The Vampire & Her Witch

”Because the Vale of Mists is still weaker than it needs to be,” Ritchel said, placing a heavy hand on the younger man’s shoulder and giving him a firm squeeze. ”Her Eternity is borrowing an army. She has taken the Mongrel Horde, the Black Wolf Brigade, the Sorcerers of Sundered Earth... None of these forces belong to her, but she must make use of them to defend the Vale of Mists against the humans.”

”Say what you will about the Tuscans,” Ritchel continued, his grip on his son’s shoulder growing tighter as he wrestled with his own conflicted feelings. ”They are true giants who will accomplish almost as much by striking fear into the hearts of humans as they will by crushing them underfoot. That isn’t the kind of resource that Her Eternity can easily turn away. Lady Heila may not have had a choice in the matter,” he added.

The diminutive maidservant had made very little impression on Ritchel during her first visit. She’d been intimidated by Torsten at the gates, retreating from her duties as Lady Ashlynn’s translator, and from Hauke’s account, she spent most of the time they were under assault by Tuscans cowering behind his barriers. To hear that she had become a witch and a champion of the arena... He couldn’t imagine what she must have been through in these few months to change so much.

”Shouldn’t you be focusing more on Lady Ashlynn?” Ritchel prompted his son. ”You were able to teach her at least a little of our sorcery when she last visited. Now that she’s become the Mother of Trees, I’m certain she’s looking for talented people to join her coven. Do you intend to become one of them?”

”Is that even possible, Father?” Hauke said, blinking in surprise that his father had been the one to bring up the topic. ”Has there ever been a Frost Walker witch?” As much as the young lord tried to keep his voice neutral, the faint glimmer that rippled through his horn betrayed just how interested he was in an answer to the question. He’d searched the archives months ago after Ashlynn left but he never found anything in the public records.

Of course, there were things that were known only to Elders and the Eldritch Lord of the High Pass, but Hauke hadn’t been willing to press his father for access to information that he wasn’t entitled to have. If he’d asked, he was certain that his father would have told him, but by asking, he felt that it would have been as good as announcing his intention to abandon the High Pass to join Ashlynn’s coven instead. Whether he intended to or not, or would even have to, just the thought of it was enough to keep his lips sealed on the matter.

”There was, in my great-grandfather’s time,” Ritchel said, giving his son an awkward smile. ”He joined the coven of the Mother of Storms as her Blizzard Witch. He had a horn of the purest white and according to my grandfather, the mountain his horn was enshrined on is covered by a near eternal blizzard.”

”But as far as I know, the only witch that Frost Walkers are suited to serve is the Mother of Storms,” he said, gesturing at the barren landscape around them. ”What do we know of trees or vines covered in thorns? Even the raging seas are far beyond our reach. It’s best to prepare yourself, son. You’ve learned much from the ancestors, but I’m afraid that witchcraft may be beyond your reach. Or, if it isn’t, it won’t be as a member of her Dominion Ashlynn’s coven,” he said solemnly.

Hauke’s gaze dropped to the snow at his feet, the glow of his horn dimming noticeably. His shoulders slumped as he exhaled a cloud of frost that hung in the air between them, lasting only a moment before the stiff mountain winds tore it away along with the dream he’d held onto. He’d known, of course, that his father would say this.

The impossibility of his dream had occurred to him many times during his searches in the archives. If there had been a history of Frost Walker witches, if it was a common or easy thing, surely it wouldn’t have been so difficult to find even a single mention of it. Yet hearing it spoken aloud made the stone of disappointment in his chest feel heavier somehow.

”I understand, Father,” he said quietly, his voice as hollow as the ice caverns beneath the fortress. His fingers absently traced the row of ancestral horns across his chest as he worked to anchor himself in the present and banish the aura of disappointment that had settled on him like a dusting of snow. This was his path now. He was a guardian of precious ancestors, and the bearer of an iridescent horn. For the first time in his life, now that he could connect to ancestors who were like him, he felt like he had become part of a true lineage of sorcery that only someone like him was suited to. He should be proud. He was proud. And yet...

Ritchel watched his son’s reaction with a mixture of sympathy and satisfaction. Dreams were a fine thing that could motivate a young man to find greatness, but some dreams were unobtainable. Thankfully, Hauke was still very young and he hadn’t had long for this desire to turn into an unhealthy obsession.

Now that Hauke knew, Ritchel felt confident that his son could navigate his friendship with the Mother of Trees and the Willow Witch in a more healthy manner. His iridescent horn was his path to greatness, and he had no need of an outsider’s traditions to find his own way in the world. The sooner he understood that, the sooner he could take up a position of leadership within the clan and eventually succeed his father’s place on the throne of the High Pass.

”Two others, there have been,” a childish voice whispered in Hauke’s mind as one of the horns on his chest pulsed a faint, pale green. ”A servant of the Father of Calamities, there was. The Avalanche Witch,” the voice continued. ”More important, my teacher, a witch was.”

”You were taught by a witch?” Hauke thought, blinking in surprise at Eugen’s revelation. The childish ancestor had been one of the greatest healers the Frost Walker clan had ever known, but to think that he’d learned from a Frost Walker witch... ”Who’s coven did he belong to?” Hauke asked, unable to restrain his curiosity.

”A servant of the Mother of Trees, he was,” Eugen said lightly. ”The Fir Witch.”