The Vampire & Her Witch

Rhys’s wounds were every bit as bad as they looked. Originally, he’d only asked Esselk’ti to strike him once or twice so that he’d have proof of his encounter with a ’demon’ in the lighthouse. That, plus cutting herself on his sword to leave a trace of Eldritch blood on the weapon, would have been enough to sell the story that he’d found a ’demon’ and chased it off.

”It would help,” he’d added. ”If one of your blows is a little heavy. Enough to give my men an excuse to take me to the Church’s temple. I hate to waste their healer’s efforts on theater, but the visit will do more to make the rumors spread, and the whispers that come from other people’s lips can be just as powerful as the words spoken by mine.”

The Witch of Deep Currents, however, had other ideas for inflicting those wounds.

”Too weak, Lord of the Black Sails,” she’d said in disapproving judgment after she pierced his ear and placed the pearl earring in his left ear. ”Teach you, use power. Power from deep currents.”

The night was long, and Esselk’ti ensured that Rhys got plenty of practice. Of the four techniques she taught him that night, one of them was supposed to allow him to absorb the force of a blow, distributing it across his body until it was harmless, and she’d hit him with her webbed hands several times to teach him the lesson.

If not for another of her lessons, drawing on the power of the currents to wash away his wounds, he wouldn’t have been able to put a smile on his lips when Mor arrived with a longship full of men, ready to storm the lighthouse to rescue their lord from whatever danger he faced. Esselk’ti would have made quick work of his soldiers if they’d truly caught her, but Rhys had no intention of explaining how badly outmatched they were by the witch... At least, not yet.

”Who did this to you, my lord?”

”A demon,” Rhys said through gritted teeth as Mor helped him to stand. While he was sitting, able to do nothing but focus on drawing in the power of the currents to heal, he’d been able to keep the pain at bay. As soon as he moved, however, he felt like every bone in his body was on fire, and he drew a sharp, hissing breath as the wound on his right side flared hotter than the rest, reminding him that Esselk’ti had cracked or broken several of his ribs with a single ’heavy’ slap.

In fact, while there were several cuts all over his body, she hadn’t once used a blade against him. Her strange, fluid style of moving, combined with her broad, webbed hands and the power of her witchcraft, allowed her to deliver slaps that were so forceful and devastating that they could break bones and split his skin without the need of a blade to do the work.

”I thought,” Rhys said slowly as Mor lowered him onto a seat in the longship. ”It was just a ghost, unsung and unmourned, drowned in the currents here,” he said loudly enough for the soldiers around him to overhear. ”I thought I could share a bit of wine and carry back their name, to let the ghost and their family rest.”

”I didn’t expect, tssssss, ow,” he hissed as the ship’s movement caught him off guard, putting even more pressure on his wounds. ”Didn’t expect to find a demon. Doing some kind of witchcraft.”

”But you killed it,” Mor said, looking at the broken sword that Rhys hadn’t let go of since they found him sitting on the pier. ”You killed a demon-witch...”

”Don’t,” Rhys said when he saw the men around him getting ready to raise a cheer. ”I didn’t kill it. I only drove it off,” he said, lifting the broken blade. ”The rest of my sword may still be stuck in it. But we need, tssss, rrrrr,” he grunted against the pain as the boat crested one wave and plunged into the trough behind it.

”We need to make preparations,” Rhys said once he’d gotten his breathing under control. ”In case it returns, and in case it brings others with it.”

”Of course,” Mor said, nodding in understanding. ”I’ll alert the fleet to increase patrols and to report anything strange, no matter how minor...”

”We need to do more than that, Mor,” Rhys said, shaking his head at the younger man. ”Summon the barons, all five of them, and tell them to bring every knight from their domains that traces their lineage to the First Crew with them.”

”I also need to meet with the, mmmpf,” he continued, wincing in pain but trying to push through it. ”The masters of the Shipwright’s Guild, the Guild of Thread and Cloth, the Conservator of the County Forests...”

Rhys went on for some time, listing out the merchants and officials he would need to meet with in the coming days, and the longer the list grew, the more certain his Steward became that there were secrets driving his lord’s behavior that went far beyond encountering a demon-witch on one of the small islands outside Blackwell Bay.

At the same time, Mor couldn’t help but notice that his liege lord’s sharpness had returned, and in fact, he seemed more focused and determined than Mor had ever seen him before. Whatever had happened to him on that island had dispelled the malaise that clung to him like a stiff breeze parting the fog, leaving behind a man who spoke with purpose and conviction despite the pain of his wounds.

Two of his orders, however, came as a significant surprise to the steward.

”You want me to find you a tutor?” Mor asked, blinking in surprise. ”One skilled in the use of spears?”

”I can manage to aim a boar spear at a beast during a hunt,” Rhys said with a hint of shame that wouldn’t have been there even a year ago. He’d lived most of his life without a need to master weapons, and he’d never been ashamed of his choice to focus his time on the other duties of a lord until recently.

”But to fight an armed warrior?” Rhys said with a scoff, followed by a wince of pain. ”I don’t know nearly enough. I can throw a harpoon with some accuracy, but I’ll need to improve that as well.”

”I understand, my lord,” Mor said, nodding in acceptance even if he didn’t understand. If he’d been in Rhys’s position, he’d have done everything he could to keep himself away from the battlefield after suffering so many wounds in an encounter with a single demon.

Clearly, Rhys recognized his inadequacy as a warrior, but instead of taking it as a sign that he should leave the fighting to the professionals, he seemed determined to close the gap in his skills so that he could face their enemies personally. The next order, however, caught him even more by surprise.

”Pass orders to every ship in the fleet,” Rhys said as the longship crested Beacon Point and began rowing toward the harbor filled with ships raising their white sails to catch the morning tide. From merchantmen headed up the coast with hulls filled with cargo bound for the Royal Capital and beyond to fishermen preparing their nets and lines, the harbor sported so many bright sails reflecting the early morning sun that it almost hurt to look at.

The ship he currently sat on was no different. Once they’d cleared the rocks and shoals that surrounded the Isle of the Drowned, the ship’s captain had raised a bright white sail, adding the wind’s strength to the work of the rowers as the ship raced to bring their lord back to the safety of the harbor.

But the beat of the drums that kept the rowers pulling in unison called out to something long buried in the heart of every Blackwell lord since the days when Phylip sat on the throne, and for the first time in generations, Rhys prepared to take up that call.

”By winter’s end, every ship in the fleet is to dye their sails black,” Rhys commanded. ”That includes any merchantman that the Blackwell family owns a stake in. They can either buy us out or take up the Black Sails with the rest of the fleet.”

”We’ve forgotten who we really are, Mor,” Rhys said as the ship rowed toward the docks closest to the Temple, where priests could treat the Count’s wounds. ”It’s time that we remember... and then we can remind everyone else....”