The Vampire & Her Witch

”JALAL!”

Sybyll’s outraged cry at the sudden attack on Lord Jalal was so loud that the buildings shook, shedding sheets of snow that had piled up on their roofs and forcing many of those in the west gate plaza to cover their ears in pain.

The Crimson Knight moved faster than she’d ever moved before, even though she was far too late to stop the arrow from reaching Jalal, and when the blinding light of the attack finally faded, it revealed the kneeling figure of the vampire knight cradling the limp and bloodied body of the famed Cat Lord of Airgead Mountain.

Her armor smoked and smoldered where it had come in contact with the fading energies of Loman Lothian’s attack, but Sybyll hardly noticed as she focused on the sound of the heartbeat in Jalal’s chest, strong and rhythmic, like the beat of a drum but all too fast as it pumped hot red blood out of his body.

A single heartbeat of premonition of danger had been all the warning Jalal had to move aside, but it had been enough to preserve his life, at least for a few moments. Instead of piercing his chest, Loman’s ’Arrow of Judgment’ had struck Jalal’s left arm, treating through fur, skin, sinew, muscle and bone with the ease of cutting through parchment.

On the snow nearby, Jalal’s left hand still clutched one of his backup blades, but the hand ended abruptly where it should have met the wrist. Similarly, the flesh and bone below his shoulder had been torn away, leaving behind little more than the ball of the upper arm in the socket of his shoulder.

The remainder of the arm itself, from shoulder to wrist, was simply gone, burned away in the light of Loman’s sorcery. The wound was among the most severe Sybyll had ever seen inflicted by human sorcery, and it had not confined itself to simply tearing away her friend’s arm. His chest and left side were covered with dozens of shallow cuts, each of which smoked and smoldered as if he’d been raked by saw blades pulled straight from the fires of a forge and the putrid smell of singed fur and flesh filled the air.

”Heila! Hauke!” Sybyll shouted as blood surged within her body. Rage and hatred were words, but they felt pale and empty compared to the roiling, seething fire that burned within her chest as she saw the state the proud warrior had been reduced to.

”Too loud,” Jalal said in a feeble, strained voice as he struggled to focus his cloudy vision on the armored figure who held him. ”Didn’t I tell you that your voice was meant for singing with the drummers? Why are you shouting so much,” he said as he tried to reach out to touch the visor of her helm, only to frown in confusion when his left arm refused to obey him.

”Shut up, ye stupid cat,” Sybyll said as a hot, pale pink tear slid down her burned and blistered cheek. ”Ye smell like a snack, don’a tempt me ta bite ye,” she said before turning away from him to look at Heila.

The diminutive witch dashed across the plaza as quickly as she could, skidding to a stop beside the wounded Eldritch Lord. Her eyes trembled as they swept over Jalal’s body, taking in the myriad of smaller wounds along with the ghastly, mangled ruin where his left arm had once been, but even as her eyes shook, her fingers moved with swift, steady motions as she reached into the inner pockets of her long, leather jacket to produce a small porcelain bottle.

”This will hurt, but it will stop the bleeding,” Heila said in a voice that was cold and leached of emotion as she schooled her features into a healer’s mask that rivaled Lady Nyrielle’s blankest of expressions. ”There is no shame in screaming...”

Heila gave the wounded lord no time to prepare himself before she pried the cork stopper of the bottle free and scattered a dark green and ocher powder over his wounds. As soon as the dust touched bleeding flesh, there was a faint hiss, followed by a violent twitching as the torn skin and shattered bone seemed to shrivel up on themselves.

”YEEEEEEEOOOWWWLLLL!”

Even if Heila hadn’t given him permission to scream, Jalal would have howled like a young kitten pining for the loss of his first love as Heila’s witchcraft worked away at his flesh, cinching it tight until blood no longer flowed. He felt like someone was kneading his wounds like dough, squeezing and tormenting him until the edges of his vision grew fuzzy and the sounds of the world felt distant, but after the moment of intense pain, he felt only cool, soothing relief.

”Will he live?” Sybyll asked flatly as she forced herself to remain perfectly still, supporting her friend in her arms while Heila fought to save his life. ”Or do I need ta’ take him as one o’ me progeny ta’ save ’im?” Sybyll asked, startling Heila as she realized that the relationship between the Crimson Knight and the Lord of Airgead Mountain must much, much deeper than she’d imagined.

”He’ll live, so long as I can take him to the forest for true healing before dawn,” Heila promised with a sharp, confident nod as she watched the expression of pain fading from Jalal’s face. ”The arm is gone forever,” she added in a quieter tone. ”Even Lady Ashlynn would struggle to restore it like this and by the time we reached her...”

”So long as he lives,” Sybyll said as she gently laid Jalal’s wounded body on the blood stained snow of the plaza. ”Hauke, protect him. Heila, do yer best for him now an’ I’ll clear away tha rest,” Sybyll promised as she stood, turning her furious gaze to the humans around her.

Only a few moments had passed while Sybyll, Heila and Hauke rushed to save the life of the wounded lord but in that time, the Templars had retreated to join the ranks of the Temple Guard with Templar Aldric Exhorting his men to draw their weapons and prepare to charge.

”Lord Loman and the Holy Lord of Light have shown us the way,” the veteran templar cried as he held his gleaming sword aloft. His entire body glowed with the strength of his renewed faith as he ignored the fallen Templar, Tommin, to focus on the battle ahead. ”Now we must strike! Stop them before they can save their demon lord!”

”Godfrey, take the left column to rally Sir Thorryn’s men,” Templar Aldric shouted as he organized their counterattack. ”Ibar, take the right column and seize command of Sir Niall’s men, and if Sir Niall protests and falls to heresy, kill him! Center ranks, follow me! We must finish what Lord Loman started!”

”Don’t you dare!” Sybyll spat as she pulled the helm from her head, revealing the burned and blistered face that formed a band across her eyes where the light of Tommin’s Holy Light Blade had flowed freely through the slits in her visor.

Between one blink of the eye and the next, Sybyll shot across the plaza, leaving her great ax behind in her haste to reach the Templars as her voice gave rise to the only thought her mind could conjure...

”Kill them all!” Sybyll shouted. ”Show them no mercy!”