she dragged herself up to her feet.  Cringing a little, tense for violence or mockery or contempt, she made herself approach them.

Please sir, she murmured, her voice faint and tremulous.  The people in the village said I might find work here.  Please... any work at all...

The guards were hard, lean men in chainmail hauberks and steel helms, standing strong and straight beneath the weight of their armour.  The taller of the two shook his head.

No, girl, they must have been having fun with you.  We don’t hire people who just stroll up to the gate.

Nolya felt fresh tears spring to her eyes.  This, then, was the end.  She could barely stand.  She would never make the walk back down the hill, she would never survive the night out in the open.  This time she was really going to die.

The other guard spoke up.

Well... didn’t the scullery maid... what was her name, Jansa?  Didn’t she leave to get married or something?

The tall one chewed this over thoughtfully.

No, I think she just got too big with Rofa’s baby to scrub floors any more.  Don’t know where she ended up.  Still, you have a point.

With a jerk of his head he vaguely indicated a direction through the gate behind him.

You can go in and ask at the kitchen if you want.  It’s up to the cook, Haris.  But if he says no, you’re out, understand?  We find you in here after we raise the drawbridge at sundown, you’ll wish we hadn’t.

He gave her a menacing look.  This small glimmer of hope surging inside her, Nolya could have kissed him.

Thank you, sir... thank you.

She hurried to follow his advice before he could change his mind.  She crossed a wide open courtyard paved with well-cut flagstones and filled with the sounds and smells of the bustling life of the castle.  The stables to her left, with a blacksmith’s forge beside them and two cavalry horses clopping proudly past on freshly-shod hooves.  Soldiers practising swordplay to her right, hacking over and over at wooden dummies, cutting them down one splinter at a time.  Nolya followed her nose to find the kitchens.  A narrow flight of steps at the base of the keep led her down to a small door which opened at her tentative push and she stepped shyly inside.

It was blessedly warm in here, a dimly-lit cave of a room with low arched ceilings and a coal fire glowing in a vast hearth large enough to roast a boar.  Everywhere she looked, there were shelves, sacks, barrels and jars, all stocked to bursting with every sort of food and drink, many of which she didn’t even recognise.  It was a place from her dreams.  The man dragging a heavy sack of meal across the tiled floor saw her make her tentative entrance and paused.  Dark moody eyes ran over her ragged dress and skinny frame.

Want something?

He was a big man, a little fat but not soft, wearing rough woollen garments and a pale apron.  He had large sullen eyes, a wide, roughly shaven jaw and rather thin dark hair lying flat upon his scalp.  His rounded, flat-nosed features were enlivened by a thick moustache which drooped down to his chin on either side of his mouth.

Nolya tried to speak and no sound came out.  Tried again, and nothing.  It was not just physical weakness; her mind was so numbed by hunger and tiredness that she could barely think what she wanted to say.  Seeing the man quickly losing patience with her, she cleared her throat feebly, licked her lips, took a breath, and in a voice wavering from exhaustion went into her routine one more time:

Please, sir, the soldiers at the gate told me that you might need a new servant girl.  I promise I would work very hard.

He let the sack slide to the floor and approached her.  She smelt the aroma of recently baked bread on his clothes.  He took her chin in warm, leathery fingers and tipped her head back to inspect her.

Nolya stood humbly submitting to this examination.  She knew that despite her wan appearance there was a certain fragile prettiness in her delicate cheekbones, pointed chin, neat lips and clear grey eyes.  The man’s expression clouded.

Being a scullery maid is hard work, girl.  You look like you’d snap in two if I had you carry a water bucket.  You really think you’re strong enough?

She looked up at him bravely.

Please give me a chance, sir.  You can always throw me out tomorrow.

He stepped back and folded his arms, glaring down at her as though not being strong was something she had done on purpose to inconvenience him.  Unexpectedly, though, he gave her a grim little smile.

True enough, and it’s not as if I have a long line of girls fighting over the job.  All right, I’ll give you a chance.  You can... whoa!

The instant she heard those words whatever last scraps of internal energy had been holding Nolya upright dissipated.  Her eyes rolled up, her legs folded, and she fell insensible into his arms.  He stood stiffly for a moment supporting her frail body, then with a scowl hoisted her over his shoulder and carried her across the kitchen, dumping her down onto a makeshift bed of empty flour sacks.

Haris the cook planted his fists on his hips and looked down on the half-starved young girl who lay in a limp tangle of limbs, her mouth slightly open, her chest barely moving with her shallow breaths.

Well, he told himself, you have done a stupid thing.  You’ve taken in a helpless little stray dog of a girl who’ll expect to be fed and looked after and will do no work and will cry piteously when she forces you to kick her out.  This cruel world is no place for a soft heart like yours.

Chapter Two

Haris was wrong.  When Nolya awoke several hours later she begged a morsel of oatmeal but then insisted on being put to work.  That one mouthful of nourishment seemed to have a dramatic effect on her starved metabolism and she threw herself into scrubbing the steps with a single-minded vigour.  True, she was clumsy, spilled the water, missed spots, and after an hour she had exhausted herself, but another tiny meal and a short rest was all it took to get her back at it.  She eventually earned his irritation and he had to tell her that it was time to sleep now.  Since no one had told her anything different she crawled back to the