HECTOR BAYES

“There he is! Seize him!” A warbled voice screamed in the time it had taken me to register what was going on.

The scrunched-up faces of the bald, scullery witches shone in the moonlight, their iron-cast skin glossy enough that it made my eyes unable to focus on their form, watering around my lids and shifting away from their long bodies.

Camouflage magic! I had known then, as they cast their nettle trap laced with wolfsbane, that I was no match for their expertise.

”Seize the prince, Haggard! Don't let him get away!” The slender which I’d seen earlier screeched, her shrill voice grating in my ear so...