The Vampire & Her Witch

While Rastlan cut a striking figure in his jeweled robes, he was a familiar figure to most of the people present in the Imperial Box. Once it became clear that he and Master Isabell wouldn’t trade anything beyond sharp words, attention quickly moved to the newcomers following behind Dirar.

”This is Khorijin, of the Jade Basin Herd, master of three constellations,” Dirar said, gesturing to the woman who stepped up next to him. ”She’ll be representing the Southern Steppe in the contest of archery.”

Like Dirar, she possessed long, inky black hair that reached nearly to her waist, and likely would have hung down even further were it not for the polished silver hairpiece resembling a small crown on her head that her hair passed through before falling in a neat tail.

Her build was very close to Dirar’s, with only the slight swell of a modest bosom, covered by a leather archer’s chest guard, to mark her as feminine. Her delicate features needed no makeup, but a trace of coal-black liner accentuated her slightly tilted eyes, and her arched brows had been meticulously shaped into gently sweeping arches.

Her coat, where it peeked through the long train of the quilted silk caparison she wore, was a dappled, steely grey, but the tail swishing behind her as she stepped forward was as dark and inky black as the hair on her head.

”Which one among you is Lord Erling Fayle?” Khorijin asked. Her words were stiff and heavily accented when she spoke the king’s common tongue, but there didn’t seem to be any malice underlying them, only genuine curiosity.

”I am,” Erling said, stepping away from Sorcha and Wes to greet his opponent of the evening.

”My herd spends our summers in the Jade Basin, south of the River Tuilig,” Khorijin said. ”There, we train our foals and fatten our sheep. We’ve known peace there since I was young. The Highest One says we have you to thank for this,” she said.

”My people have known peace and safety as well,” Erling said politely. ”I don’t think much thanks is owed for staying home instead of risking our lives in a war that would have gained us nothing and cost us more than we could afford to pay.”

Khorijin’s brow furrowed as she listened to Erling’s words until Rastlan stepped close enough to her to offer up a whispered translation, at which point she nodded in understanding.

”We never wanted war,” Khorijin said. ”Your neighbors chose differently. Now, you fight with them. I do not wish to harm one who let us live in peace,” she said. ”Please, stand down. I do not want to see you lose your life.”

”I can’t stand down,” Erling said after a heavy sigh. ”Reynold Aleese is my friend. His father’s life is in danger. His family stands to lose their lands, and he may lose his freedom. I have to fight. If you want to thank me for the years of peace, you could stand down instead,” he offered.

After pausing long enough to listen to Rastlan’s translation, Khorijin seemed to deflate a little bit.

”I fought for this spot to offer you this chance,” Khorijin said. ”If I do not fight you, another who follows the Highest One must. Not all who follow him feel as I do. Some have lost close ones to the Aleese. If you will not stand down, I must face you, and I must do my best to defeat you.”

”I understand,” Erling said, offering the Eldritch archer a sad smile. ”I appreciate you giving me the chance, even if I cannot accept it. Today, we can only meet as opponents. Tomorrow, maybe we can meet again as neighbors, and maybe even friends.”

”I would like that,” Khorijin said, swishing her tail from side to side. ”I would like to meet as friends,” she added, giving him a fragile smile. ”Fight hard tonight, friend Erling. Do not die before we share wine,” she warned him before stepping back and bowing her head to Dirar.

”This contest,” Micheline whispered to Morwen. ”Could it really be deadly? If it’s a contest of archery, it shouldn’t be that dangerous...”

”Empress Ashlynn said that there would be no meaning to a contest where the combatants didn’t stake their lives,” Morwen said, sighing as she realized that Lord Erling would have to fight someone with whom he’d maintained a truce for more than a decade in order to protect his friend.

”Lord Erling is a good man,” Morwen added. ”I, I hope he isn’t hurt too badly tonight.”

Something in Morwen’s tone left Micheline wondering whether she held affections for the young lord from Fayle, or if she was uncomfortable with the idea of someone being hurt in this contest. Before she could ask, however, Dirar had moved on to present his final champion.

”Taghai of the Whispering Grasses Herd,” Dirar said, gesturing to the mountain of muscle behind him as the man made his way fully into the room. ”He is a master of two constellations, but do not underestimate him for his lack of breadth. Few warriors or hunters dared to step forward when he claimed the right to challenge Lord Reynold Aleese, and those who did are still recovering in the care of our healers,” he warned.

Big didn’t begin to describe Taghai. Huge was too small of a word for the Long Horned warrior who filled the space behind Dirar. Next to Taghai, Dirar and Khorijin looked like ponies next to a destrier.

Taghai resembled a bull the size of an ox-cart with a muscular torso scaled up to match. He was easily as tall as Lord Hauke, with long horns that swept out from his head wider than the span of Micheline’s arms. His horns were tipped with precisely fitted bronze caps that gleamed wickedly in the light of the Imperial box, while his body was encased in layered, lacquered plates of armor that had been painted the color of tall grass in summer.

His long, brown hair and thick, full beard had been tied in intricate braids, weaving through beads of carved bones. Each carving held a symbol that was too small for Micheline to make out, but whatever they meant, just looking at them closely filled her with a sense of impending dread, as if she might find her own bones carved up and added to the imposing man’s collection.

”I am Taghai,” he said, furrowing his heavy, bushy brows as he scanned the room, searching for something, or rather, someone, that he clearly didn’t find.

”I have not come to make peace,” Taghai declared. ”I have come to claim heads. Where is my foe? Where is Reynold Aleese?”