The Vampire & Her Witch-Chapter 576: Threads In The Wind

While Ollie joined the villagers in a celebration of his transformation into the youngest member of Ashlynn’s coven, the youngest among Nyrielle’s progeny was spending the evening in significantly more solitary pursuits.

The passing of the harvest festival ushered in the beginning of what should have been a quiet, restful winter for Lothian City. Across the frontier, villages checked their palisade walls, patched up their defenses, and prepared to weather not only the heavy snows of winter but also the attacks by demons who raided winter stores and poached from herds of livestock.

In a normal year, business at the Gilded Horns might turn busy as demon hunters filled their purses with gold by hunting down members of Eldritch Clans left so isolated that they had little choice but to become raiders and scavengers to survive a harsh winter. This year, however, the actions of the ’demons’ had been strange as they abandoned their villages one after another, retreating behind the walls of the Vale of Mists and leaving the Gilded Horns far emptier than it might have otherwise been.

Sitting behind a plain wooden desk in an office beneath the cellars of the Gilded Horns, Marcel cared little for the way this year’s events would impact the profits or losses he made on the luxurious restaurant that catered to the most wealthy among Lothian City’s residents. At his age, he’d seen enough lean years and rich years that a single bad year for one of his many investments was of little concern.

The greater concern, in his mind, was the way information dried up when he lost half his patrons and the ability to ply the upper class of Lothian City with enough wine to loosen their tongues. It meant he needed to spend more time lurking on rooftops, skulking about the city’s shadows and listening at chimneys and windows to gain a fraction of the information he could gather from one night spent observing the patrons of his restaurant.

The news he had been able to gather, collected painstakingly like catching loose threads on the wind, left him deeply uncomfortable. On his desk, dozens of slips of paper, each covered with his precise flowing handwriting, had been arranged in a way that made patterns easier to identify.

"Bors is getting ready to make a move," the dark-haired vampire muttered. "At least three of the eastern barons have made arrangements to visit Lothian City for Midwinter’s Night vigils, and another is sending his heir to study with the Templars until the spring..."

The last bit had been the most concerning piece of news to reach Marcel’s ears over the past several days. Midwinter’s Night had long been an important holy day to the Templars and to the knights of the frontier with many of them standing ceremonial guard at the gates of temples or cities across the frontier. While Eldritch raids on Midwinter’s Night were exceedingly rare, the ceremony still had special significance to the most pious of knights.

Seeing young knights or the heirs of barons visiting the temple in Lothian City to make a show of standing a Midwinter’s Night Vigil wasn’t news. Seeing three barons move personally with a fourth sending his heir for an entire season was something entirely different.

"Bors is making his support of Loman known," Marcel mused. "No wonder Owain is so nervous," he said, turning his gaze to three vials of Night Weaver venom sitting on the corner of his desk.

Those vials were the price he paid to gain access to Master Isabell and Master Tiernan before they left on their tour of the march. Three vials of venom that would slowly eat away at a person’s body and mind for months until only a drooling invalid remained, lingering on like a ghost that was neither living nor dead.

Of course, few people could care for someone in such a state, and death followed for most within weeks or months of the sickness reaching its final stage, but for the people Owain Lothian intended to use the venom on... who knew how long the young lord might choose to keep them alive.

A soft knock at the door interrupted the vampire’s musings as the person he’d been waiting for finally arrived. The man who entered Marcel’s small, private office only waited for a breath or two before opening the door, quickly entering the room and closing the door behind him as if he was afraid someone might see him entering.

Dark grey, midnight blue, and black clothing combined to make the man feel like a piece of the night come to life, and even though his movements were hurried, he didn’t make a sound as he crossed the room to take a seat in the only other chair available.

"You sent for me, Great Uncle Marcel?" the man said, pulling back the cowl of his cloak to reveal a face remarkably similar to Marcel’s, though the man lacked the vampire’s perfect, alabaster complexion and he appeared to be at least a decade older than the young looking vampire behind the desk.

"I did, Hector," Marcel said with a warm smile. He’d never had sons of his own, but he’d dedicated much of his life to protecting his brother’s children after a group of entitled young knights had struck his brother down for ’acting above his station.’ Now, the boys who had been his nephews had long since become old men with children of their own, some of whom were all too happy to help Marcel as he brought ruin to the families responsible for his brother’s death.

"The first is a piece of news that I’ve already shared with your cousin Jean," he began with a smile that was so wide it flashed a hint of sharpened fangs. "It seems like Mistress Nyrielle is willing to allow her progeny to make progeny of their own now. Zedya has taken a husband, a soldier named Lennart who has long been one of Mistress Nyrielle’s protectors."

"When the time comes, maybe as soon as next year, I’ll be able to bring you over," the vampire said, raising an inquisitive brow at his brother’s descendant. "Assuming that’s still something you desire?"

"I made up my mind about this a long time ago," Hector said smoothly, even though his heart was anything but calm at hearing the news. "You trained Jean and I to go where most men can’t, to disappear into the crowd and to strike at enemies few men can reach. You warned us years ago that this wasn’t a life that would allow us to build families of our own but..."

"I know," Marcel said with a sad smile on his pert lips. "You were barely old enough to be called men when I asked, but who else can I trust among humans if not my own kin? It’s never been a fair deal for you or your cousin, but now I can finally pay you back for all the years you’ve given me."

"Even if you couldn’t," Hector said, shaking his head at his youthful-looking ’Great Uncle.’ "Jean and I have never regretted being your sharpest blades in the daylight and the night. Now that we can become one of your... progeny? We’ll only be more useful to you and the family."

"I suppose that’s true," Marcel said, turning his attention back to the vials on his desk. "But first, you have to survive the worst mission I’ve ever given you. Fail at this and I promise that at least one of your targets won’t let you die a clean death."

"I still carry the Heart’s Blight poison you gave me if I need to take my own life, Uncle," Hector said, tapping a spot on his tunic where he kept a concealed vial filled with deadly, fast-acting poison that hadn’t left his person, even when he slept, for so many years that it felt like it had become part of his body. "I know the price of failure."

"Say that when you see who your targets are," Marcel said, pushing a folded sheet of paper across the desk. "This time, I’m afraid that there may be no coming back from the last name on that list... even if you succeed in poisoning him."

"Is it really that dangerous?" Hector asked, leaning forward to retrieve the folded paper. When he saw the list of names, however, his eyes went wide and he stared at Marcel in disbelief...