The Vampire & Her Witch

The inner gate had barely crumbled away when Sybyll charged forward, her crimson armor catching the wavering blue-green light from above as she shot across the snow-covered ground, reaching the gatehouse in less than the blink of an eye as she rushed toward the West Gate Plaza.

Under Loman's orders, the roughly square marketplace, where three roads converged in a space little more than fifty paces on a side, had been transformed into a hastily prepared battlefield intended to stall the advancing army like rats caught in a kettle. Tables where men would once have haggled over the price of a wagon-load of timber or a cask of grain had been overturned and piled up as improvised barricades between the sides of warehouses and across the roads.

Behind those crude wooden barriers stood ranks of shield-bearing soldiers, clutching nervously at their warhammers and wishing they could trade places with the spearmen behind them, or better yet, the men who were safe in the gatehouse preparing to douse the demons with sacred oils.

Even Sir Niall, standing at the rear of the group guarding the north road, and Sir Thorryn standing in a matching position to the south, wished they had never left their villages as they watched what had once been a sturdy oak gate crumble to little more than kindling before their eyes.

At the center of the plaza, Sir Tommin waited with his four brother Templars, their white tabards gleaming in the warm, rose-gold light of the Temple at the heart of town.

"In His Light we stand!" Sir Tommin shouted as he drew the long, two-handed sword from his sheath, bathing the entire plaza in a cold white light that reflected brilliantly off the snow on the ground.

"In His Light we stand!" the Templars beside him echoed half a heartbeat before Sybyll's crimson figure entered the plaza, her oversized axe trailing wisps of shadow that seemed to devour the light.

-CLANG!-

-CRACK!-

The clash between Sybyll's axe and Tommin's sword occurred at a speed that was difficult for anyone to describe and if not for the bright light leaving after images in their eyes, no one would have been sure what happened when the Crimson Knight's axe slammed into the stone pavers, cleaving a deep gouge into the stones beneath the snow and sending rock chips panging off the armor of the nearby templars.

Sir Tommin's forearms trembled with the force of just the glancing blow that he'd only barely managed to redirect as he sidestepped, successfully sending the Crimson Knight's powerful overhand blow harmlessly into the ground but leaving him too awkwardly positioned for a follow-up strike of his own.

"We're doomed," Sir Nial said, nearly dropping the mace in his hand as the shockwave of the powerful blow knocked snow from the nearby eaves. "No one can fight a demon like that," he muttered in disbelief. But despite his words, Sir Tommin wasn't just fighting back, somehow, he'd completely avoided the Crimson Knight's opening blow!

The moment of respite Sir Tommin's deflection bought him lasted only a moment, however, before the half-moon shaped headsman's axe was once again swinging toward him, this time in a low, flat arc that would cleave his legs from his torso if he couldn't block it!

-CLANG!-

-CLANG!-

This time, he was able to counterattack after deflecting the wicked blade, even though the Crimson Knight quickly blocked with the haft of her axe, and the two fell into a rapid, deadly dance as the shining, holy sword and wicked, darksteel axe probed for the slightest gaps in their opponent's armor.

Beneath the grinning skull visage of her helm's visor, Sybyll's face contorted in pain as she struggled to keep the glowing sword of light at bay. Each time the sacred sword appeared directly in her vision, it was accompanied by a searing, burning pain, as if a hot brand had been pressed against her eyes, and within just a few exchanges, she could already feel her body struggling to heal the damage of the purifying light that sought to cleanse her flesh of Nyrielle's power.

Worse, just standing in the presence of the Holy Light Blade sapped a significant amount of strength from her body, transforming her heavy suit of darksteel armor into a steel prison that she had to struggle against in order to fight instead of giving her virtual impunity from the blades of her opponents on the field of battle.

"How is yer faith so pure after what ye've done, Tommin Pyre?" Sybyll taunted as she locked her axe haft against his blade and rushed forward with a shoulder, knocking the Templar back several steps, giving her a bit of room to use the blade of her ax to shield her eyes from the agonizing glow of the sword in his hands. "How can a man like ye still call 'imself Holy?"

"My faith isn't for demons or vampires to question," Sir Tommin said as he flexed his fingers on the hilt of his sword, adjusting his grip and fighting to restore feeling after the shock of heavy blows against his blade left his arms tingling from fingertip to elbow. "And if you've stooped to taunting me, then it tells me that you're weak before the Light of our Lord!"

The realization that the famed Crimson Knight was struggling against his Holy Light Blade reaffirmed everything Sir Tommin held to be true and right in this world. He might be fighting to defend an unscrupulous, scheming baron, but it wasn't Ian Hanrahan he was truly protecting. It was the common folk of this town, the templars and the soldiers, who fought with him and the holy Temple that glowed with the brilliance of faith at the beating heart of Hanrahan Town.

Compared to all the lives that depended on him stopping this unholy woman who profaned everything that it meant to be a knight, his own life meant less than nothing, but he would use every ounce of strength in his body to put an end to her wickedness.

And if he died tonight, then he would die with a pure heart that had done everything it could in the service of the Holy Lord of Light and his chosen people.