The Vampire & Her Witch

At the edge of the Dark Wood, dozens of torches burned under Answaen’s watchful gaze while stunted, diminished members of her once mighty clan scurried about their tasks.

More than twenty powerful hounds stood in their traces, lashed to long sleds covered with equipment and supplies for their journey. The hounds stood as tall as small ponies, with eyes that gleamed red in the receding darkness of the hour before dawn. Their jaws were massive with powerful fangs, and their black coats seemed to drink in the light of the torches rather than reflecting any of it back.

Too many of those sleds were filled with tributes intended for Eldritch Lords, High Lords, and a single Great Lord whose territory Answaen would have to cross in her journey to the Vale of Mists. In her mind, those lords should bow their heads low in respect to Shubnalu and his Progeny for all that they had done to preserve the balance and order of the world these past several centuries.

She should be greeted as an honored guest, plied with offerings of blood and artifacts of power. For her to carry gifts to those who had done nothing to preserve the world they lived in grated against her sensibilities. But this was a minor irritation, little more than the feeling of having her fur stroked backwards.

As soon as her eyes landed on the most important person among her clansmen, all thoughts of minor slights and antiquated etiquette melted like ice in the morning sun.

”Naaric,” Answaen said, her cold voice cutting through the din of final preparations like a knife. ”Bring her to me.”

”Yes, Immortal Ancestor,” Naaric said, bowing his head so low that his purple horn pointed at the ground before he reached out to the petite Frost Walker standing next to him. ”Come on, Nuniq, the Immortal Ancestor is waiting for you,” he said.

”Yes, Uncle,” the young Frost Walker next to him said as she hurried to keep up with her taller uncle.

Nuniq was only twelve winters old, and she stood just a hair over five feet tall. Her horn was bright, pastel purple, and her white fur fluttered with a softness that time and wind had yet to wear away.

The dress she’d worn for tonight was the fanciest she owned, a sturdy, azure wool with patterns of snowflakes embroidered in white along the hem, neckline, and sleeves. It had been a gift for her tenth name day, and even though she was starting to outgrow it, she couldn’t think of anything better to wear to an audience with the Immortal Ancestor who had guarded their clan for more than a thousand years.

”Little Nuniq is proud to serve the Immortal Ancestor,” Nuniq said, bowing low before Answaen’s imposing figure and lowering her horn as much as she could. ℴ

”Stand up straight, little girl,” Answaen said in a voice devoid of warmth. ”Allow me to see your horn.”

”Mmmm,” the ancient vampire said, nodding in approval as she beheld the young girl that her attendant had brought her. ”You said that she was your niece, Naaric?” Answaen asked, raising a brow at the man she’d taken as her servant when he brought her news of the Tangled Tower’s fall. ”Your own blood kin?”

”She is, Immortal Ancestor,” Naaric said, doing his best to hide his apprehension. ”My younger sister’s daughter. She, she isn’t too old, is she? She’s still young enough to help you?”

”She can be of great use to me,” Answaen said. ”And you have been of great use to me. I promised you a reward if you served me well, Naaric. I will not betray my word. Look at those men,” she said, gesturing to the others of her clan who were preparing for departure.

”Tell me, which among them is the most powerful?” Answaen asked. ”And which among them do you hate the most?”

”Quaniit is the strongest,” Naaric said without hesitation, looking at the tallest among the Frost Walkers with a pure, icy blue horn. ”His powers over ice are the greatest across three peaks, and even if there are ten who are stronger at shaping ice than him, then there certainly aren’t eleven.”

”In terms of who I hate...” Naaric said, shifting awkwardly in the snow. ”I hate none of them, Immortal Ancestor. I have some disagreements with Ugalik. Petty things, Immortal Ancestor,” he added quickly. ”Beneath your concern.”

”Do not decide for me what is beneath my concern,” Answaen warned. ”From you, I expect loyalty and obedience. What is the nature of your grievance with him?”

”He takes as he pleases,” Naaric said, glaring at the blue-horned Frost Walker. ”Never so much that my family starves, but when his hunts are poor, the snow hares my family raises are the ones who make up the lack in his larder. It is the way of things, Immortal Ancestor,” Naaric said, bowing his head in deep shame. ”My gifts are too meager to resist him, and none will become involved in my troubles over a few snow hares each year.”

”Then choose your boon,” Answaen said. ”Would you prefer to have Quaniit’s strength, or to see Ugalik suffer at my hands?”

”If I had Quaniit’s strength, then Ugalik would suffer at my own hands,” Naaric said, surprising even himself with his ruthless answer. But in the time since he’d come to serve the Immortal Answer, he’d come to understand her ruthlessness, or at least a portion of it.

If he used his boon to ask her to strike someone down on his behalf, she would do it in order to keep her word. But she would never respect his decision to remain weak and dependent on her to avenge even such petty grievances.

”Good,” Answaen said, nodding in approval. ”Quaniit! I have a use for you.”

”Yes, Immortal Ancestor!” Quaniit called, dropping the pile of furs he’d been carrying and rushing forward to kneel at Answaen’s feet. Even kneeling, he looked powerful and proud, like a champion kneeling before their queen, waiting to serve. His back was straight even when his horn was lowered, and every line in his body radiated incomparable strength.

Before one of Shubnalu’s progeny, he was nothing special. Less than nothing. This, Quaniit knew as well as anyone, and there was no arrogance in his demeanor, only calm, collected competence.

”Let me see your horn, Quaniit,” Answaen said, stepping forward to run her fingers along the younger Frost Walker’s pure, crystal blue horn. ”Your bloodline is very pure. You will be excellent for my purposes. You should be proud, Qauniit. Few have ever received such praise from me.”

”I am proud, Immortal Ancestor,” Quaniit said without raising his head. ”My wife and son, my father and grandfather, all of them are proud that I am able to serve you on this journey. Command me, and I will execute your will.”

”Then remain still and do not resist me,” Answaen said as she raised her hand, curling her index finger like a hook as crimson energy began to flow from the tip of her claw.

”Sanguine Harvest,” Answaen said in a voice that echoed from somewhere impossibly. ”Bloodline of the Ancestor...”