The Vampire & Her Witch

The healing of Lady Cerys’s arm was almost complete when everything fell apart.

There was a sound like thunder rolling through the copse of trees, a deep, resonant -CRACK- that made everyone on the shore jump in alarm. Loghlan’s head snapped up just in time to see the old oak tree, the one whose roots had cradled Lady Cerys’s head such a short time ago, shake and shudder violently.

”Cover!” Sir Gavin shouted, wishing he’d brought a shield with him as he realized what was about to happen. Still, he knew his duty, and he quickly flung an arm around Baron Loghlan’s shoulders, pulling his lord’s head down enough that he was able to protect his liege lord with his own body if need be.

At the base of the tree, Sir Cynwrig made a very similar motion, pulling Dalwyn close to his chest even as he rolled to present his back to the old oak tree. He had no armor to soften the blow, but that hardly mattered to him as he focused on protecting his son.

For a heartbeat, nothing happened. Then, with a groan that sounded almost human in its agony, three massive limbs tore free from the trunk and crashed to the ground in a shower of brittle twigs and powdered wood.

The falling branches sounded like claws scraping at windows in the night as they fell through the air, followed by heavy -THUMP- noises and even more clattering as the branches crashed into the ground. Miraculously, as if guided by the hand of fate, or a final act of goodwill on behalf of the old oak tree, none of the branches fell on the people who had sheltered by its trunk, though a few feeble twigs came close.

In the stream, Sir Ollie’s eyes went wide, his concentration shattered by the sudden violence of the oak’s collapse. The jade-green light that had been flowing through the water flickered once, twice, and then winked out entirely as Ollie’s legs buckled beneath him.

The young witch went down hard, his feet slipping on the smooth stones of the streambed, and the current seized him immediately. One moment, he was standing upright, his hands still pressed against Lady Cerys’s torn arm, and the next, he was being swept away downstream, his body tumbling in the frigid water like a piece of driftwood.

The rushing sound of water filled his ears, followed by chaotic splashing, echoing darkness, then bright light again as he lost all sense of up and down in the turbulence of the swiftly moving current.

”Ollie!” Milo shouted, his voice cracking with panic.

For a single, terrible moment, Milo stood frozen in the stream, caught between two impossible choices. In his arms, Lady Cerys lay limp and barely breathing, her body still broken despite the healing that had closed the worst of her wounds. If he let go of her now, she would sink beneath the surface of the stream and drown before anyone could reach her.

But downstream, Sir Ollie was being carried away by the current, too weak and exhausted to fight against the pull of the water. If Milo didn’t go after him immediately, the young witch would be swept out of sight, possibly dragged under by the weight of his own exhaustion.

They weren’t far from the point where the stream would join with the even greater River Luath, and if Ollie was caught by the mightier, deeper currents of the greater river, there would be little hope of rescuing him before it was too late.

Save the woman whose injury he had caused, or save the friend who had nearly killed himself trying to fix what Milo had done.

The paralysis lasted less than a heartbeat, but to Milo it felt like an eternity. Then, moving with fierce determination, he shook off his doubts and forced his body to move, swimming powerfully toward the shore with Lady Cerys held carefully against his chest.

Ollie was strong. He was the Cypress Witch, beloved of the world and bound to it... He was the person that Milo admired more than anyone else he’d ever known and he had faith that Ollie could hang on, just for a little bit, so that Milo could finish saving the woman they’d worked so hard to bring back from the brink of death.

”Harrod!” Milo called out as soon as he was close enough to the bank. ”Take her! Take her now!”

Harrod didn’t need to be told. His powerful legs had already kicked off the ground the instant he saw Ollie lose his footing. Now, seeing Milo swimming toward him with the unconscious Lady Cerys in his arms, he understood instantly what his companion intended and raced to assist him.

Harrod waded into the shallows, his shorter stature making the water come up to his chest, and reached out with strong, capable hands to take Lady Cerys from Milo’s arms. The moment Harrod had a secure grip on the injured woman, Milo released her and spun back toward the stream, his eyes already searching downstream for any sign of Ollie.

”You there! Knights!” Harrod said urgently as he struggled against the current to carry Lady Cerys toward the edge of the stream. ”Help me get her out of the water and take her to the fire. She needs to be warmed up, quickly.”

Harrod’s words broke the paralysis that had overtaken the knights as they took shelter from the falling branches, and Sir Bedwyr leaped immediately into action as soon as Harrod cried out. Sir Gavin waited only a moment longer, asking Lord Loghlan if he was fine and ensuring that he hadn’t been hurt by the falling branches before he rushed down to the water’s edge to help Sir Bedwyr.

But Loghlan barely registered Gavin’s words. His attention was fixed on the stream, on the sight of Milo diving back into the water and swimming with a speed and grace that seemed almost impossible. The Heartwood warrior’s broad tail propelled him through the current like an arrow, his powerful strokes eating up the distance between him and the drifting figure of Sir Ollie.

But would he make it to the heroic young witch in time?