The Vampire & Her Witch

”Faith,” the artificer snorted. ”Faith is nothing more than a window dressing that disguises the strength of will. Give me that,” he said curtly, snatching the slate and chalk from Ignatious’s hands and wiping the diagram of the summer sky away so he could begin to sketch.

As he did so, Virve stiffened behind Heila’s chair, her amber eyes narrowing dangerously. Heila’s hand twitched, momentarily wishing that she had something to throw at the artificer the same way she’d found small seeds to pelt Jacques with when he said something both oblivious and uncouth. Only Ashlynn’s raised hand, moving in a quick, subtle gesture that nevertheless drew everyone’s attention, prevented an immediate response to the artificer’s rudeness.

”The hilt is the center of a trap, just like you believe,” he explained, his gaze fixed too firmly on the slate to see the dirty looks his action drew not only from Ignatious but from Virve and Heila who bristled visibly at the sight of someone disrespecting one of Lady Nyrielle’s progeny. Next to him, Aspakos raised his hands in a gesture of helplessness while giving the enthusiastic artificer a look that Erkembalt had always been this way.

”When a person grasps the blade and attempts to use it, the blade will attack them,” Erkembalt said, oblivious to the dark stares his actions had attracted. ”But the attack is actually very weak at the beginning. It’s like arm wrestling,” he explained, looking around for a volunteer.

”I think I understand,” Aspakos said, placing his elbow on the table and holding up his taloned hand for Erkembalt to grasp. Ever since delving into the mysteries of the founder’s art, his taloned hands had become increasingly bound, unable to touch any tool or weapon. When it came to examining the blade, anything he attempted was certain to cause a backlash, but this much, at least, he could still do to help his old friend. ”Tell me how you want me to resist.”

”Like this,” the artificer said eagerly taking a seat and grasping his friend’s hand. ”When the sword reaches out to the wielder, it pushes, just a little,” he said, demonstrating by applying light pressure to his friend’s arm. ”If my friend is weak and offers little resistance, the blade will press him gently to the table,” he said, demonstrating with slow, even pressure.

”What happens when the sword wins the ’arm wrestling’ contest?” Heila asked. ”Is that when it burns someone?”

”Not if it’s a proper test,” Ignatious said before Erkembalt could speak. ”If the Church went around burning the most promising Templars every time one of them faced the trial of a blade, they would be doing the next best thing to severing their own arms.”

”Remember,” he explained, speaking as though he were teaching a young class of acolytes, repeating something he had said many times. ”The Church teaches that life is a struggle and a person must rise to meet their struggle, in this life or the next. Those who fail when struggling against the blade are only exhausted and unable to use any sacred arts, what you call sorcery, for a period of several days.”

”You were speaking about the power of will?” Nyrielle prompted before Ignatious could fall back into his habits as a leader of the Church. Normally, she would have indulged in the conversation, particularly because she saw an opportunity for Ashlynn to resolve many of her own lingering doubts by spending time discussing them with someone who shared her faith.

At the moment, however, he already felt herself growing tired in the blade’s presence. It wasn’t enough to diminish her ability to fight, but it was more than enough to leave her irritable and impatient to conclude this part of their gathering.

”Right, right,” Erkembalt said, his tail fluffing up with anxiety and his ears twitching nervously when he heard the sharpness in Nyrielle’s tone. ”In order to ’ignite’ this blade, a person has to win the arm wrestling contest against the blade. But the more they push, the more the blade pushes back,” he said, demonstrating by entering a tense stalemate with Aspakos.

”At some point,” the feathered sorcerer said, taking over for Erkembalt. ”The ’push’ coming from the wielder will exceed the limits of the blade’s ability to resist. When that happens,” he said, ceasing his struggle and allowing Erkembalt to slam his talonned hand into the table. ”The wielder’s energy fills the blade and the weapon ignites.”

”I see,” Ignatious said, nodding in understanding. ”When you say it isn’t faith, it’s because any sufficient determination would ignite the blade. For a person who is devout, the strength of their faith acts as a focus for their determination. But if a person was simply determined to use the blade at all costs,” he said, his eyes going wide in horror.

”Then nothing would stop them from igniting the blade,” Ashlynn said. Her face looked grim and her eyes were haunted as she remembered the visions that Claire du Gaal had shared with her. Powerful priests had used her younger brother to establish their holy kingdom and the templars they’d sent to kill the first king’s own sister in order to cement their place in the new order. ”Because the Church uses these blades as tests of faith, they open the door to men who are zealots or hungry for power, whether they have virtue or not.”

”But if this is true,” Nyrielle said, grinning widely and revealing her fangs as a predatory gleam sparkled in her midnight blue eyes. ”Then my darling Ashlynn should be able to use the blade, shouldn’t she? Given the trials she’s faced, perhaps even Heila could master this weapon.”

”Me?” Heila said, her voice cracking in a near squeak at Nyrielle’s sudden suggestion. ”I, I could never. I’m aligned with water and wood. I have no strength with fire at all. Even if I wanted to try, I’m sure the blade would repel me.”

”Then, does Lady Ashlynn have the same restrictions?” Virve asked from her place behind Heila’s shoulder. ”Is this something that could only be used by witches or sorcerers like the ones Lady Heila fought in the arena?”

”If that were the case,” Nyrielle said with a proud gleam in her dark eyes despite the discomfort she felt at being so close to the naked blade. ”I would never have asked Ignatious to present this blade to her,” she said with a slow, content smile. ”Am I right, my darling?”