The Vampire & Her Witch

That night, a storm like none anyone living could recall savaged the western territories of Lothian March. From the northernmost edge of Dunn Barony to the southern edge of Hanrahan Barony and as far east as the Village of Maeril the storm stretched out its claws, leaving none unscathed.

In the small hamlet of Cal’s Watch, lightning split the sky with a thunderous -CLACK- -BOOM- that shook the walls of houses, knocking dishes off shelves while more than a dozen farm dogs answered back, barking and howling at the noise of the night.

From his place atop the hamlet’s watch tower, Ennis pulled his heavy wool cloak tight around his shoulders while tugging the hood down to keep it secure against the wind. The sounds of bleating sheep rose from the pens near the gate while the mooing of spooked cattle could be heard drifting on the wind from beyond the hamlet’s palisade walls.

-CLACK- -BOOM-

Another peel of thunder shook the village while Ennis blinked rapidly to restore his vision after the blinding flash of light. Somewhere, out beyond the walls, he could swear he’d seen hunched figures moving through the darkness, but that was impossible, wasn’t it? No one, not even horse thieves, would dare to venture out into a storm like this, would they?

-CLACK- -BOOM-

This time, the bolt of lightning fell farther away, but it was still enough for the sodden and shivering guardsman to see the shadowy figures of cows, clustering together in a low hollow that was somewhat sheltered from the winds. No strange shapes, no men skulking in the night, just cows, driven to seek what shelter could be found in their pasture.

In the morning, when the ranchers returned to survey the damage from the storm, they would find several broken fences and more than half their herds of cattle had run off during the night. Only Ennis, the lone watchmen with the misfortune to stand guard during the storm, thought anything different might have happened.

At the time, no one believed him when he spoke of shadowy figures moving in the night. Even his wife questioned whether he’d truly seen something or if he’d imagined it, especially when she found out he’d taken a bottle of strong wine up to the tower with him, even if he protested that he only took a few sips to ward off the chill of the night.

It wouldn’t be until days later, when word of demon attacks at Kitcher’s Fell and other hamlets reached them, and days of searching for the missing livestock yielded no results that they would come to believe.

”It was a storm sent by demons to conceal their wicked deeds,” one rancher insisted.

”No, it was a blessing, a gift from the Holy Lord of Light to keep us all indoors while the demons attacked our herds,” another countered. ”If we’d been out there with the animals, we’d have been slaughtered like the soldiers in Kitcher’s Fell!”

No one in the tiny hamlet could agree on the providence of the storm, but one thing they all realized was that the storm and the demons had come together, and they were lucky to have survived the night with nothing more than the loss of half their herds.

Elsewhere in Lothian March on the night of the storm, the unnatural tempest that had terrorized Cal’s Watch showed no mercy as it swept across the frontier territories, its fury growing rather than diminishing as it raged through the night.

To the south, in Hanrahan Town, fierce winds buffeted Baron Hanrahan’s stone fortress but they did little to disturb the sumptuous meal of roasted goose and autumn squash that he shared with his son Bastian and the knights who had arrived the day before with their autumn tithes on their way to the markets in Lothian City.

The people of Hanrahan Town, however, fared much worse as the intense winds ripped large swathes of thatch from their roofs, as if the hand of a giant demon had reached out to tear holes in their homes before flooding them with torrential rains. All across the town, some of the common folk hunkered down, placing buckets and pots under the holes or leaks in their roofs, while others ventured out into the wind and the rain, risking a fall from the top of their homes in order to save their homes from the downpour.

The following morning, when the light of day shone upon the small frontier town, Baron Hanrahan surveyed the damage from atop one of his fortress towers. Straw and thatch filled the streets, clogging the drains and flooding entire neighborhoods in water that stood several inches deep.

”Are you thinking about that Engineer, Father?” Bastian asked as he stood beside his father, wondering whether or not she’d been right that they should have had the people replace their thatched roofs with tiles. But even if they had, could the city drains have handled so much water all at once? Or would they have only averted one disaster to suffer another?

”That arrogant bitch?” Ian Hanrahan snarled. ”No, I wasn’t thinking about her at all. But can you imagine what would have happened if we listened to her? Instead of soft thatch in the streets, it would be shards of shattered tiles everywhere, and who knows how many injuries or even deaths. Don’t waste your time pondering an arrogant woman’s words.”

”If she were here now, I’m sure she’d be shaking her finger under our noses and telling us how foolish we were without ever admitting the damage her nonsense could have caused,” he said, crossing his arms over the swell of his belly as if to say that the topic was closed.

”No, instead of wasting time on that woman’s nonsense,” Baron Hanrahan continued. ”I was thinking that we’re lucky that the autumn tithes that had already arrived are safe in the fortress storehouses. Still, this is an opportunity, son,” the baron said, clapping an arm around his son’s shoulders.

”We’ll report the storm damage to the Marquis and tell him that we’ve lost much of this year’s tithe,” he explained. ”As soon as Sir Carwyn arrives with the tithe from Raek and Sir Agos brings the tithe from Yorund, instruct Steward Brun to withhold three parts in twenty instead of one. If the knights complain, tell them that we need their surplus to replenish our stores after the storm and that we will remember their support when their next tithe is due.”

”So you intend to reduce their tithe in the spring and summer?” Bastian asked, blinking in surprise at his father’s generosity.

”Of course not,” the balding baron snorted. ”I said we’d remember it, not that we’d repay them for it! You need to learn to use your words carefully, son,” he said as he turned away from the sight of his damaged town.

His people weren’t soft, weaklings like the ones who lived pampered lives in Blackwell County and the other long-settled territories. They were men of the frontier who knew how to endure hardship. Even with more than half the homes damaged by the storm, he was certain that his people would recover well before the first snows of winter fell.

So, rather than concerning himself with the damage of the storm, Baron Hanrahan set his mind to finding ways he could benefit from the bout of misfortune...