The Witch's Apprentice: Chapter 19
The Wizard
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In Chapter 18, Sarah, Lix, and Henry set off for Heatherholm, seeking the wisdom of Walmund Gallacher, an aging wizard who might know how to restore an ancient mind-protection amulet. Upon arriving in the highland town, they decided to spend the night at The Silver Stag, a cozy little inn run by Girk, a bird-man and an old friend of Henry’s.
Now, let’s return to the story and see what happens next.
Chapter 19: The Wizard
The aroma of roasted meat and herbs filled the air as a serving maid set down a tray laden with steaming bowls of stew, a crusty loaf of bread, and tankards of ale. Sarah pulled a bowl toward her, letting the warmth seep into her fingers, a quiet comfort against the lingering chill.
“So, you and Girk go way back, then?” Sarah asked, glancing at Henry.
“He is,” Henry said, leaning back and taking a sip of his ale. “We used to be in the same adventuring group,before we decided retirement sounded better than getting stabbed. He’s an excellent fighter, though he prefers to fight unarmed, using his large beak for attacks.”
Sarah glanced at Girk, who was stacking glasses. His sharp beak glinted in the firelight, and she shivered at the thought of being hit by it. “He fought without a weapon?” she asked.
“Still do,” Girk said, looking her way. “Beak and claws are all I need.”
Sarah swallowed her bread, deciding not to ask further. Henry chuckled, noticing her expression. “You wouldn’t believe how quick he is. Girk could take out a couple of bandits before the rest of us even reacted. Guess it helps that he’s fast and flies even faster.”
Outside, the storm broke with a loud crack of thunder. Rain lashed against the windows, and the wind howled through the streets. Sarah glanced at Henry, who gave her a knowing look. “Told you it was coming,” he said.
When they were done, Girk joined them, sliding into the chair across from Henry. Up close, his feathers shimmered in the firelight.
“For old times’ sake,” Girk said, raising a tankard. They clinked mugs and laughed as they swapped stories—Henry getting tangled in his rope, Girk setting a tent on fire while making tea. Sarah listened quietly, enjoying the lightheartedness of their memories.
“So, why are you looking for Walmund Gallacher?” Girk asked, leaning over the table. “Have you taken up the life of an adventurer again?”
Sarah answered, “I’m the witch’s apprentice in High Rannoc. Or her replacement, I guess. The old witch has gone missing.”
Henry added, “We heard she was working on something in a tower in the Gardens of Ynn.”
“I thought you were smart enough to stay away from that place,” Girk said, his tone turning serious.
Henry nodded into his tankard. “Me too.”
“I don’t have a choice,” Sarah said, her voice firm. “I know the old witch is in trouble. I have to find her.”
Girk studied her, then sighed and glanced toward the storm. “Speaking of trouble,” he said, his tone grim. “The Wild Hunt is near again. I can feel it.”
Sarah frowned. “Isn’t that when fae come to hunt humans?”
Girk nodded. “That’s the one. Bad things are coming my friend, mark my words.”
By morning, the storm had passed, leaving Heatherholm bright under the golden sun. Rain still slicked the streets, and the air smelled of wet stone and fresh flowers from the window boxes. Sarah walked beside Henry, her boots tapping against the cobblestones while Lix hovered near her shoulder, his wings catching the light.
The castle loomed ahead, its weathered walls glowing in the sun. Flags fluttered from the towers, and the gates stood open. Guards in polished armor nodded at Henry as they passed. Sarah tried to return the gesture but was distracted by the commotion inside the courtyard.
The place was alive with activity. A blacksmith, shirtless and muscled, hammered a glowing horseshoe, sparks flying with each strike. Nearby, children darted between the legs of a pack of soldiers who were busy loading crates onto a wagon. The crates rattled as a pair of massive dogs—some kind of shaggy war hounds—barked and sniffed at the commotion. Overhead, birds flitted and squawked, their shadows flickering across the stone. The sharp ring of bridles, the clatter of hooves, and the occasional shout filled the air.
Sarah turned in place, trying to take it all in, when a sudden shadow crossed her path. She looked up just in time to see a harpy swoop low, her feathered wings glinting in the sunlight. She wore a trim uniform with gold piping, her talons clutching a satchel emblazoned with a crest. With a graceful flap, she soared toward a tower, disappearing through a hatch near the top.
“What was that?” Sarah asked, her voice tinged with disbelief as she stared at the now-quiet hatch.
Henry glanced up briefly. “A harpy,” he said, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. “They’re like old crones, but with wings. Mostly nice, but you wouldn’t want to cross one.”
“Yes, I could see it was a harpy,” Sarah said, her tone sharper than she intended. “But why was she wearing a uniform?”
Henry shrugged. “Postal harpy. Probably delivering something important to Lady Alyana.”
Sarah blinked, her thoughts spinning as she tried to process that. “Oh. That makes sense,” she said finally, though she was still staring at the tower like it might offer more answers.
Henry gave her a sidelong look. “Postal harpies are pretty common,” he said. “Didn’t you say you were from Gildenspire?”
Sarah froze, her pulse quickening. “Oh, no. I mean yes,” she stammered, searching for an excuse. “I mean, forget it. Let’s just keep moving.”
Henry gave her a sidelong glance, then nodded. “Alright. We’ll take the back stairs around the castle—they lead straight to Walmund’s tower.”
The climb up the tower left Sarah breathless, her legs burning from the endless spiral of stone steps. Lix hovered ahead, his wings whirring, while Henry kept a steady pace beside her, unfazed by the climb. At the top, a heavy wooden door stood before them, its surface carved with intricate runes that shimmered faintly in the dim light. Sarah tilted her head, trying to make sense of them, but their meaning eluded her.
Henry raised his fist to knock, but before his knuckles met the wood, the door creaked open, a gap just wide enough to see the faint glow of firelight beyond.
“Come in,” a voice said, deep and resonant, as if the walls themselves had spoken. “I’ve been expecting you.”
Sarah exchanged a glance with Henry, who gave a small nod before pushing the door open.
The room beyond was a study unlike anything Sarah had ever seen. Shelves lined every wall, sagging under the weight of ancient books. Artifacts of every shape and size cluttered the space—glowing crystals, strange mechanical contraptions, and jars filled with substances she didn’t recognize. The faint scent of herbs and something acrid hung in the air.
Lix buzzed around her shoulder, his eyes darting to every corner of the room. He muttered under his breath, clearly struggling to keep himself from darting off to investigate. “This place is amazing,” he whispered, barely containing his excitement.
At the far end of the chamber, an old man stood with his back to them, hunched over an alchemy bench. A series of glass tubes, funnels, and vials were arranged before him, glowing faintly as a liquid bubbled through the setup. Without turning around, the wizard waved a hand. “Come on in,” he said. “I’ll be with you in a moment.”
Sarah hesitated near the doorway, unsure whether to step closer or stay put. The rhythmic sound of bubbling liquid filled the room, punctuated by the occasional clink of glass. She glanced at Henry, who leaned casually against the doorframe.
The wizard picked up a small vial and carefully tipped its contents—a silvery drop—into the concoction before him. The liquid hissed, then began to boil violently. A thin stream of vapor spiraled upward, condensing into droplets that dripped through a cooling funnel into a waiting vial below. The minutes dragged by in silence as the wizard studied the reaction, shoulders slightly hunched in deep focus.
Finally, with a heavy sigh, he straightened and wiped his hands on a cloth. “Another failed attempt,” he muttered, his voice tinged with disappointment. Turning toward them, he revealed a face etched with wrinkles, though his sharp blue eyes gleamed with curiosity and wit. A faint smile tugged at his lips as he looked at Henry.
“Welcome back, Henry,” the wizard said, a note of warmth in his tone. “I haven’t seen you in a long time. Did you finally get tired of having your head bashed in?”
Sarah let out a small, surprised chuckle at the wizard’s comment. His sharp blue eyes shifted to her, and for a moment, she felt as if he could see straight through her. He tilted his head, his bushy eyebrows arching slightly.
“Ah, you must be the new witch of High Rannoc,” he said, his voice neutral as his eyes lingered on her for a moment.
Gathering herself, Sarah dipped into a light curtsey, hoping it would come off as polite rather than awkward. “It’s an honor to meet you, sir,” she said.
The wizard waved a hand dismissively, his expression unchanging. “Yes, yes, I’m sure it is.” He paused, the lines on his face deepening as he studied her further. “Everything must seem very strange to you,” he added, his voice softer, almost as though he were speaking to himself.
Sarah’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”
The wizard leaned slightly forward, his eyes narrowing under his heavy brows. “Ah, you know. Things here—they’re not the same as what you’re used to.”
A strange tension formed in her chest. Was he implying what she thought he was? Did he somehow know that she wasn’t from this world? She opened her mouth to ask, but the words caught in her throat. Before she could collect her thoughts, the wizard turned away and continued, his tone brisk.
“You know, I warned her about going there,” he said, as if picking up a thread of conversation she’d missed.
“The witch?” Sarah asked, her voice sharper than she intended.
“Yes, the witch. Yolonda Bouchard. Who else?” His tone carried a hint of impatience.
Sarah took a step closer, clutching the strap of her bag. “Did she talk to you before she disappeared?”
The wizard rubbed his chin, the gesture deliberate, as though considering how much to share. “Yes, she sought my advice about the gardens. Much as you are now, I expect.”
Sarah blinked, the words catching her off guard. “Did she say why she was going there?”
The wizard turned his back on her and walked to the large window, where sunlight spilled in, casting a soft glow around him. He looked down at the courtyard, his gaze distant. “Not in so many words, no,” he said in a distant tone.
The silence stretched, and Sarah shifted uneasily. Was that it? Was he not going to help them? She opened her mouth to speak, but before she could, the wizard turned back toward her, his face firm. “Listen. I don’t have time for idle chatter. Why don’t you tell me what brings you to Heatherholm, and I’ll decide if I can help you.”
Sarah straightened her shoulders, ignoring the tight knot in her stomach. “We need to get inside the Gardens of Ynn to find the old witch, Yolonda. But we’re not even sure it’s safe,” she began.
“Let me assure you, it is not,” he interrupted, his tone heavy with disdain. “But go on. I’m curious to hear what kind of harebrained plan the two of you have concocted.”
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