The Witch's Tower by Tamara Grantham (top novels .txt) 📕

a death—to be locked away, left to starve and die.

We stepped into a hallway that branched in either direction.

“Which way?” Raj asked.

I glanced at the green shoots growing from the vines. To the right, only a few sprouted, but in the passageway to our left, they covered everything.

“I think we should follow the shoots. There will be more growing around the radish.”

We turned and followed the hallway, stepping carefully over the brambles that grew thicker the farther we went. The flame from our torch sputtered, casting a hazy glow over the woody bark covering the twisting plants. Sounds of rhythmic beating came from up ahead, reminding me of the drumbeats I’d heard on the high sorcerer’s battlefields many years ago.

The hallway opened to form a circular chamber. Cells lined the walls, and in the center of the floor sat what could have once been a well, with intricate stonework etching the marble. Greenish light shone from the well’s interior, and a single vine rose from the well’s opening. The gnarled protrusion grew with long spiky thorns.

We approached the well. I arrived first and looked inside. Pulsing green magic shone from a radish about the size of a human heart.

Raj stepped beside me and looked inside the well. “This is it?”

“Yes, I think so. It’s been altered by my mother’s magic.”

I removed the dagger from my boot. “I’m going to cut a piece from it, but I’m not sure what will happen when I do. Keep a watch out.”

Raj nodded, unsheathing his sword and holding it at the ready. Greenish light reflected off his mirror-smooth blade.

As I lowered my hand into the well, the magic warmed my fingers. Its familiarity made me pause.

This was my mother’s magic. It conjured images of sitting next to her while she read from her spell books, her beautiful golden hair spilling down her back and over her shoulders. I remembered playing with her hair as she worked, and how she’d chide me if I pulled on it. I also remembered the magic—the way it felt as she read the spells, light on her tongue, powerful magic escaping with the words she spoke, like music.

Sometimes it seemed she’d never died. Those days were the worst.

I pushed my memories aside and reached for the radish, cutting through the red skin, revealing the pearl-white flesh beneath. Its sharp fragrance filled the air as I removed a sliver.

Holding the slice, the radish felt light in the palm of my hand. It pulsed with magic ever so faintly. I pulled a handkerchief from my knapsack, wrapped the piece inside, and tucked it into my bag.

“That was easy enough,” Raj said.

Above us, the ceiling groaned. Vines moved overhead, making small pebbles fall to the ground.

“Or not,” Raj added, looking up at the writhing vines.

“Now you’ve done it,” a man’s deep voice grumbled from the darkness. I rounded, searching for the source of the voice, when I spotted a tall silver-haired elf standing inside a cell, his bone-white fingers grasping the rusted bars. He had a dangerous look about him—his eyes dark and brooding, his hunched shoulders held in a defensive posture.

“Who are you?” I demanded as the vines continued to move.

“My name is Drekken Von Fiddlestrum, my lady. And you are about to be disemboweled by enchanted thorns.”

“What?”

“You removed a piece of the magical radish. You didn’t think it would let you leave with it, did you?”

Larger pebbles rained down on us. One of them hit my shoulder, leaving a bruise for sure. I moved toward the elf’s cell.

“How did you get in here? How do you know about the radish?”

“So many questions. As you’re about to be killed, I don’t see why I need to answer.”

“Answer her,” Raj growled.

The elf glanced at Raj, taking in the Outlander warrior. With his height, his sword drawn, and his dark eyes, Raj made an impressive presence, though if it came to a fight, I had no doubt the elf could hold his own.

“Very well,” the man said, the tone of his deep voice sounding brusque. “I was imprisoned because I, too, tried to stea—to take—a piece of the radish.”

Vines moved behind us, blocking the path leading out of the room. I cursed under my breath. This was my mother’s magic. I should’ve known something like this would happen.

“How do we get out of here?” I asked the elf.

“You don’t. All I can tell you is that I hid inside one of these cells when the vines came after me, and that is how I survived. You cannot leave this place.”

“That’s rubbish,” Raj said.

A vine snaked behind us. Raj turned and lopped it in half. The severed pieces fell to the ground with a thud, though more vines struck out at us. Spike-like thorns lashed out. One of the vines whipped toward me. I stabbed it with my knife, and it retreated, though more took its place. The wolf growled at my side, snapping at the vines, ripping them with his teeth, though it only stalled them.

Raj and I backed toward the cells. A hand reached out and yanked me back as the vines hissed and writhed like vipers. I fell back and landed inside the cell alongside Raj and the wolf. The elven man, Drekken, stood over us. He rounded and slammed the cell door behind him, trapping us inside.

Raj got to his feet, and I followed. Outside, vines whipped at the metal bars, but as they touched the iron, they retreated. Soon, the vines retracted. They resumed their place on the ceiling, looming over us, as if watching.

We stood in the cell alongside Drekken.

“Welcome to my home,” he said. His large stature, dark eyes, and unusual clothes made a tremor of fear race through my heart. He wore leather pants, a black doublet, and a silver skull-shaped pendant around his neck. His pointed ears, almond-shaped eyes, and silver hair that fell in a straight wave to his waist denoted him as elven, but what was he doing here—and why was he dressed like that? The skull-shaped pendant had me worried. Was it some sort of magical talisman?

“I’m sorry we have to meet like this,” he said in a deep, smooth voice, as if to put me at ease, unlike the curt tone he’d used earlier. Perhaps he’d seen the fear in my eyes. “Normally, I would break out the ale whenever I had guests such as yourselves, but I lost my flask to the vines, and I’ve got nothing to offer but a bit of watered wine. Would you like some?” He held up a waterskin.

“No, thank you,” I said. “I’m more interested in finding a way out of here.”

“If that’s what you want.” He took a long draw from the waterskin. “Just so you know, it’s not possible to get out. The vines won’t let you leave. I’ve tried for two days with no luck. Our only choice is to sit and starve to death—or die in a drunken stupor, which I much prefer.” He gave me a sly smile, took another draw from his waterskin, then grimaced. “Blasted watered wine. Where is my flask?”

“There’s got to be a way out of here,” Raj said.

“There isn’t,” Drekken said. “Nothing but my lute will tame them. But it’s missing a string, so it’s useless.”

“Your lute?”

“Yes.” He moved to the back of the cell where a wooden stringed instrument sat atop a bag. He picked it up, cradling the rounded wooden bowl and narrow neck. I noticed it was painted black, and a skull with flames bursting from its eyes and mouth had been painted on the back of the bowl. Odd. And a bit creepy. Who was this elf?

Drekken ran his fingers lightly over the strings that glowed silvery white.

“Is that a magical instrument?” I asked.

“Not exactly. These strands are unicorn hair. Whenever I play it, I can calm the most savage beasts, even these vines, if I could find that blasted string.”

He strummed the instrument, and it played with an off-kilter sound. Beside me, the wolf whined. I patted his head.

“You see?” Drekken said. “It won’t play a thing without that string. Curse my elven luck.”

“Where did you lose it?” I asked.

“Near the well. I was hunched over it trying to remove a piece of the radish when those vines stole my lute. I managed to grab it back, but not before they tore off a string. Blast it all—I had the perfect plan, too. I was going to cut a piece from the radish, then use my lute to calm the vines while I escaped, but those bastard plants must’ve known what I was after. I never got a chance to remove anything from the radish.”

“What if we were to search for the string?” Raj asked.

“Possible, yes. Will you live? No.”

I stood at the bars looking out. In the pulsing, greenish glow cast from the well, the floor and walls seemed to be underwater. The dim lighting made it hard to spot anything, especially a thin strand of unicorn hair.

“It’s a bloody shame,” Drekken said, gently running his fingers over his lute’s strings, “I could create the most beautifully haunting music. It would’ve brought tears to your eyes had you heard it.”

“Then we’ll find that string,” Raj said. “If you can calm the vines with your music, it’s our only chance of escaping.”

“How?” I asked. “If we go out there, the vines will kill us while we’re searching.”

“I don’t know yet,” Raj said, staring intently at the well, and