The Vampire & Her Witch

”Enough, Commander Jannik,” Odette said, leaving her chair and striding forward to place a hand on the powerful commander’s shoulder. ”How often have we said that the ice is melting and we must learn to live in a world that is different from the ones our ancestors knew?”

”The Vale of Mists of today is not the Vale of Mists of our father’s era,” she said, lowering her pure white horn in a show of respect to Nyrielle. ”Or perhaps they are and we never truly knew their strength. But today, their army is already camped within our walls. Our forces have already been defeated. It is good to speak up if you feel like we are being taken advantage of in our moment of defeat, but it’s clear that Her Dominion doesn’t see matters the way we do.”

”You can let this one go, Commander Jannik,” Old Svenja’s brittle voice followed Odette’s. ”You have stood for what is right and that is good, but anything more would only be foolish defiance for the sake of pride... And the High Pass cannot afford to lose any more of our strongest warriors to foolish pride.”

Standing out in front of the delegation, Jannik closed his eyes and drew a deep, shuddering breath while he wrestled with his conscience. In his entire life, the High Pass had stood resolute and unconquerable, bound in ice that protected it from the world outside. There had been battles to be sure. The threat of Tuscans and other raiders who sought to plunder horns from their Ancestral Caves was constant.

But defeat? The fall of their mighty fortress? How many generations of commanders had preceded him without anyone facing this humiliation and shame? How many had stood where he stood now, fighting for the honor of the dead and arguing over whether or not the price to save their fallen lord’s life was too high? He couldn’t think of a single one who had faced such a challenge.

”Promise me something, Your Eternity,” Jannik said, opening his eyes and staring directly into Nyrielle’s midnight gaze. ”Promise me that you will not kill my clansmen who offer their blood to you. Promise that Lord Ritchel won’t find that his recovery came at the cost of young men like Dafrir.”

”I cannot give you that promise,” Nyrielle said, holding up a hand before the impulsive commander could object. ”But I promise you that I will teach them the way an offering is to be made, and if it gives you comfort, then my darling Ashlynn will remain by their side while I feed to pull them free if they fail to tell me when they’ve reached their limit.”

”You are not a child, Commander Jannik,” Nyrielle continued, speaking in a tone that carried the weight of her considerable years. ”You should know that any great working that would defy death itself carries risk. I will not give you false hope just as Ashlynn will not promise success, even if I believe in her ability to save Ritchel’s life with this method. We will all do our part, we will do our best. We can promise no more than that,” she said firmly.

”Then, I have no further complaints,” the dark-furred warrior said, returning to his seat in defeat. ”Castle Mistress, I leave this matter in your hands,” he said formally, leaving the final decision to Odette.

”These brave men died so that my husband might live,” Odette said, returning to the young girl’s side and scooping her up into her arms so she could look down and see her fallen Grandfather’s face one last time. ”As Her Dominion said, it falls to us to finish what they started. I will offer myself and I will bring any others who wish to do the same with me. Lady Ashlynn, if we do this thing, how soon do you think my husband could be healed? And can he make a full recovery?”

”This will not be fast,” Ashlynn cautioned. ”At least a month. Perhaps two. More than that I cannot say until we’ve returned to the Vale and begun to treat him. But we will do everything we can, and in the end, I hope that he will be just as strong as he was before this tragedy.”

”Two months is not such a long time to be away from his throne,” Odette said with a smile. ”Commander Jannik, we’ll be relying on you to protect it in his absence.”

”Don’t get ahead of yourself, Castle Mistress Odette,” Nyrielle said. ”We will do all we can to save his life. Whether or not he returns to his throne is another matter. For now, Zedya, there are still those among the dead who must be spoken for.”

”Yes, Mistress Nyrielle,” Zedya said as she moved to stand between two different groups of coffins. On one side, several young Frost Walker soldiers lay encased in ice, and on the other, the men of the Black Wolf Brigade in their wooden coffins marked by a blood-red paw print.

”Sadagares, Patza, Berig, Teias, and Braga of the Black Wolf Brigade,” Zedya intoned formally. ”They fought under the banner of Hamdi’s Defeated Dogs, covered in shame for their failure to defend the Tangled Tower, they traveled across several nations, assigned the most menial of duties, awaiting the day they could redeem themselves in battle against the humans. Yet instead of redemption, these five died deaths without glory fighting a battle over a misunderstanding. The only men who fell to their claws were our friends and allies.”

When Zedya put it that way, several people in the crowd couldn’t help but shake their heads at the tragedy of these brave soldier’s deaths. To be defeated by the Harbinger of Death and her forces shouldn’t be as shameful as they made it out to be. Those who had fought at the Tangled Tower, however, could only tuck their tails between their legs at the memory of their failure to defeat Nyrielle’s soldiers even when they outnumbered them by more than three to one. The shame that these men carried to their deaths hadn’t been exaggerated in the slightest.

”Urho, Pekka, Eljas, Jalo, and Torsti of the High Pass,” Zedya said, moving to stand next to the frozen Frost Walkers. ”Young men all of them, eager to prove themselves in the first real battle they’d ever faced. They came dressed in their finest, expecting a ceremony, and were plunged into a brief, bloody war. They died in the first charge, before anyone took command of the battle or gave any orders. They died not as soldiers or as men, but as boys too young to lose their lives so tragically when there was no worthy cause demanding their sacrifice.”

”Both groups of warriors cry out at the waste of their deaths,” Zedya said. ”They demand justice from the person responsible for this tragedy. In the end, it was the actions of a single person who caused so much violence and bloodshed and robbed them of their chance to fight for something that mattered,” she concluded, her words echoing off the ceiling high above.

”Mistress Nyrielle,” Zedya said, turning to face the dias. ”It is the demand of these fallen warriors that Young Lord Hauke stand before them, to be tried for his crimes and punished for his wrongs. Only then will the dead rest peacefully.”

”The dead are within their rights to demand a trial,” Nyrielle acknowledged. ”And whether it was Hauke himself or the spirits of ancient ancestors acting through him, the guilty must be punished for what happened last night.”

”Bring the prisoner before us,” Zedya called loudly enough to be heard outside the Great Hall. The moment she spoke, the massive doors shuddered and slowly began to open revealing Artificer Erkembalt standing beside a glassy-eyed Hauke.

The Young Lord looked no more aware of his surroundings than he had at the end of the battle, but now he had been bathed and dressed in his finest robes before he was chained to a wooden chair to be carried into the chamber.

Standing behind him, five sorcerers in elaborate flowing robes bearing the symbols of the Sorcerers of Sundered Earth each carried a single metal box containing the iridescent horn of one of the ancestors who had possessed Hauke.

”Your Eternity,” Erkembalt said formally as he strode forward, leading the strange procession that included ’captive’ horns and the bound but helpless young lord. ”By your command, I have brought the prisoners to stand trial for their crimes.”