The Vampire & Her Witch

”Tuscans, spread across the front, one man per column,” Lennart bellowed, quickly arranging Nyrielle’s army into a flexible formation for battle. ”Captain Virve, gather our men directly behind the Tuscans. They are our breaching force if needed, but too many of the rest are irregulars. I want our men in the lead if we have to charge,” he called, directing the flow of men to give them the best chances of responding if things turned violent again.

Whether he was preparing his men to assault the castle and reinforce Sir Savis and Sir Tausau on the walls or creating an opportunity for Lady Ashlynn to escape, he didn’t know. At the moment, he badly wished that Commander Bassinger was here with his years of experience fighting in the previous war against the Lothians.

Even more than that, however, he wished that he was standing somewhere else on this battlefield. He didn’t begrudge Zedya’s move to join Sir Ignatious at all, and in fact, he was grateful that the mesmerizing vampire was closer to Lady Ashlynn if things fell to violence again. Only, in his heart, he hated that he wasn’t able to face the greater danger together with her.

At the moment, they each had their roles to play and it fell to him to organize Nyrielle’s ordinary forces while those with greater strength faced more immediate danger but in the future... In the future, his place would be wherever Zedya’s place was.

”Now I understand what you meant about feeling like we’re running out of time,” he said quietly as his eyes turned to the space between the army and the fortress where Lady Ashlynn faced off against the young Frost Walker lord. Neither Zedya nor Ignatious seemed to be able to step within fifty paces of the burning blade in Lady Ashlynn’s hand, but when it came to power like the pillar of flame that the Mother of Trees had unleashed, did fifty paces really count for anything?

Silently, Lennart resolved himself to give his answer to Zedya as soon as they returned to the Vale of Mists. For now, he could only hope that the Frost Walkers would see reason and stand down from further violence tonight.

”Your Dominion,” Kimsel began politely, taking control of Hauke’s body and offering a slight bow in Ashlynn’s direction while placing the tip of Eraric’s sword on the icy ground in a gesture that she did not intend to fight. At lease, not at the moment.

”You have grown significantly since last I saw you,” Kimsel added, her aged voice sounding even more incongruent from Hauke’s youthful face than Ansgar’s booming one had. As she moved, her posture shifted, becoming hunched and leaning slightly on the runic blade, treating it much like the old woman would have treated a cane, even though Hauke’s body was young and full of vigor. ”Six months ago, you would not have been our match.”

”You’ve grown more lucid since last I spoke with you,” Ashlynn replied, refusing to match the ancestral spirit’s gesture of lowering her blade. ”Six months ago, you were deranged and barely capable of speaking in complete sentences. My friend Hauke must have worked hard to restore you, but you’ve repaid his kindness with heartless treachery.”

”I heard your argument with Lord Ansgar and Ines,” Kimsel said, waving one hand dismissively as though she couldn’t be bothered to debate with Ashlynn on topics they had already discussed. ”You do not understand. I will not convince you, and it is a waste of both our time to try. What I want to propose is a resolution.”

”If you want a resolution, then I will offer you one,” Ashlynn said. ”Drop your blade. Release my friend. Allow me to strip your horns from his body,” she added, gesturing with the Severing Knife held in her left hand. ”Do this, and we can negotiate your continued existence. There are no other terms.”

”Don’t be so hasty to demand capitulation, your Dominion,” Kimsel chided. Her words might be proper and polite, but the tone she used was one that belonged to an elder addressing a young child. ”If we are backed into a corner where we have nothing to lose and must rely only on your mercy, then we might as well fight to the end, don’t you think?”

”Then what do you propose?” Ashlynn asked. Her right arm had begun to tremble from the effort of holding the sword up, and her connection to the mountain was weakening by the minute, greatly diminishing the amount of energy she could feed to the Holy Flame Blade.

As much as she wanted to negotiate a peaceful surrender, if this dragged on much longer, she would lose her ability to fight back against the power of the icy runic blade that still rested in Hauke’s hands, even if its tip had been lowered.

If it had been a clash between human lords, if her father had been the one standing in her place and it was another count facing off against them, just offering to enter into peace talks could halt fighting for weeks or months while both sides argued over a solution. There would be time to withdraw the army, to heal and recover, and by the time both sides had licked their wounds and cooled their heads, a reasonable agreement would emerge.

But the Eldritch weren’t like that. Things on this side of the mountains were much more black and white. Victor and defeated with both glory and responsibility landing on the victor. At that point, whoever had emerged as the strongest was free to dictate terms to the loser.

”Ritchel, Eldritch Lord of the High Pass, stands on the edge of death,” Kimsel began. ”Even if he survives this night, he has been defeated on his own mountain and deserves to lose his throne for his failures.”

As soon as she spoke, several Frost Walkers on the walls began to shout and object. They hadn’t come here to fight a war, they had all been surprised by the sudden battle. To say that their lord had lost his right to rule when Nyrielle’s army sent an assassin to slaughter his guard and take him hostage was an insult few of them could bear.

Commander Jannik, however, held up a hand to silence his men. He’d only just arrived at the scene of the battle when a messenger arrived in the great hall to tell the elders waiting to receive Lady Nyrielle with a grand feast that things had fallen apart when Hauke attacked one of the witches.

He’d been too late to do anything about the chaos that gripped the young warriors who were standing for what should have been a ceremonial gathering but now that he was here, he was determined to keep things from going any further out of control.

Besides, in Jannik’s mind, the ancestral spirit possessing Hauke wasn’t wrong that Ritchel had failed. Whatever had led to tonight’s tragedy, as the Lord of the High Pass who was present during the disaster, Ritchel had to take responsibility for what had happened. Now that the ancestor pointed it out, he wanted to at least hear what the ancestor had to say.

The ancestors should always be consulted when the fate of the clan was at stake, and Jannik had a feeling that, since she was calling the leadership of the clan in question, whatever happened here would reshape the clan for decades if not centuries to come.

Of course, it was the role of ancestors to advise. The living would need to decide for themselves what to do with that advice, and so while Jannik perked up his ears to listen to the old woman’s words, he resolved himself to defy them if her advice would push even more of his men into the chasm of death.

”Since the current Lord of the High Pass is incapable of ruling it,” Kimsel said, looking from the soldiers atop the walls of the icy fortress to the army gathered behind the towering Tuscan mercenaries before giving Ashlynn a direct and challenging look. ”I declare the Throne of the High Pass Vacant and open the field of honor for challengers!”

”Lord Ansgar wishes to face you in single combat for the throne, your Dominion,” the old woman said, using the runic blade as a prop to gesture to the fortress and the mountains beyond it. ”Win, and take control of the High Pass. Should you stand victorious, you may pass judgment on us as you wish, and we will not resist.”

”But lose,” she added, staring down at Ashlynn from her greater height. ”And we will not only take the throne. We will pass judgment on you and the defiler who carries a weapon carved from one of our horns, and you will submit to that judgment.”

”What say you, Mother of Trees?” Kimsel asked. ”Will you contend for the throne?”