The Vampire & Her Witch

Owain’s boots crunched on pea sized hail that littered the courtyard of Lothian Manor as he stepped out of the carriage that had carried him and Captain Albyn from Hurel Village to Lothian City in less time than most people would have imagined possible.

The winter days were growing short, and for most people making the trip in winter, it would have been impossible to arrive before night fell, but Owain roused the carriage driver hours before dawn to leave as soon as the skies had lightened enough that the horses wouldn’t risk running off the road if they set out.

”That crazy old man better not have done anything foolish while I was gone,” Owain muttered as he strode impatiently toward the gates of his ancestral home. Beside him, the swarthy Captain Albyn followed along like a loyal hound, keeping a respectful distance from the agitated Lothian Lord, even as every bone in his body wanted to rush into the manor to discover if Lady Jocelynn had escaped the clutches of the Inquisitor, Percivus.

On the night that Jocelynn and Eleanor were taken captive by the Inquisitor, Albyn believed that the best chance he had of rescuing his lady from the powerful inquisition would be to involve Jocelynn’s brother-in-law, Owain, in the matter. Lord Owain had always been supportive and protective of Lady Ashlynn’s little sister during her stay in Lothian City, and he was the one man that Albyn could think of who might have enough power to stand up to the sickly Marquis and the Inquisitor.

But just getting to Owain with Inquisitor Percivus hunting for him and Sir Elgon Prowel had been incredibly dangerous. In the end, Albyn had turned to the Black Merchant, or at least the men who worked for the mysterious man, in order to be smuggled out of the city under the noses of watchful guards and temple acolytes.

It had taken days to find the right window of opportunity, and each day they waited, Albyn’s anxiety about what the Inquisition was doing with Lady Jocelynn and her cousin, Eleanor, grew. But finally, after what felt like an eternity, he and Sir Elgon had reached Hurel Village where Lord Owain had been sent to investigate the fire that consumed the home of Sir Tommin Pyre, claiming the lives of the templar’s wife and child.

”My father did WHAT?!” Owain shouted when Sir Elgon told him of Lady Jocelynn’s imprisonment. ”Has he lost his mind? No, of course he has,” Owian said, slamming a fist into the table where he’d been enjoying his evening meal before their arrival. ”But I never thought he’d be so delusional that he’d lash out at my, my sister-in-law,” he said, though it sounded like he’d been about to say something else.

”You’re sure that the Inquisitor’s name was Percivus?” Owain asked, grabbing a fistful of Sir Elgon’s tunic as he stared at the knight with murderous intensity. ”My father unleashed that monster on Jocelynn?”

”I’m certain,” Sir Elgon said as his face went pale. He’d seen how cruel Owain could be when the Lothian Lord was training his own soldiers, and some of the rumors he’d heard since coming to Lothian March had only made him feel more anxious for the Blackwell sisters who had become entangled with the ruthless frontier lord. For Owain to refer to someone as a monster... just how much of a demon must they be?

Owain’s fury had been a palpable thing, surprising both Captain Albyn and Sir Elgon with its intensity, but it was also exactly what they’d needed in order to rescue Lady Jocelynn. Owain had wasted no time in dumping the responsibility for concluding his investigation into the fire that consumed Pyre manor on Sir Elgon’s shoulders, leaving the knight from Blackwell to settle matters while Owain and Albyn returned to Lothian City.

Now, Albyn just hoped that they were in time.

”Lord Owain, welcome home,” a well dressed knight with salt-and-pepper hair called from the gates as Owain approached. ”I didn’t expect you to arrive so soon,” Sir Gilander said as he strode out to meet the younger man. ”I only made it back last night. You have my condolences,” he said, reaching out to put a hand on the younger man’s shoulder. ”If there’s any way I can be of service, just say the word...”

”Condolences?” Owain said, blinking in surprise. ”Has something happened to Joce- to Lady Jocelynn,” he corrected himself. ”Or to my father?”

Looking around the courtyard, and at the concerned expression on Sir Gilander’s face, it couldn’t have been that something happened to the Marquis. If anything dire had happened to Bors Lothian, then his loyal retainer, Sir Gilander, would have been far more distraught, and the first words out of his mouth would have been to inform Owain about his father’s death. Which meant it had to be something else.

”I’m sorry, I thought you’d returned home because you received the message I sent,” the aging knight said with a frown as he looked at the swarthy captain standing behind Owain. ”But I suppose it’s too soon for the messenger to have reached you. Lord Owain, I’m very sorry,” Gilander said solemnly.

”Demons have attacked the summer villa,” Gilander said bluntly. ”The defenders were slaughtered to a man, including Sir Cathal, and your wife, Lady Ashlynn, along with all of the servants and staff of the villa, were taken away by the demons. I don’t want to give you false hope,” he added solemnly. ”I followed the tracks left by the demons far enough to know that they led to the Vale of Mists.”

”Lord Owain,” Gilander said as he looked from the furious gaze of his lord’s oldest son to the horrified expression on Albyn’s face. ”At this point, it’s likely that the Demon Lady of the Vale has taken Lady Ashlynn to feed on... I’m afraid that your wife is dead,” he said, tactfully refraining from mentioning that along with Lady Ashlynn, Owain’s unborn child was likely also dead.

There was always a chance that the deed hadn’t happened yet. Perhaps the Demon Lady of the Vale wanted to use Owain’s heir as a dark sacrifice in an unholy, demonic ritual. But whether Lady Ashlynn was already dead or would be dead soon made no difference. Once a person was hauled behind the walls of the Vale of Mists, they were never seen again...