by
- GodChosen
- An Oath on His Sword
- Blood Song
- The Crown on A Barbarian Brow
- The Tale of the Forest Witch (Book 6, The GodChosen)
- Curse Quest
Pages: 318
Size: 9.00 x 6.00 in
Pages: 357
Who was this sword-wielding woman who gave her soul to Azmon, god of darkness and demons, in exchange for revenge?
Once she was a simple village girl until violence took her love, her child, and her home. Azmon gives her what she asks for, as well as a companion in a shapeshifting outcast with demons of his own, but when she finally takes her revenge, she finds it wasn't what she wanted at all.
Here is the tale of Tamsin the Forest Witch…
If you like tales of Red Sonja combined with the wizardry of The Outpost, you’ll enjoy The Forest Witch.
Publisher: Independently Published
Illustrators:
Genres:
Languages Available: English
Series Type: Continuous / Same Characters
Languages Available: English
Series Type: Continuous / Same Characters
“Where is my son?”
On her knees in the midst of the garden where she’d been gathering herbs, Lis the midwife looked up at the man on the horse. The sun behind him made him a black silhouette above her, a wild-haired figure wrapped in animal skins. Though she raised a hand to shield her eyes from the glare, she couldn’t see his features and that frightened her as much as his words.
Dear Ildred…can it be? How did he learn of Ossian?
“There’s no child here,” she denied, hoping the boy would obey her this once and stay inside the hut as she’d ordered. She got to her feet.
“Don’t lie to me. Tamsin told me she left him with Lis, the midwife of the Lynx village. Do you deny you’re she?”
“You know Tamsin?” Fear surged through Lis.
“I know the wench well.” His laugh was rueful, as well as sardonic.
READ MORE“How is she?” She’d heard nothing from the girl since she left her son in Lis’ care over two years before.
“Dead for all I know.” His answer was grim. “She gave me four of the happiest months of my life.” His expression told her admitting that shamed him. “Then she ran away. I’ve been seeking her ever since…”
He looked away, not as if shunning her gaze, but rather inspecting the hut.
Lis wondered if it passed his scrutiny. Is it worthy to house your son?
He took a deep breath. “Soon the winter winds will come, so I’m discontinuing my search. I thought to find her, then claim my son, but the gods will it otherwise. I’ll take the boy now. In the spring…” His blue eyes met Lis and in them she saw an abrupt surrender to truth, something she sensed this man rarely did with anyone. “If she lives, I’ll find her and bring her home…to be with me…with us.”
Lis’ fear thickened. She’d promised Tamsin she’d protect the child but if the mother were dead…perhaps he’d be better off with his father.
Nevertheless, before she relinquished the boy, she had to be certain of this man’s identity.
“Who are you?”
“I think you know.”
“Nevertheless…”
“I’m Samric the Mountain Wolf and I’ve come for my son.” He gave the answer impatiently, his temper ready to escape what little control he kept on it. “Bring him to me.”
“If you’re Samric, prove it,” she persisted, not ready to give over custody of Tamsin’s child on the strength of a few words.
Briefly he didn’t speak, shaking his head as if pondering what proof he had. Then he pulled open the neck of the fur cape slung over his shoulders. Around his throat was a chain, hanging from it the beaten copper image of a wolf.
Lis recognized it. Tamsin had clutched it while the child was being born. If she’d returned it to Samric…
“Ossian,” she called. “Come here, child.”
He came from the hut at a clumsy gallop, all chubby legs and awkward baby-fat, skidding to a halt a few feet away when he saw Lis confronting a stranger. As usual when he was perplexed, he stuck one plump finger into his mouth.
“You’re Ossian?” the rider asked.
The child glanced at Lis.
Good boy, she thought. Don’t talk to strangers without permission.
When she nodded, he answered, “Aye, sir,” politely as she’d taught him.
The man slid from the horse’s back, dropping the reins. Four long strides brought him to the child where he fell to one knee. Seen face-to-face, there was no doubt they were kin in spite of the child’s red hair.
Putting his hands on Ossian’s shoulders, he muttered, “Your mother didn’t tell me your name.”
“You know me mum?” the boy asked.
“I do. Well.”
That answer was as rueful as the others, and this time, Lis thought she also heard something else in the deep sound…sadness and longing.
What can that mean? Unless I’m mistaken, he mourns her absence. Can it be he actually loves her?
If so, that was a blessed miracle, for his kind weren’t known for that gentle emotion. Perhaps among his people, love was as deep as with those of the forest but not as often admitted.
“Are you going to take me to her?” Ossian asked.
“I am,” he answered firmly, with that sadness still echoing faintly behind his bluntness, “but she’s not at home just now. I’ll find her and then you, she, and I, we’ll be a family.”
With that, he scooped the child into his arms and returned to the horse. Lis didn’t protest as he placed Ossian on the saddlebow and remounted.
It’s better this way. Samric can care for his son better than an old woman who knows nothing of warrior’s skills and has only a knowledge of herbs to protect her.
Ossian looked up at him. “Will I see Lis again?”
“No. We’re going too far away.”
The child accepted that. He looked back. “Goodbye, Lis. I love you.”
“Farewell, Ossian.” She raised a hand, as if in benediction. “Take care, luv.”
The horseman set heels to his steed’s sides, but as the animal trotted away, pulled him to a halt. He hesitated, then looked back.
“Thank you for caring for my son.” That was said grudgingly as if he wasn’t one generally showing gratitude.
She nodded, knowing those words cost him more pride than all the others. Tightening his hold on Ossian, Samric kicked the horse in the ribs and rode away.
Ildred protect that boy, Lis prayed. His mother also, wherever she is…
COLLAPSE
