The Vampire & Her Witch

Most of the great hall received the news that Lord Erling would fight alongside Lord Reynold with a sense of anticipation and excitement. In the farthest corners of the Great Hall, Serle Otker even told stories about the time he’d seen Lord Erling scare off an Imperial Bull Elk, protecting Lord Reynold’s life without killing the beast Lord Owain had claimed for his prize.

Most, however, were simply excited to recognize that they had champions of their own. After the display Captain Rastlan had put on at the gates, many had begun to feel like they were destined to be trampled on, unable to resist the might of the nation they’d greatly underestimated all of their lives. But if Lord Reynold and Lord Erling could defeat the champions of the Southern Steppe, maybe they could truly meet as equals after all...

”I’m grateful for Baron Fayle’s support,” Tybal said when the applause started to ebb. ”But Lady Ashlynn, in this contest, I have no ’sorcerers’ to send. The Inquisitors who would have opposed the miracle workers of the Southern Steppe are confined to the dungeons, unless you intend to set one free... I don’t see how I can compete.”

Whispers sprang up throughout the hall at the mention of the Inquisitors, and several people clutched pendants they still wore, saying silent prayers as they recalled the terrifying power displayed by Abbot Recared and his Inquisitors on Midwinter’s Night.

At the table where Reynold sat, Diarmuid’s jaw tightened, and his dark eyes shifted from Tybal to Hugo, wondering if this was the reason that Ashlynn’s steward had given him the last seat at a table filled with so many young lords and ladies. Had Ashlynn been planning for this from the beginning?

”Perhaps if we made it a contest of swordsmanship,” Tybal suggested, reclaiming the attention of the room. He glanced briefly at the other lord his son had been spending considerable time with lately as if Wes Iriso could come to his rescue as well. A slight smile appeared on his lips as if he’d discovered a precious jewel or an unexpected opportunity to pull down another of the barons who had somehow found his way into Lady Ashlynn’s favor.

”I’m certain there is a man from the Southern Steppe who is skilled with a sword,” Tybal said as if saying it made it true, though his eyes remained on Lord Wes the entire time he spoke. ”We might even have a champion in our midst who could exceed Lord Owain’s skill with a blade to stand as his opponent.”

”I told you that it would be a fair contest,” Ashlynn said, shaking her head at Wes before he could volunteer. Five years ago, when he had only recently left the tournament stages to take up the responsibilities of a husband and a baron, he might have stood a chance against the best fighters of the Southern Steppe, but those days had passed and Ashlynn refused to place him in harm’s way when she had an alternative.

”Since I’ve taken away the sorcerers who would have stood for you in the past, let me offer one of our own,” Ashlynn said with a smile.

”Commander Aspakos,” she said, turning to the feathered man who led the Sorcerers of Sundered Earth along with many others who had joined him to form the Vale’s Fourth Army. ”It would be unfair to send one of my witches to face one of High Lord Dirar’s sorcerers. You, however, are among the greatest of champions I could offer. Will you stand with Lords Reynold and Erling to settle this feud?”

”You’ve surprised me, your Dominion,” Aspakos said, standing up from his table and revealing himself to the entire hall. Several people gasped when they saw him, staring openly at the broken beak that appeared to have been glued together with veins of gold and the dark robes covered with strange symbols that seemed to shift ever so slightly as they caught the candle light.

No one seemed more surprised, however, than Rastlan, who looked at the feathered sorcerer as if he couldn’t quite believe his eyes. Beneath the table, one hand clenched into a fist tight enough for the tips of his claws to bite into his palm while the other hand began tracing a pattern over his knee, reflexively inscribing a ward against evil and death.

”I said I would not join this fight because unleashing the power of sorcery in your war against the Lothians would provoke an escalation that would cost many more lives than it saved,” he said. ”Now, instead of leading me to the Church to doom the ones who pillaged the sun and the stars, you lead me to an ally’s doorstep and ask me to doom one of his men... Are you certain this is the path you wish me to walk?”

”Lord Hauke has yet to receive a seed of witchcraft from you,” Aspakos pointed out. ”Your apprentice could stand in this fight.”

”No,” Ashlynn said flatly, glancing briefly at Hauke and shaking her head. This time, it had nothing to do with a fear that he would be injured or lose. Arguably, it would be excellent experience for the young Frost Walker lord to square off against one of the sorcerers of the Southern Steppe and learn firsthand how they differed from the Inquisitors and priests he’d fought in Hanrahan.

But letting Hauke take the field against a sorcerer like Rastlan at a time like this would only make things worse for Aspakos.

”I promised you, didn’t I, Aspakos?” Ashlynn said in a surprisingly gentle tone. ”Even if you can no longer see a path for yourself, I will help you find one. It starts here,” she said.

”Prove that you can still create something,” she said. ”Prove that you can still build something. Whether you win or lose, you will help to build a peace between two peoples... If that won’t prove to you that there’s still hope for you in this life, I don’t know how else I can help you,” she said.

”Then I will stand with Lord Reynold,” Aspakos said. ”And pray that the sorcerer Lord Dirar sends to face me still has bright stars in his sky...”