The Vampire & Her Witch

Loman Lothian rode at the head of a column of soldiers and servants, doing his best to present a calm, confident demeanor to the people of Hanrahan City who either crowded the streets or gazed out at the advancing line of soldiers from the second-story windows of their homes.

They should have arrived in Hanrahan Town more than a day ago, but the sudden winter snowstorm had caught everyone off guard, and Loman’s caravan of soldiers had been forced to spend an extra day and night waiting out the worst of the storm before they were able to travel again. Even when they did get back on the road, the snow that stood more than a foot deep across the road and piled up in drifts twice as high where the wind blew slowed them down considerably.

The heavy fur cloak that he wore was enough to keep his torso warm, but his feet felt like blocks of ice in his leather riding boots, and his cheeks were bright pink from the biting, cold wind. Still, he raised his arm and waved at the people as if he were immune to the unnaturally cold weather, presenting them with the most radiant smile many of them had ever seen as they wound their way through Hanrahan Town’s winding streets.

To his left and right, Sir Tommin and Inquisitor Diarmuid rode half a horse-length behind him, respectfully allowing the young Lothian Lord to take the lead in deference to his worldly status. Otherwise, as the bearer of a Holy Light Blade, Sir Tommin should have been the one to lead the way.

Behind them, four more templars accompanied Sir Tommin along with twenty soldiers from the Temple Guard, all marching in their glittering coats of brightly polished mail with crimson tabards and matching cloaks. The Lothian forces behind them amounted to another fifty men, though only half of them could be considered soldiers.

The rest were trackers or hunters who had come to help search for the mysterious demons in the wilderness who had been raiding villages, or the servants and their wagons full of supplies to move so many people and horses from Lothian City to Hanrahan Town.

All told, it made for an impressive sight, particularly compared to the more simply equipped soldiers and members of the town watch who Baron Ian Hanrahan had trained to protect his lands.

”Look ’ere son,” a proud father said to the young boy riding on his shoulders as they watched the procession of soldiers entering the city. ”These is whot propper soldiers from Lothian City look like! See, none of that patchworking the armor, an’ I bets they don’t have sap all over their axes from chopping wood neither,” he said with a toothy, awe filled grin as the men of the temple guard passed by.

”Can I be one ’o ’em one day, da?” the young boy asked with eyes that shined with reflections of brightly polished armor. ”If I go off ta tha’ church to join tha temple guard, would they take me in?”

”Hey now, none of that!” the boy’s father said as he reached up to thump his son on the back of the head. ”You’ll grow up strong ’an help me wit’ the shop is what you’ll do!”

Further down the street, Loman did his best to avoid meeting the gazes of the women who lined one side of the road, leaning provocatively against the corners of buildings near quieter alleyways and displaying their considerable charms without reservation.

”Fancy a toss with a country lass, boys?” one woman called as she twirled her reddish-blonde hair around a fingertip. ”Two fer one special if ye’ll buy a girl a drink first,” she cooed.

”Wasting yer time, Bethany,” another woman said as she strained to see further down the road. ”Wait till the crimson-cloaked gents from the Church pass by, you won’t get a single coin from them anyway.”

”I wouldn’a say that, Tise,” the first woman said with a flirtatious look directed at the neatly ordered ranks of soldiers from the Temple Guard. ”Church men pay the best so long as ye promise no one ever hears their name from yer lips,” she said. ”And my lips only do what their paid to...”

Loman shuddered in his saddle as he listened to the ribald banter, eager to move beyond the rougher, chaotic, outer areas of Hanrahan Town in favor of the Baron’s keep at the center of town.

Still, as they rode, his eyes couldn’t help but take in the number of families caught out in the cold, holding out their hands as they stood in front of homes with caved-in roofs, covered in snow that had fallen far too suddenly.

”Please, yer lordships,” a woman said as she clutched two small children to her side. ”A few snips fer firewood or a penny for a bit of meat...”

”Yer lordships! Please, take me in,” another man said, eagerly holding up and filled with carpenter’s tools. ”I can work fer me wages, a few snips a day an’ I’ll mend yer wagons or...”

”Oh Holy men,” another man pleaded with tears streaming down his face and a shovel standing in the snow beside him. ”Me wife an’ child, they’s under the snow,” he said as he looked at the partially collapsed second story of his home. ”Please, help me dig them out... I know they’s dead already but... but....”

The man’s anguished cries filled the chill morning air, echoing off the nearby buildings and silencing the excited exclamations of children at the sight of so many armored men and horses. On both sides of the street, other townsfolk who had been waiting to make their own pleas for help from the newly arrived lords held their tongues in shame as their grievances felt petty by comparison to their neighbor’s loss.

And a few people, those who felt that Lord Loman or the men from the church might have taken pity on them, looked on with intense hostility at the man who had suddenly made himself the center of attention for the entire length of the street...