The Vampire & Her Witch

Arrows rained down around Virve as she charged, but at a range of one hundred paces, she had little to fear from the human defenders firing down at her from atop the wall.

Unlike Ollie, Virve had faced the attacks of archers before. Where Ollie stopped to raise a defensive barrier, Virve kept moving, dodging to the left and right or stopping suddenly to break the rhythm of her dash as she advanced on the stairs that led to the top of the wall.

Compared to the uncanny aim of the Glass Eyed Clan or the sudden ambush attacks of the Heartwood Clan’s archers, the human defenders were merely adequate, rather than exceptional, and only an exceptional archer could have hit the evasive Oak Witch as she charged.

Her efforts to evade the archers didn’t come without cost. In the time it took for her to cross fifty paces, five soldiers carrying shields and heavy, flagged maces had descended from the walls, spreading out to form a human barrier between Virve and the stairs.

”Hold!” Sir Cathal shouted from atop the stairs. ”Hold the line! Archers, fall back to the far side of the gatehouse! Rally at the gate to fire on the giants when they breach the inner gate!”

At this point, Virve and Ollie had achieved their first mission. With the archers withdrawing from the walls, the men of the Black Wolf Brigade were free to dash across the open field and charge through the gate as soon as Captain Ipiktok’s men broke through. Between the Tuscan Giants and the Golden Eyed elite skirmishers, the Summer Villa was certain to fall.

But Virve wasn’t content to frighten her enemy into abandoning their posts. She had come for blood!

”RAAAAARRR!!!”

With a bellow so loud that it frightened the defenders into taking half a step back, Virve charged the center of the soldiers’ formation, lashing out with darksteel claws. Empowered with the strength of Oak, the iron-bound and reinforced Sally Gate had shattered and splintered under her claws. When she attacked a simple shield with the same fury and force, the result was even more devastating.

-CRACK-

Splinters of wood flew through the air along with a spray of blood so hot that it steamed in the chill winter air. Virve’s claws sank deep into the arm holding the shield, tearing through skin, muscle, and sinew until her fingers wrapped around the fragile bones of the arm.

Screams of pain and terror filled the air, but Virve barely noticed, moving almost by instinct as she tore the soldier’s shield arm from its socket in her haste to clear the shield out of her way. Half a heartbeat later, the man’s anguished cries cut off with a wet gurgle as Virve’s other hand tore through his unprotected throat.

”Together!” one of the remaining soldiers shouted, charging forward with his shield like it was a battering ram, slamming into Virve’s side before he brought his mace down on her lightly armored upper arm. When he did, however, it didn’t feel like hitting a person or a beast. Instead, his mace landed with a dull -THUNK- as if he’d just struck a tree.

”F-f-fall back!” the man shouted, realizing his mistake too late as Virve rounded on him, snatching his mace and tearing it away from him along with the hand that held it. The next instant, the very last thing he saw was the head of his own mace filling his vision before darkness claimed him.

”Retreat!” Sir Cathal commanded sharply to the soldiers who were already stumbling over their own feet in their haste to escape the furious demon who tore limbs and spilled blood as though she intended to bathe in it.

”You cannot hope to face a witch like her, so retreat and leave her to me,” the aging knight said as he slowly descended the stairs.

When Sir Cathal first heard the trumpet blast of the demon giants, he’d taken only enough time to belt on his gambeson and slip into his boots, carrying his coat of mail as he rushed to warn Lady Ashlynn before racing to the wall to take command. Since he’d arrived atop the wall, however, his page had brought the rest of his armor, helping him to don it even as he shouted orders to his men.

Now, as he approached the blood-soaked demon witch, he wondered if there had been any point to it. His shield, decorated with the sigil of a knight beneath an apple tree, was made of solid steel instead of the thin sheet of metal over wood and leather that the guardsmen used, but would that be enough to deflect her claws? Would the finely articulated plates over his arm spare him the fate of having a limb torn off?

It didn’t matter, he thought as he stepped off the stone stairs and drew the slender arming sword from its scabbard at his waist. Whether he could stop a demon witch or not, he couldn’t say, but it was clear that no one else stood a chance, which meant that he had to try.

Virve stood motionless as the knight descended, her chest heaving as she stared at the carnage around her. Blood dripped from her claws, falling silently onto the short grass of the bailey like crimson rain. The broken, mangled bodies of two soldiers had landed several feet away for her, but she paid them no mind as her eyes focused on the knight descending the stairs.

Slowly, with each deep breath she took, she withdrew the fury she’d unleashed when she tore through the soldiers. The rage didn’t go away, instead, it simmered like one of Ollie’s soups boiling in a pot beneath a lid, ready to boil over in an instant, but she clamped down on the feeling firmly. This was her first opportunity in years to find information about her father’s fate in the War of Inches, and she refused to waste it!

”You’re the one they call Sir Cathal Wynn?” Virve asked, standing her ground as she stared at the approaching knight. The other three guardsmen were rushing to join their companions near the main gate, but she paid them no mind as they fled. After all, there were any number of men who could reap their lives, but Sir Cathal’s life belonged to her.

”You speak the King’s tongue?” Cathal said in surprise, stopping to raise the visor of his helm as he stared at the blood-soaked witch. ”Did you learn it from the young knight you bewitched? The one who ran off after you breached the walls?”

”Sir Ollie didn’t have to teach me anything,” Virve growled, flexing her claws as she fought to restrain herself. ”I’ve spoken your tongue ever since I was a young cub. Since you understand me, answer my question. Are you the Cathal Wynn who fought beside Bors Lothian during the War of Inches?”

”I am,” the gray-haired knight admitted. He didn’t know if it was true that demons could smell falsehood on a man’s breath, but he saw no reason to lie. ”The war was long ago. Why bring it up now?”

”I want to know if you killed a man during that war,” Virve said. ”A man like me, with bright patches in his fur of soft gold on tawny brown. You’d have known him if you fought him.”

”I’m sorry,” Cathal said, shaking his head at the demon that he still struggled to believe he was conversing with. ”I fought many of your kind during the War of Inches, and killed many of them. Truthfully, I couldn’t tell the difference,” he started to say, only to pause a moment later as her description of the slain claw demon tugged at a dim memory.

”You did see him,” Virve said, narrowing her eyes as she saw the flicker of recognition pass across the old knight’s face. ”Tell me truthfully. Was it you who killed him or another man? Give me a name!”

”It... might have been me who killed him,” Cathal said carefully. ”Whether it was me or not, I cannot say, but I may have seen his body after a battle,” he admitted. ”Golden patches on tawny fur, and very large even for one of, of your people.”

”You saw him and you know him,” Virve said, clenching her fists as her body trembled in fury and frustration. ”But you don’t know if you killed him or not?”

”I don’t,” Cathal said with a deep sigh as he raised his shield. Whoever this demon had been and whatever his relationship to the witch before him was, the man’s death clearly haunted her, even twenty years later. But what he had to say next... would likely be the last words he’d ever speak.

”I doubt anyone knows who killed him,” Cathal said as he lowered the visor of his helm. ”Because no one stepped forward to claim credit for the kill when Lord Bors ordered him to be skinned as a rug. The man you’re looking for... all that’s left of him lies before the hearth in the Marquis’ trophy room.”