A wicked smile grew across the witch's face as she caught sight of the prey she had been hunting for the past hours. She had first caught the scent of food scouting around the Blackbeak encampment, following it across a mountain peak.
She was perplexed by the not-quite-familiar scent, as she was by the strange world the witches had entered a day ago. But they were low on energy from entering the Wyrdgate Erawab had somehow sent them through, even though he did not have the means to do so. And yet he had still pushed them through the boundary to another world, to conquer ahead of time while he won the war in their world.
It was a lousy idea, in all honesty, and the witches didn't intend to follow it. Now that they had no great force to control them, the witches would find their replacement for the Wastes in this new world. But first, food. And finally, had found something.
She hid in a dark tree, tucking away her red Crochan cloak in order to remain camouflaged at the edge of the dark forest. The witches had touched down on a vast mountain range, and now she had finally spotted humans— or whatever they were. She had found a camp of a winged people.
She wasn't slighted by the wings she could see on the backs of every male or female walking through the camp. The witches would not deny anything they found; if it resembled a human, it was a human in their heads. And Wyrd try to stop an Iron-teeth witch from getting her way.
She watched two individuals sparring intensely with swords. They would switch from sky to land every other instant. On another side of the camp, there were males training to use a sort of magic. The witch was intrigued by them. She knew they were a warrior race at that moment, and a very strong one, no doubt.
She was not easily surprised, but she grew wary only due to her lack of energy. As she glanced around, she noticed that all of them had the same warrior look as the ones she saw training. Taking an adult male would be a bit of work, not that she minded. A fight would just made it more fun. And more appetizing.
But again, the witches were all drained of any energy, and the Blackbeak heir had set out in the first place because she was the least affected by the pass through the Wyrdgate. So for now, a child or weakling would have to do.
Stealing one would be easier at night, when she could blend with the shadows, but she was almost desperate, —as far as a witch would admit— and would have to risk being seen in the daylight.
She quickly stalked from the tree line to the closest tent, and scowling at her unusual clumsiness, she glanced around the corner to spy her target. A small winged child sharpening a weapon outside the neighboring tent. She looked longingly at the sparring adults, and continued to shine the sword. The witch glanced around for any eyes that might catch a child disappearing,
and saw none.
A wicked grin grew on her face once more.
Manon walked through the forest quickly, dragging the tied up winged child behind her. For the first hour she had struggled, but she seemed to have passed out at some point when she was being dragged up a ridge. It had taken a large amount of restraint to keep the witch from devouring her meal right away, but she had to share with the rest of the witches. Just until they were past the strange —no doubt Wyrd related— sickness that had befallen them. The child was small, but would give the witches enough energy to get bigger prey.
She might have found something faster if she had taken her Wyvern, but this world was new to them all, and she didn't want to scare away anything that could potentially be eaten. Not yet, anyway.
Only a select few had brought Wyverns, Perrington had elected to keep many behind to use in the war. If Manon was not a high ranking witch as the Blackbeak heir, she certainly was now, as leader of the new world legion, and one of the few allowed to maintain her Wyvern.
A rustling sound came from the bushes to her left, and the heir stoped abruptly to look around for the cause of the sound. She saw nothing but the tree trunks around her. A small rabbit jumped out of the bushes, no doubt unaware of the predator that stood near it.
"Typical," the witch muttered. She had too much pride to take something as lowly as a rodent back to the legion, but took note of its existence for possible food shortages. She had no idea just how many winged people occupied the world, it was a possibility they might be the only group, and leave the witches with no food after the village was emptied. She was sure pride would not be an object then.
She reached the edge of the encampment, and the 20 other witches came out of their tents, immediately getting up at the sight of her. Yes, the witch had no doubt that this bit of blood would awaken their strength once more.
Lord Devon might have noticed the recurring disappearance of Illyrian children faster if the first five victims were not female. But he finally did notice at the disappearance of the son of a high ranking captain. He did not mention the first five victims to the High Lord of the Night Court when pressed about what he was searching for, though. The High Lord found out nonetheless, through the information his Illyrian wife had scouted from the other females of the camp.
He was furious, and sought the source of the kidnapped children, searching vehemently, out of fear that the blight might spread to Velaris. But what he found was much more vexing than he thought it would be. It was a legion of what could only be described as deadly witches.
Before they could react, some of them engaged in a fight with a group of Illryians. The High Lord saw that the witches would beat this small group of Illyrians and intervened.
He attempted to create a sort of truce between the witches and his people. He knew a Great War was coming over the fate of humans, and he did not want these witches choosing a side against them. They were not fae, but they were incredibly lethal.
The lead witch, the Blackbeak witch who had stolen the first child, was clever. She could sense the power from the High Lord and did not want to tempt fate at that time. She carefully considered her options.
She knew this High Lord saw her and her coven as a threat, and had a sought a truce to spare his soldiers lives. She had also taken great notice to the well-built, warrior males that made up the Illyrian race, and was intrigued by the idea that the witches had power to be gained from using these males as breeding stock. It wouldn't be long before the witches numbers grew and and they could overtake this group, but slowly and surely. And of course, she did not tell this High Lord of of her coven's Wyverns. No, she was prepared to take over this land as the new wastes for the witches. And she knew exactly how to do it.
She presented her terms. The Illyrians were to serve as breeding stock for the witches, and the witches would not interfere with any outer affairs, or leave their side of the mountain.
The High Lord was unsure of the terms, asking Lord Devon if this worked for him. Devon laughed at the thought of his men becoming "breeding stock," insulted by the arrogance of this woman. But he had seen the fight, and although he had too much pride to admit they were loosing, he did see that these witches had some potential for breeding stock on his end of the deal.
Lord Devon, prideful as ever, told the witch this. "If any one of your bitches can defeat one of my Illyrians in combat, then she can keep him as 'breeding stock.' But if my men beat one of you, that girl will become one of our own 'breeding stock.' She will be a lowly female slave.'" He grinned disdainfully at the witch.
The Blackbeak heir smiled at the proposition, a reaction Devon was not expecting. "Perfect," she hissed. "It'll be a lovely warm up for training. I'm sure we'd enjoy a snack after we've used up your prized soldiers."
Lord Devon gave an intimidating stare at the black-haired witch but found only her black, soulless eyes staring back at him. And deep inside his heart, he felt a pang of fear of the darkness he had seen there. He had lived in the night court all his life, had seen the rule of the court of nightmares, and it still paled in comparison to the darkness he saw in the witch's eyes.
They agreed to that truce that day, and if the High Lord disliked the arrangement, he never got to act on it, for a horrible war occurred in the next few years, and he, nor his successor ever had time to do anything about the arrangement.
And thus, the centuries old battle of the sexes began.