The Vampire & Her Witch

Exemplar.

In the entire Church, fewer than twenty men could carry the title that belonged to the holy emissaries who were second only to the Saints who led the church. Most Exemplars resided in the old countries, and only a handful had ever set foot inside the borders of the Kingdom of Gaal outside of one of the great crusades. The ones who did come to Gaal rarely left the Holy City unless there was a great threat from the demons that could shake the foundations of the kingdom itself.

The last time an Exemplar had visited Lothian March, they had come to kill the powerful demon lord who ruled over the Vale of Mists, and their disciples had been responsible for capturing some of the greatest heretics and traitors to humankind the world had ever seen. Now that one stood among them again, the people of the hall didn’t know what they should do.

Many imitated Head Priest Germot, kneeling in supplication to the sacred emissary of the Holy Lord of Light who stood in their midst. Others let out wild cheers of joy before hastily covering their mouths, as if they were afraid of doing something blasphemous.

Loman, however, only shook his head before crossing the room to the kneeling priest and helping the man to his feet.

”I’m not an Exemplar,” Loman said, gesturing to his simple silver collar and the single band of silver around the edge of his sleeves before he realized that Head Priest Germot had likely never been to the Holy City and probably didn’t understand the differences between the robes Loman wore and the ones that were worn by a true Exemplar. ”I’m just a humble Disciple of His Holiness, Domas Onaitis,” he explained.

Seven years ago, when Loman’s mother died, High Priest Aubin had arranged for Loman to visit the Holy City to pursue his calling. Marquis Bors’ grief was deeper than any Aubin had ever seen from a nobleman at the loss of a wife when their marriage had been born of politics rather than love, and he’d worried that Loman’s kind, caring heart would be swept away in a tide of bitterness and loss that came as much from his father as it did from his own heart.

Five years later, when the younger Lothian lord returned, rumors seemed to follow wherever he went, constantly attaching his name to the word ’Exemplar.’ He was given privileges at the temple in Lothian City that no ordinary priest would have, and even the title of Priest was conferred on him years before most acolytes could have dreamed of obtaining the rank. He was routinely invited to visit the temples in both Keating City and Carew City, and he spoke as though he were a peer to all but the most senior members of the Church across the frontier.

The rumors had been so persistent that, though Loman was unaware of it, they had reached the Vale of Mists, prompting Commander Bassinger to test Loman’s limits during Liam Dunn’s campaign, ensuring that he didn’t display the powers of an Exemplar before committing to any kind of counterattack against the young lords and their forces.

”Not, not an Exemplar?” Head Priest Germot stammered as his eyes scanned over Loman’s face and his body, feeling the intense aura that radiated from the young disciple despite his claim that he wasn’t an emissary of the Holy Lord of Light. ”But you, you...”

The Head Priest’s suddenly shattered confidence, combined with Loman’s admission to cleave through the atmosphere of hope and reverence like a woodcutter’s ax felling a tree. Across the great hall, people who had hugged each other in relief that an Exemplar would save them from the demons now looked even more hopeless than they had when the alarm bell first rang.

”We’re doomed,” one of the wine sellers that Loman had chastised muttered, reaching for a jug of strong wine and taking a swig directly from the serving vessel. ”We need tha Saint his self ta come save us now...”

”There’s still time to run,” Roseen whispered to her friend Cossot, despite the fact that the whitesmith’s daughter still looked at Loman with eyes filled with stars. ”He’s not a real Exemplar, you don’t have to worship him...”

”Oh, what do you know,” Cossot said sharply as she fought to hold back tears of disappointment. For a brief moment, she thought she finally understood why Lord Loman was so special, but now, she felt like her heart had been toyed with, even though she was certain that the young Lord had never intended to hurt anyone.

Elsewhere in the great hall, people were more focused on the demons and the legends of the Crimson Knight that had grown into a sort of local folklore ever since the War of Inches.

”They say he can cleave through an armored knight and his horse in a single blow,” one man whispered, shaking his head as he looked at the knights buckling on their armor. ”What’s the point of our knights even riding out against a demon like that?”

”I heard that his armor was dead-black when the War of Inches started, I did,” another man said. ”It’s only red ’cause it soaks up the blood of all the men he’s killed!”

”Nuttin’ can stop tha’ Crimson Knight,” a wealthy cheese monger said hopelessly. ”All a man can do is run from ’im. Run an’ pray that yer friends run slower ’an ye do,” the man added with a look at his dining companions around the table, as if he was trying to assess which of them he might run faster then, only to slump in greater hopelessness when he realized that there were still many younger lads and lasses that were certain to out run a man like him who had grown fat on his own wares.

”Everyone, please!” Loman cried, holding up his hands and speaking in a powerful, strident tone that resounded off the walls of the great hall. ”The demons will be here soon, but we aren’t defenseless against them,” he said as he stepped first onto his chair at the high table, and then onto the high table itself in order to address the crowd.

For a moment, he wished that he could also gather the soldiers of Hanrahan town to hear his words. The archers who were even now rushing to the walls and the guardsmen who were belting on their gambesons and fetching their weapons needed inspiration and confidence much more than the wealthy merchants who were safely ensconced in Hanrahan Keep did.

But the great hall also held the knights of Hanrahan Barony, who would lead their men in battle, the lord who would have to command the defense of his town, and the Head Priest who controlled the most important reinforcements that Loman would need in order to unleash the powers he had gained through years of study as Exemplar Domas Onaitis’s Disciple.

If there was anyone Loman truly needed to convince to stand and fight and to follow his plans, then that man was in this room. He only hoped that his words would be enough to convince everyone to follow him, even though he was nothing more than a humble disciple of the savior the people cried out for....