The Vampire & Her Witch

Outside the tent, Isabell sat with Tiernan, Sir Rain and Sir Hugo as they converged on the young Sir Ollie, putting more than a dozen paces between their group and the group of tired soldiers who had endured a cold ride in an open topped wagon for hours in the dark of night. Most of the soldiers looked tired and cold and they were eagerly slurping at bowls of hot vegetable soup and drinking the warmed cider like it was water, but Isabell and her companions were more interested in the young knight and what he knew than the comforts of a warm meal.

”Sir Ollie,” Isabell said, hoping to start the conversation on something minor and work her way to more serious topics. ”You addressed Mister Marcel as ’Sir Marcel.’ Have I been meeting with an esteemed knight all this time without knowing it?”

”A knight?” Ollie said with a strange smile on his face as he tried to imagine the flamboyant spymaster donning heavy armor and a helm that would conceal his elegant features and soft, dark hair. ”No, Sir Marcel is no knight,” he said with a brief burst of laughter at the image in his mind. ”But his status is just as high and the men under his command are as important as any soldiers on the battlefield. Calling him ’Sir Marcel’ is entirely appropriate,” he finished a touch awkwardly.

It wasn’t his place to reveal where Ashlynn had been or her current status among the Eldritch. That would come soon enough. For now, all he needed to do was play host to their guests, both invited and uninvited, until Marcel finished his conversation with Lady Ashlynn and they decided what to do about the uninvited guests who had joined them.

”I see,” Isabell said softly as she tried to sort out what kind of man wasn’t a knight but could be appropriately be addressed as though he was one. ”And what is your relationship with her ladyship then?” Isabell asked pointedly. ”I assume that she was the one who conferred knighthood on you? Or was it someone else?”

In truth, Isabell doubted that Lady Ashlynn would attempt to confer knighthood on anyone. It would be one thing if she was the reigning Marchioness after Owain succeeded his father, but since she wasn’t, she had very little authority to bestow any kind of title, much less a knighthood.

At most, she could take someone as a lady-in-waiting but anyone she granted that title to should already be the daughter of a baron at the least. What Isabell was really after was the identity of the mysterious patron who was shielding Lady Ashlynn while she lived in exile.

”It was her ladyship,” Ollie said, surprising both the Guild Masters and the knights, though for distinctly different reasons as both knights mentally readjusted their assumptions about the mysterious Lady they were here to meet.

”As to our relationship, that’s a little complicated. You can consider me family,” he said which instantly drew scandalized looks from both Isabell and Tiernan, prompting Ollie to nearly choke on his cider, sputtering as he realized the misunderstanding he’d inadvertently created.

”Not like that!” the young knight said frantically. ”More like, more like she adopted me after... after I helped her a bit. But she’s always done far more for me than I’ve ever done for her,” he said, staring into his cup and smiling sadly. ”So I have a long way to go to make it up to her.”

”It can’t be a small bit of help if you were knighted for it,” Sir Rain said as he gave the young man an evaluating look. It was hard to tell beneath the cloak and the young man’s tunic but his forearm had felt as solid in his grip as a bar of iron and his hands had calluses that spoke of hard labor despite his delicate and refined features. Clearly the young man had worked hard to arrive where he was, but hard work alone was far from enough to become a knight.

”Sir Ollie has been busy constructing a village to resettle hundreds of people displaced by war and strife,” Marcel said, praising the young man as he exited the tent. ”I known a good number of knights in my life, but I’ve seen few as beloved by their people and their soldiers as he is. One man even turned down a position as a captain because he refused to leave Sir Ollie’s side. He may not have many accolades from battle to his name yet, but I’m sure those days aren’t far off.”

”I’m sure that Sir Ollie is worthy of every honor bestowed on him,” Isabell said, standing smoothly and dusting off her skirts when Marcel emerged from the tent. ”Does that mean that we can see her ladyship now?”

”It does, but before you do, she’s asked me to make a request of Sir Rain and Sir Hugo, which begins with answering a simple question” Marcel said as he approached the two knights who were loyal to Owain Lothian. Marcel’s easy smile vanished as though someone had blown out a candle, leaving his face eerily still. The casual slouch and slight turn of his hips that always made him appear at least slightly bent melted from his posture as he straightened to his full height.

Suddenly, between one moment and the next, the young man who had seemed barely old enough to shave now loomed over both knights despite being shorter than either of them. His voice, when he spoke, dropped to a whisper that somehow carried more menace than any shout, each word precise and clipped where moments before his speech had been flowing and warm. The playful light disappeared from his dark eyes, replaced by a look so intense that it seemed to pin the men in place, as if the slightest movement would unleash the fury of a vicious beast.

As Marcel stalked towards them, he focused every one of his enhanced senses on the two petrified knights. Every indrawn breath, twitch of eyes or subtle movement told the vampire dozens of things that men would normally try to keep hidden and at the moment they seemed both lost and confused by the mysterious lady’s sudden interest in them. His next question, however, surprised both men, especially with the intensity with which it was asked.

”Gentlemen,” Marcel said as he stepped uncomfortably close to the pair of knights while his hands dropped to the hilts of daggers tucked into his belt. ”Tell me honestly and know that I will know if you lie. Where is Lady Ashlynn Blackwell?”

”Lady Blackwell?” Sir Hugo stammered, his voice cracking slightly as color drained from his already pale face. ”She’s... of course she’s at the Summer Villa. We feasted with her, albeit briefly, just after burning the demon village to the ground. She’s with child and taking her rest, exactly where she should be. I... I even helped arrange some treats for her myself, actually, while we were visiting her home in Blackwell City.”

”The pickled whitefish that everyone there seems to love so much,” he rambled as Marcel’s already dark eyes seemed to loom even larger in his vision, looking at him as though they could see right through to the core of his heart. ”And, and the shavings of sun-dried blue-tail for making soups and stews, I arranged a barrel of each to be sent to the summer villa for her. I even told the messenger to make it clear it was a gift from Lord Owain... why would you even...” His words tumbled over each other as he struggled to understand why this seemingly simple question felt like an accusation.

”What kind of foolish question is that?” Sir Rain snarled, as he stepped in front of Hugo, silencing the stammering steward as his hand moved instinctively toward his sword hilt. His face flushed red with indignation as he leaped to the defense of his lord and his lord’s honor as a man.

”Everyone in Lothian March knows exactly where Lady Ashlynn rests,” the portly knight snapped. ”She carries Lord Owain’s heir in her belly and hasn’t left the Summer Villa in months. If you’re trying to suggest something...” His voice grew louder and more belligerent with each word, as he pushed back against the dark, menacing aura that made him feel somehow smaller and weaker than the soft skinned merchant boy in front of him.

”So he hasn’t told either of you the truth,” Marcel said, withdrawing his menacing aura and shaking his head as he laughed under his breath. ”He truly treats you like disposable pawns, sending you to do his dirty work while keeping you in the dark about half his schemes. I feel sorry for you, gentlemen,” he said as he turned to face the tent.

”But since your master thinks so little of you,” Marcel said with a dark grin as the flap of the tent began to open. ”Perhaps you can find an opportunity tonight to serve someone better...”