The Vampire & Her Witch

A deep silence fell over the Great Hall as the halves of the ancestral horns clattered to the ground, each piece rolling briefly on the ground as the iridescent light that once illuminated it seemed to bleed into the air before fading away like fog on the wind leaving the severed horns cold and lifeless. The sound of Nyrielle’s ax passing through the horns, a high pitched -CRACK- like elegant crystal shattering on stone, continued to ring in everyone’s ears long after the severed horns rolled to a stop.

In her chair, Old Svenja trembled visibly and her stoop-shouldered frame seemed to shrink further as she watched darkness ripple across the horns, devouring what little light they had left and rendering them as lifeless as the stones of the mountain.

Once the greatest of her people, their stories had only recently been rediscovered, yet now, instead of taking places of honor in Ancestral Caves where generations could learn from their wisdom, they would only be remembered as the scheming manipulators who caused the fall of the High Pass. It hardly seemed fair for so many centuries of service to count for so little in the end, but if her long life had taught her anything it was that life was rarely fair.

Beside her, Commander Jannik stood rigid, his dark fur bristling along his shoulders as conflicting emotions warred within him. Part of him wanted to cry out at the injustice of it all. Twice this year, Lady Nyrielle had visited, and twice this year, she had destroyed the horns of his clansmen. For this alone, he should hate her from the soles of his feet to the tip of his horn.

And yet, when he recalled the overwhelming presence and the near irresistible urge to worship the horns of these ancestors... he struggled to say that Lady Nyrielle was wrong to destroy them. They had seen first hand the lifeless husk that the ancestors had turned Hauke into when he fought back against their control and he didn’t believe for a moment that he would have fared better than the young lord had.

Caught between both feelings, he could neither celebrate the destruction of their ancestral relics nor show gratitude for the woman who had freed them from a potential life of servitude, controlled by the ghosts of heroes long dead. Caught up in the maelstrom of conflicting feelings within his heart, he could only turn his eyes to the powerful vampire, waiting to hear what fate she had in mind for his people now that the trial had come to an end.

Further back in the room, Darfrir and his young followers responded differently. While the elders wore faces of deep loss and inner turmoil, the young men saw the world through much simpler eyes.

They finally understood just how strong Young Hauke had been to stand up against the ancient ancestors for as long as he had and seeing the way he had struggled to speak up on behalf of his father instead of pleading for his own life had cemented his position in their minds as the greatest Frost Walker of their generation.

”Next they will announce the new ruler of the High Pass,” he whispered to his companions. ”I hate it but... I cannot fight the vampires or the witches,” he admitted, even though it pained him. Nyrielle’s single blow with her shadowy ax had removed every last doubt in his mind and heart that he could stand against her.

”But I haven’t lost my tongue to speak or my will to use it,” the young warrior said. ”When the time comes, I will speak up for Young Lord Hauke. No one else has his strength and I’m done with being lorded over by these old, fading relics who bow and scrape and surrender instead of fighting to the end. When I speak out, will you speak with me?” Darfrir asked. The others nodded grimly, quickly agreeing that it was time for someone who understood them to take the throne. Someone like Hauke who would fight with all his strength for his family and his clan.

On Nyrielle’s side of the hall, reactions varied just as widely as they had among the frost walkers, though there were far fewer expressions of grief or loss and many more who gazed upon the Harbinger of Death with a newfound sense of awe.

Standing tall and proud with Nyrielle’s delegation, Savis’s golden eyes spent little time watching Nyrielle dispensing justice and focused instead on the widely expressive faces of the crowd. Wherever he looked, he found traces of reverence, fear, sorrow, triumph and so many other emotions that he was momentarily overtaken by the feeling that he’d been encased in ice, trapped on the other side of an impenetrable barrier that prevented him from sharing in the feelings that drove so many of the people around him.

Beside him, Tausau’s mismatched features betrayed a surprising compassion as he watched the Frost Walkers process their loss while his own Mongrel Horde seemed cloaked in a strange form of pride. They had lost more than one in ten of their people, but tonight, the loss of their Clanless kin had been mourned and honored and the woman they fought for made it clear that she would not cast them aside or diminish their achievements.

They were all feelings that Savis could recognize and even dimly remember, but his own heart didn’t tremble in the slightest. For him, this had been a short battle, worth celebrating for the great victory he had helped to achieve, but filled with little glory or opportunity to fully rouse his bloodlust. Instead, even as the people around him began to turn their minds to celebration, he turned his attention to Nyrielle, once again wondering what she might demand from him to receive the gift she’d bestowed on Tausau to let him feel again.

In front of the fearsome vampires from the Tangled Wood, Heila lowered her wand slowly, her grass-green eyes filled with a mixture of awe and relief. The overwhelming pressure that had emanated from the horns had reminded her too much of Cecile’s attempts to control her during her own trial and she was immensely grateful that Talauia stood with her when she pulled her wand to protect the common people behind her who had come to bear witness to the trial.

Her heart swelled with fear and determination when she moved, but her body lacked the strength to do more than raise a feeble shield against the overwhelming presence of the ancient ancestors.

”You’ve done enough,” Ignatious said softly, appearing silently beside Heila and kneeling in a smooth, graceful movement as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, supporting her before her strength failed her entirely.

”Come sit with me,” he added, scooping her up and carrying her back to their seats at the head of the delegation from Nyrielle’s side. Warm, soothing energy flowed from him, banishing the chill of the Frost Walker’s Great Hall and enveloping her in a gentle warmth that carried the slightest trace of freshly split firewood and a crackling hearth on a cold winter’s day.

”Don’t let me sleep,” Heila said quietly as she drew closer to the fallen Inquisitor’s rekindled warmth. ”I need to be here for Lady Ashlynn,” she insisted. ”For what comes next.”

”I know,” Ignatious said, gently running his fingers through her soft, tousled curls and tucking a stray strand of hair behind a curled horn. ”It won’t be long now...”

As the last echoes of the horns’ shattering faded, Nyrielle turned away from the broken relics, making a small gesture for the soldiers who had carried them into the great hall to take them away but paying them no further attention. Her executioner’s ax dissolved into wisps of shadow that curled around her like ravens returning home to roost at the edges of her wings before blending seamlessly with the inky black aura that clung to her dark feathers.

With a slow, measured stride that carried all the weight of the onlooker’s expectations, she ascended the dais once more to rejoin Ashlynn, her midnight eyes reflecting nothing of the emotions that had briefly flickered across her face during Old Svenja’s plea for dignity. The time to consider the needs of the dead had passed, and the people who had harmed her darling had finally met their end.

Now, it was time for her to withdraw and pass the honor of the hour to the woman who had come to mean more to her than even her beloved Vale of Mists. Tonight, she and Ashlynn would take a step forward on a path that no one had dared to walk for centuries. It wasn’t the way they had intended to begin, but even her kind and gentle lover recognized the opportunity before them that would never come again.

”The dead have had their justice,” Nyrielle declared formally, bringing the trial to a close. ”Now, it is time to focus on the needs of the living. The throne of the Eldritch Lord of the High Pass sits vacant. It is time to fill that void...”