"You look awfully chipper today," Theiden observed as he headed for the witch hunters' establishment one morning. Beside him, Tareth gave a toothy grin.

"Why wouldn't I be?" the man replied, his long strides keeping pace with Theiden. "It's payday, after all."

"Payday?" Theiden echoed. Every morning for the past week, he had been sneaking over the city wall and setting hunting traps before heading over to the witch hunters' place for practice. The thought of getting paid by anything other than his catch had never occurred to him.

Tareth rubbed his hands together in gleeful expectation. "There's nothing like the feel of a nice fat purse jingling with coins in the palm of your hand. I think I'm gonna get myself a new hat." He gazed up at the ribbons crisscrossing the street overhead. "Midsummer Week Festival begins tonight. I want to look my best for the ladies."

Theiden remained silent, calculating how much he would need to pay back his loan from Evaly. He was nearly there now—another week of selling rabbit meat and pelts, and he would be out of debt. But if he were to get a salary from the witch hunters, the balance would be paid back even sooner.

"Here we are," Tareth announcied, pulling Theiden from his thoughts.

Theiden looked up and frowned. "This isn't our building." The gray stone façade and blue trim was a stark contrast to the drab brown building they had been training in for the past week. Theiden raised a brow at the dramatic upward arch at the corners of the gutters and the gold-painted designs on the shutters. This building was much more...elaborate.

Tareth's grin was the same sort as Em's when she had a secret everyone else didn't yet know about. "'Course it's our building!" he exclaimed. "This is just a different way in. It's all connected, y'see."

From his time in the labyrinthine tunnels and the practice room of the other building, Theiden had guessed as much, but the concept was still so unusual to him. Just how much power did the witch hunters have, to be able to construct such a network? Though he knew it was all in good intent to protect against the witches, the thought worried him, just a little bit.

Theiden followed Tareth through the door of the gray building, into a large stone parlor with four large tapestries hanging on the walls. A gray-bearded man with an eyepatch was sitting behind a desk near the door, and exchanged a nod with Tareth as they entered.

"Colverne, this is Theiden," Tareth announced, gesturing as Theiden ducked through the low doorway. "Theiden, this is Colverne, one of our most experienced fighters."

Theiden copied Tareth's nod. "Nice to meet you."

"Colverne's been with the witch hunters longer than anyone," Tareth explained. "Though he was forced to retire from the hunting expeditions about twelve years ago. Now he's our head researcher and keeper of the keys."

"What happened?" Theiden asked.

Colverne raised a hand to point at his covered eye. "Lightning."

Theiden frowned. "Lightning?" Now that the man had mentioned it, he could see the faded burn scars along his face, half-hidden by wrinkles and white-gray hair. A patch of his beard on his right side, beneath the ruined eye, was missing, as though the scarring had prevented the beard from ever growing in fully.

Colverne nodded. "Witch's work. I was one of the lucky ones. The rest lost their minds and jumped off a cliff."

Theiden's eyes widened in alarm. "Were there no survivors?"

Colverne shook his head calmly, seemingly having made peace with the fact a long time ago. "Not of the ones who went cliff-diving. But me and a few others managed to escape."

"It was one of Decliteur's first witch hunting expeditions," Tareth elaborated, turning to Theiden with an excited gleam in his eye. "He managed to slay two of the creatures that day. He was elected to become the next leader of our group shortly after that."

Colverne gave a snort and shook his head again, this time with a grin. "He was incredible on that trip," he said. "He managed to cut one of the old hags practically down the middle." He traced a finger across his leftt side, starting under his eye and drawing it down his neck, across his shoulder, and around his back to his hip. "Carved her like the old bird she was. Shame we couldn't have roasted her on a spit after."

Theiden frowned. "This was an old witch he killed?" he asked.

Colverne nodded. "Yeah. Old as the hills. It was time for her to go."

"And the other witch he killed? Who was she?"

"Oh," Colverne shook his head. "It was a he. Just a witchling, about fifteen. Y'know it's a rare find when you come across a male. The witchy traits usually only show up in the females."

Theiden felt his stomach churn at the man's description. After living with Lenesa, he knew the witches had thoughts and feelings just as much as everyone else, but the attitude of the hunters was as though they were no more than the rabbits Theiden hunted to eat.

"Were there any other witches?"

"It's an exciting story, isn't it?" Tareth said. "You've got a lot of questions."

Theiden ignored him and turned back to Colverne, waiting for an answer. The old man gave a sigh.

"A few others, but we were injured and outnumbered, and they escaped. We were forced to turn back."

"Come on," Tareth said, nudging Theiden with an elbow. "We've dallied for too long. The others will be waiting for us. There's a new weapon Decliteur's gonna show us."

Theiden grudgingly turned away, but one thing from Colverne's story was bugging him. The gash the old man had described matched Lenesa's scar exactly. But if Decliteur had given it to an older witch, and that witch had died, then where did Lenesa get hers from? Who had that witch been?

Who was Lenesa?

Theiden shook his head to clear his thoughts and followed Tareth to one of the hanging tapestries. Like the others, it was woven in varying shades of red, yellow, and blue—the colors of Patachal City. This particular tapestry had a man in armor with a gleaming golden sword, fighting off a tall, sharp-edged creature whose dark cobalt-blue robes fluttered in a nonexistent wind. It took a moment for Tareth to recognize the being as one of the Fae, long-disappeared from this world. The Fae's long fingers were splayed out like claws towards the man, and small threads of crimson magic glimmered at the fingertips.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Tareth said when he caught Theiden looking. "They're all done by the same artist. The one with the tree's my favorite."

Theiden had a second to glance at the aforementioned tapestry with embroidered reddish-brown roots that coiled into the greenish-blue earth before Tareth had swept aside the fabric of the sword-and-Fae artwork, revealing the door behind. The man twisted a dial beside the door before a click came from the other side, and the door swung open.

Tareth's grin was foxlike in nature. "Coded locks. Just as an extra security measure."

"I see." Theiden's tone was steady, but again he found himself wondering just how far the witch hunters' influence extended.

What lay beyond the door, at least initially, was much the same as the entrance to the other building. The only difference to this narrow windowless hall and the other was that the candles to light the way were set in small iron chandeliers at intervals above them, rather than candelabras at either side. Theiden followed after Tareth through the flickering light, aware of how the shadows lengthened the farther they walked.

They passed four sets of unmarked wooden doors before reaching the end of the hallway, where a small spiral staircase led them belowground. Seeing as how the worn steps were made of stone rather than wood, Theiden surmised that this part of the building had been around for a long time.

"Here we are." Tareth stopped at a closed door at the bottom of the stairs, and Theiden nearly slipped in his efforts not to run into him.

There was another dial at this door, and after spinning out the code, Tareth turned the handle and stepped through, holding the door open long enough for Theiden to follow after him.

"About time ye' showed up," a voice greeted in a not-so-friendly welcome as soon as they entered the room. Theiden recognized the scowling face of Callan immediately. Ever since beating the man in his initiation duel, Theiden had found himself at odds with the witch hunter.

Rather than reply to the comment, Theiden took a moment to assess their surroundings. The room was fairly wide, but the shelves upon shelves of books and weapons made it seem smaller and more cramped. The ceiling was lower than the training room Theiden was now familiar with, but it was still high enough to give space above the bookshelves.

About thirty men stood gathered around four large crates in the center of the room, watching as Theiden and Tareth joined them. Decliteur was leaning against one of the shelves with his arms crossed, but pushed off to stand upright when the two joined the group.

"Timeliness, Tareth," he warned. "This is your second time."

Tareth ducked his head. "Sorry. We got caught up talking with Colverne about his last expedition, and how you—"

Decliteur held up a hand, effectively silencing him. "Let's focus on the task at hand." He turned towards the crates and gave a nod to Callan, who promptly pried off the top of the first one with a crowbar. "We've just received these shipments from Völpúnsgard. The latest technology in warfare."

Curious, Theiden stepped closer as Callan sifted through the straw packaging. All eyes were on the man as he finally found what he was looking for, and hoisted one of the weapons from its container.

"It's called a crossbow," Decliteur explained. "Sciro will demonstrate how they're used."

A man with a full beard and his long dark hair pulled back in a half-ponytail stepped forward, his hairiness and Callan's shorn-headed lack of it stark in contrast.

Callan passed the crossbow to the man, along with something that looked like a shorter, simpler version of an arrow.

"Crossbows use bolts rather than arrows," Decliteur elaborated as Sciro loaded the weapon. "Bolts lack the feathered fletching on arrows and are more forceful in their delivery."

With some ceremony, Sciro raised the crossbow, aimed it at the far end of the room, and pulled the trigger.

The reaction was instantaneous. The bolt shot from its ledge, streaking across the room with a whistle and burrowing into the side of one of the bookshelves with such a force that the wooden panel cracked from top to bottom.

Immediately, the room was filled with exclamations and animated gestures of those mimicking the bolt's progress and impact.

"Did you see that!"

"How many of those are there? Do we all get one?"

"Can't wait to feed the witches some of that!"

"Silence!"

The muttering immediately died down at Decliteur's shout, and all the witch hunters dutifully turned back to face their leader. Theiden glanced around, unnerved at the fiery, vicious glint in many of the men's eyes.

"There are fifteen crossbows," Decliteur said. "We will split into three teams that will alternate trainings in the main practice room. Refer to Feiran for the list to find out which team you're on. Training begins—"

The door behind Theiden burst open, and everyone turned to look at the intruder.

"Sorry to interrupt," Colverne said, not looking sorry at all. He made his way towards the center of the room with a calm confidence, doing his best to hide a limp. "One of my messengers has just come back with a bit of news." Colverne's eye locked with both of Decliteur's. "We've finally gotten a lead of that information you've been looking for."

Whatever Colverne's news meant, Theiden figured, it couldn't mean anything good for the witches by the way Decliteur's expression hardened with dark satisfaction.

"The meeting is adjourned," the head witch hunter announced. "Collect your paycheck from Gert upstairs and meet at the practice room during the time you've been scheduled for. Callan, Sciro—come with me."

"What's that about?" Theiden muttered to Tareth as Decliteur and the other two men left the room after Colverne. "What information are they talking about?"

Tareth turned to face Theiden. "You remember that evening when you ran into me, Callan, and Dorvic out and about in the rain?"

At the memory, Theiden felt his throat go dry. He nodded, not trusting himself to speak. They had been chasing after Lenesa, who without his intervention would most likely have been caught.

"Well, he's been looking for that witch that escaped ever since that night. Remember the explosion at the north river gate?"

Theiden forced a laugh. "How could I not?"

For once, Tareth wasn't smiling. Instead, his gaze was focused on a spot across the room, brows furrowed. "My cousin was one of the guards on duty that night. I swore to my aunt that I would avenge his death. Decliteur's been looking for clues and if he's found something, you bet I'm going to be there to kill that creature." He blinked, his eyes losing their distant gaze and focusing back on Theiden. "I know you're new to our group, but you've got a lot of skill already. Usually we wait a while for new recruits to join in an expedition, but I think you should come with us on this next one, once Decliteur's announced a date. You know what it's like to lose family. I want you to be there when we kill this thing."

Theiden swallowed against the heavy feeling in his chest. His heart ached for Malisse and her gentle ways, cut short so suddenly and brutally that he knew the memory of her death would always be with him. But though Lenesa's personality was cold and distant, she had opened up enough to him in their time together for him to see that she harbored a caring side, no matter how misguided she may be. She was flawed, and desperate at times, but not this evil villain that the witch hunters made her out to be.

But then, she had killed, and those guards had only been doing their jobs. It was Lenesa's fault, her own foolishness, for returning to the city and getting trapped with no way out. The guards shouldn't have had to pay for her mistake with their lives.

"I'll join you, if I'm allowed," Theiden said with a nod.

A shadow of Tareth's grin returned. "Good."    

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Um so this is a new thing for me but apparently if I write enough in Word, my computer says I've written so much that it cannot possibly keep track of all my spelling errors (or, um, creative names) and will now no longer use squiggly lines for things it doesn't like.  Which means I'm on my own for spell check, until I post into Wattpad.  Yikes!  If you see any errors, please point them out! (including the annoying Wattpad-generated errors of getting rid of spaces between words, ugh.)

So, backstory and crossbows.  Any thoughts about Lenesa's past?  Any ideas about what the future has in store?  I'd love to hear them!

As always, thank you for reading!  I loved seeing your reactions in the last chapter--thank you for your comments!!