Free Fury of the Seventh Son (Book 13) by Joseph Delaney Page B

to a large sign that had been nailed to two posts, proclaiming
    CYMRU
    I remembered that word from my master’s maps. It was in another language, the name for the country that we called Wales. I was entering a foreign land, with its own customs, language and—no doubt—dangers.
    I sensed that the witches were no longer moving; they had made camp for the night. I had two choices. Catch up with them now and attack under cover of darkness, or wait one more night and rest to gather my own strength.
    I decided on a compromise.
    I would rest for a while and then press on. I moved some distance from the road and settled down as best I could. I didn’t have time to set traps for rabbits, so I finished off the rest of my cheese and drank some cold water from a stream. I intended to sleep for about three hours before setting off west again.
    I awoke suddenly after just one hour, immediately fully alert. Although my physical senses told me nothing, I had a sudden flash of light inside my head and a pain above my nose.
    Something was amiss. I sat up quickly and stared into the darkness. The moon was covered by clouds; I could see nothing and hear nothing. But danger was out there, and it was creeping toward me.
    I came up onto my knees and reached for the sword that I had placed on the grass beside me before lying down to sleep. My gift was telling me precisely where my enemy was.
    A witch was crawling stealthily toward me; she was now less than ten feet away.
    No, not the Destiny Blade, I decided; a spook’s primary weapon was more suited to dealing with this threat. So, leaving the hero sword where it was, I seized my staff, released the blade at its tip, ran straight toward the witch, and stabbed downward, piercing her back directly over her heart and pinning her to the ground. She had no time to scream, but I felt her body twitch beneath my staff, and she gave a little gasp.
    I knew instantly that she was dead. The inner certainty I had about where she was simply ceased. It went out like a light. I wondered if it was the soul or life force I could detect? Whatever it was, I knew that I’d put an end to her.
    I fumbled for my tinderbox and lit the candle stub I always carry. I looked at the dead witch, holding the light close to her face. I was almost certain that she was one of those who had fled after the attack the previous day. That made me wary. Perhaps the other one had come back too?
    I listened but could hear only the sighing of the wind. My new ability to sense things at a distance no longer alerted me to any immediate danger. Those I pursued were some way ahead; I knew that they still had not broken camp. Nevertheless, I didn’t want to take any chances, so I extinguished the candle, gathered my things together, and continued steadily west.
    Just before dawn I sensed that the witches were moving again, but by now I knew that I was within a few miles of them. They were still out of sight, but my objective was to get close without being detected and then, once night fell, move in quickly. My new ability seemed to be refining itself and getting stronger as I used it. I felt certain that even in the dark I would be able to go straight to the leather sack containing the Fiend’s head, retrieve it quickly—fighting only if necessary—and then make my escape.
    My only fear was the sea to the north, which was quite close now. At times I spotted big ships, their sails billowing in the wind. The danger was that the witches would rendezvous with one of the ships before I could intervene.
    But the witches turned south, not north, heading inland toward the hills and taking me completely by surprise.
    Less than an hour later, at the point where they had left the road, I found their tracks. Puzzled, I followed them; I was no longer running, for I was exhausted.
    How could they possibly manage to reach Ireland by heading away from the sea? I asked myself. It didn’t make any sense.
    I was following