Rembrien Chapter 1.

Chapter 1.

The Thief.

Sophrayni came to a crossroads. Unusually, there was no signpost showing the names of the towns ahead. She leaned over her horse’s neck and whispered in its ear, “Well, Shade, you choose which way to go.”

She had become the new Witch of the Dark Forest after the old one, Calizone, had died. The title wasn’t passed down by family, but by a calling and a talent for magic. The Witch was a guardian, a healer, and—when needed—a judge. She kept the balance between the wild magic of the forest and the tidy lands of men.

Most people feared the Dark Forest, and even fewer understood it. But everyone knew the stories: Witches who could speak with animals, brew truth from roots, and see through lies as easily as mist. Sophrayni had studied under Calizone for years, and now the title was hers.

On the advice of King Syldan, she had set out to show herself to the world. She had even put on the black dress and the wide-brimmed hat that every Witch of the Dark Forest had worn for centuries. So far, it had been very satisfying.

Everywhere she went, people recognised the uniform and treated her with respect—and sometimes a little fear.

In the last town she had visited, Slipsy, she had dealt with an evil witch and rescued Lord Rocco and his family. Lord Rocco was a Kingsman, an official sent by the King to manage the land. With the help of trained clerks, they acted as tax collectors and judges to keep the country running smoothly.

Shade snorted and turned to the left.

“As good a choice as any,” Sophrayni said.

The road meandered through neat fields with well-tended hedges. After a couple of hours of gentle riding, she came to another crossroads. But before she could choose a direction, a man came hurtling down the road. He was clutching something tightly in his right hand. Shade backed up, startled.

When the man saw Sophrayni, he gasped. He stood still for a moment, glancing left and right, trying to decide which way to run. “Interesting,” thought Sophrayni.

She pointed a finger at him and whispered a small spell. To the man’s terror, the magic lifted him off the ground and left him dangling in mid-air. Sophrayni looked closely at the object he was carrying. It looked remarkably like a picture she had seen in one of the books in her cottage. The picture had been labelled A Unicorn Horn. The book had said that no one in the world had ever seen a real unicorn.

Before she could ask any questions, a crowd of angry people came charging down the road. They stopped short when they saw Sophrayni and the floating man. The crowd slowed down, their angry energy fading. Sophrayni’s black dress sparkled a little in the afternoon light, and her big hat shaded her face. Shade stomped his foot to let everyone know he was watching too.

“That’s him!” shouted a woman with a red kerchief. “He stole from the Meeting Hall!”

“We’ve chased him for miles,” barked an older man, panting. “Give him to us!”

Sophrayni raised a hand, and the crowd fell silent. “The Witch of the Dark Forest takes orders from no one,” she said in a stern voice.

“She’s got the hat, the dress, and the black horse,” someone whispered. A boy clutched his mother’s skirt. The woman with the red kerchief stepped forward, keeping a wary distance. “We—we mean no disrespect,” she said, her voice trembling. “That man stole from us. We only want justice.”

“He will answer,” Sophrayni said calmly, “but not to anger. Where is your village, and who is your Kingsman?”

“Our town is called Stump, and Lord Rufus is the Kingsman,” the woman replied.

“Then you may take me to him,” said Sophrayni. “If you tie a rope around the man’s foot, you can tow him along. He won’t escape until I let him.”

The townsfolk led the way.

 Sophrayni handed Shade’s reins to a small boy named Wilfred, who looked very proud as the great black horse followed him quietly.

“Now,” Sophrayni asked as they walked, “what exactly has this man stolen?”

“Our unicorn horn,” the woman replied. “It’s real. You’ll see.”

Sophrayni frowned, but said nothing. “A real unicorn horn,” she thought.

Stump was a tidy town with timber and slate houses and a stone bridge over a slow river. Lord Rufus’s house stood on a hill overlooking the marketplace. It was a solid, practical building with the King’s crest on the shutters.

Lord Rufus emerged as they arrived. He was younger than Sophrayni expected, with a trimmed beard and a green tunic. He took in the sight of the floating man and the Witch with a raised eyebrow.

“I see Stump has had an eventful morning,” he said dryly. He invited them inside, where his clerk, Darius, sat ready with a quill and parchment.

Sophrayni clicked her fingers, and the thief fell to the floor in a heap. He dropped the horn at her feet. When Sophrayni reached down to pick it up, she snatched her hand back instantly. “That’s magic,” she exclaimed. “Real magic.”

Lord Rufus placed the horn on the desk. After a short trial, the villagers began to shout for harsh punishments. “Hang him!” one cried. “Cut off his hand!” Martha, the woman in the red kerchief, added.

The thief crawled to Sophrayni’s feet. “Please,” he begged. “Help me.”

Sophrayni looked at the crowd. “Let him go,” she said.

The room went silent with shock. “That seems a little lenient,” Lord Rufus said mildly.

“Not at all,” said Sophrayni. “I have placed a spell on him. He will never be able to steal again. If he tries, his hands will feel as if they are on fire—and the pain will only grow worse until he returns what he has taken.”

The man looked at his hands in horror. “But I’m a thief! It’s all I know.”

“Then you’ll have to be the first honest man in your family,” Sophrayni said with a small smile.

Lord Rufus hauled the man up. “If I were you, I’d start running now—before these people change their minds.” The crowd parted, and the man fled into the distance.