The Vampire & Her Witch

With the eyes of the entire great hall seeming to have gathered on Ian Hanrahan's shoulders, the portly baron carefully adjusted his perspective glass, panning it over the city and beyond the walls, carefully following the chain of landmarks between the walls and the wilderness so he didn't get lost in the endless fields of white while he brought the 'fire serpent' into focus.

When he finally spotted it, however, his entire body froze as if it had been encased in the very same ice that covered the minor streams that flowed into the valley to fill the great lake. For three heartbeats and then three more, he couldn't even speak as he slowly moved his vision from one horror to the next before a single word finally tumbled from his lips.

"Impossible," Ian Hanrahan muttered as he gazed upon the 'fire serpent' and saw its true form. It wasn't possible to make out many details at this distance, but it was clear that there were more than just dozens of demons marching across the snow-covered valley, there were hundreds of them, carrying torches and marching with discipline that could rival any army the Kingdom of Gaal or the Church had ever fielded. And at the head of that army…

"It's the Crimson Knight," the portly baron said, lowering the perspective glass and clutching it to his chest as if he were afraid of dropping it from hands that shook uncontrollably. "It's the Crimson Knight and an army of demons…"

It wasn't just an army, but Ian had no idea how he was supposed to describe the impossible things he'd seen through the eyepiece of his perspective glass. Giants? Wolves on two feet? Walking boars wearing armor? No one had seen demons like these before.

He thought that he had prepared himself for the sight of new terrors from beyond the mountains, and perhaps he had. But nothing could prepare him for the sight of the banners he had seen unfurled at the head of that army, and the implications of those banners chilled him to the bone.

"My lord," Sir Thorryn said, giving his young daughter a last reassuring squeeze before he stepped forward and knelt formally at Baron Hanrahan's feet. "What are your orders?"

"Orders?" Ian said as he blinked several times in confusion while his mind struggled to process what he had seen. What orders was he supposed to give? The Crimson Knight could cleave an armored man in half with his giant ax! How was he supposed to fight something like that? And giants? What were they supposed to do to slay a monster of such size! If he sent out his soldiers, he might as well place their heads on the executioner's block himself!

"Ring the alarm bells," Loman said smoothly as he stepped forward. His fingers were already working at the laces of the elaborately embroidered tunic, stripping away the decorative garment before moving on to the simpler, linen shirt underneath as he continued to give orders.

In this moment of crisis, Loman had finally realized a truth he had been hiding from ever since he made the decision to contest for the throne that should have belonged to his brother. He thought that he could step into the gap that would be left behind when Owain was stripped of his position as heir to the Lothian throne.

He thought that he could leave the Church to rule his people as the next Marquis, but he'd only been lying to himself about who he really was and what he was meant to be.

"Send archers to the walls," Loman continued in a loud, confident voice. "Make sure the fires are lit on the walls to give them light to see, and have someone bring them as many bushels of arrows as you have. I'll visit them if I have time, but they may have to make do with their own strength tonight," he said as he pulled off his undershirt to reveal a lithe, toned physique that surprised many who considered him to be nothing more than a scholarly priest.

Further back in the hall, Cossot and her companions gasped along with many other women both young and old at the sight of the handsome young lord, stripped to the waist and shining in the warm, golden light of the great hall as if he was a herald of the Holy Lord of Light himself, returned from the Heavenly Shores to guide his people through the crisis.

"My lord?" a confused young page asked, turning between Baron Hanrahan and Lord Loman Lothian as he tried to understand whether or not the young lord was allowed to give the order he just had.

"Do as he says," Sir Tommin said when Baron Hanrahan seemed incapable of issuing even a simple order. "The son of your Marquis has given an order, and it's the right one," he told the young boy who couldn't be more than a year or two older than his own son. "Stop gawking and get running, lad!"

"Lord Loman," Sir Tommin added as he turned to face the shirtless lord who had just received a large, black leather case from his luggage, emblazoned with the sun and stars crest of the Church of the Holy Lord of Light. Since the young lord had made it clear that he would step up where Baron Hanrahan was clearly failing, Sir Tommin intended to do everything he could to prop up the legitimacy of his commands.

"What other orders do you have?" Tommin asked as he knelt formally at the shirtless young lord's feet.

"Send criers through the streets," Loman said as he opened the case that had sat undisturbed and collecting dust in his chambers in Lothian Manor ever since his return from the Holy City nearly two years ago, running his fingers over the soft, elegant fabric within that felt so light in the hands but so much heavier when draped across the shoulders.

"Tell the people to stay in their homes, hide in their cellars if they have them, and tell them to pray," Loman said as he lifted out a set of priestly robes unlike any that most people gathered in the great hall had ever seen. With a single smooth motion, he wrapped them around his shoulders, sliding his arms through the billowing sleeves and setting his fingers to work on the long row of subtle fasteners that ran up the left side of the garment to keep from spoiling the sacred design across the chest.

Most people in the hall didn't understand what they were seeing but for men like Sir Tommin and Head Priest Germot, however, and especially for Inquisitor Diarmuid who had spent nearly a quarter of his life in the Holy City, it was impossible to miss the significance of the black and silver robes that Loman had donned, especially when they saw the pattern of stars embroidered across his chest and along his sleeves.

"Ex-Exemplar?!" Germot said, staring at Loman in shock as he unconsciously dropped to his knees in reverence as the young lord seemed to glow with a holy, silvery radiance in his eyes that could only belong to the legendary figures who were second only to the saints themselves.

"We're saved," Germot whispered, shaken by the whiplash of hearing the name of the Crimson Knight only moments before Loman revealed himself to be one of the Holy Lord of Light's own divine emissaries. Now that they had an Exemplar on their side, surely even the Crimson Knight would fall!