The Vampire & Her Witch Chapter 1954: The Final Contest

In the Imperial Box, Micheline watched with a growing sense of apprehension as Ashlynn erected barrier after barrier, and that apprehension only grew when Dirar added his protective ward to each of those barriers.

Now, the gleaming, icy barriers and the ice-trees that supported them shone with reflected starlight, and the whole arena felt... grander somehow. As though the Heavens were watching this final match or standing in judgment.

"Is sorcery really so dangerous?" Micheline asked in a hushed tone. "Is it more powerful than the miracles of the Church?"

"Ashlynn says that the miracles of the Church are just forms of sorcery," Charlotte said without taking her eyes off the spectacle outside the Imperial box. "But in terms of how powerful it is... It’s a little scary," she said, lacing her fingers through Adala’s and giving her hand a squeeze.

"When Lord Dirar arrived, there was a, um, a disagreement at the gate over gifts and tribute," Charlotte said delicately. "Captain Rastlan clashed with Master Isabell, the Hemlock witch. He summoned tornadoes of snow and fired lightning at the gates with a bow made of stars," she said, speaking every word as if it were the Light’s own truth and not some fantastical fairy story.

"He wasn’t a match for Master Isabell, though," Adala pointed out. "She protected all of us with a great tree and turned Rastlan’s own banners into weapons to use against him."

"I caught him by surprise," Isabell said, surprising the young ladies as she approached them from behind. "And I had an advantage. Defending a wall is always easier than tearing one down. In a straight fight like this, as I am today, I might not be able to win," she said.

"Even though you’re a witch and he’s only a sorcerer?" Adala asked in surprise.

"I’ve seen men with smaller armies defeat men with larger ones because they fought better, or because they outsmarted their foe," Isabell said. "This is no different. Rastlan is a hunter and a warrior and more besides," she said, gesturing to the robed figure who had begun to ascend his stairway.

"I am an engineer," she said humbly. "I can build engines of war to fight, but the skills are not the same. In a contest of constructing bridges or fortifying walls, I’d have my own confidence. But you shouldn’t take one clash to be a decisive determination of skill any more than you should think that Reynold’s victory over Taghai tonight means that Reynold would win in an ordinary fight."

"You’re saying that Lord Reynold only won because of my cousin’s help?" Micheline said, raising an eyebrow at Master Isabell."

"I’m saying that each battlefield is unique," Isabell corrected the younger lady. "And that you can only take so many lessons from one battle into the next one. If you want to see Captain Rastlan’s true power, watch closely. He may surprise you."

"The shields of ice that Ashlynn and Hauke created are every bit as strong as a fortress wall," Isabell explained. "And they’re shaped to deflect force rather than absorb it head-on. It would take me at least an hour to break one with a battery of trebuchets. How Rastlan intends to deal with it is something I’m very much interested in seeing."

"Will you join us then, Master Isabell?" Adala asked, gesturing for a cushion nearby. "You were the Royal Engineer for the Emerald King," she said, purely for Micheline’s benefit. "I’m sure we’d all learn a lot from hearing your thoughts on the contest."

"Oh? You don’t mind being joined by an old woman like me?" Isabell teased as she took her seat.

"You’re not that old," Micheline said, frowning slightly at the woman who looked to be, at most, five or six years older than her, and certainly not older than thirty. "And to have been the Royal Engineer of the Emerald King at such a young age, you must be extraordinarily talented," she praised.

"I was only a year or two older than you when I met Marius," Isabell acknowledged with a slight smile. "As to whether or not I’m talented... It’s better to say that I was in the right place at the right time to help him reclaim his throne. Others could have done just as well, but most who could have also had the good sense not to get involved in a bloody civil war."

"Now, pay attention," Isabell said, holding up hands before Micheline could pry further. "I’m interested to hear what sort of contest Ashlynn and Nyrielle have in mind for the final match."

Outside the Imperial Box, both Rastlan and Aspakos had ascended to the tops of their icy platforms, standing in full view of the crowd.

Both men wore robes covered in patterns of stars and strange, cryptic runes. Both men moved with the patient, unhurried grace of scholars, priests or mystics. But viewed from the outside, the presence each commanded was very different.

Rastlan stood tall and proud, his golden mane flowing in the wind. In his right hand, he carried a polished, gilded spear. The shaft of the spear had been intricately carved and set with gemstones in the patterns of familiar constellations, while leather grips and a long spear blade made it clear that, despite its decorative nature, it was still a fighting man’s weapon.

To the people watching, he looked... heroic.

"Is it just me," Sir Gavin said, leaning over to the other knights in the Dunn’s seating area. "Or does he remind anyone else of the Templars?"

"Very much so," Sir Padraig said. "Even without armor, he has that... Presence. A bit righteous, a bit..."

"Sacred," Lady Cerys said from a few seats away. "Like he’s been blessed by the Holy Lord of Light and charged to carry arms into battle for the side of Light."

Just a month ago, the thought would have been heretical. But the more and more she saw, the more she came to realize that the Church had been very, very wrong about the Eldritch. Only, when she looked at Rastlan’s opponent, the impression she got wasn’t nearly as benevolent.

Where Rastlan seemed like a sacred champion cut from the same cloth as the Templars, Aspakos seemed to have been summoned directly from their nightmares.

The veins of gold running through his broken beak spoke of a legacy of violence, and his taloned hands dripped with malice, as if they’d torn hearts out of countless chests and squeezed out every last drop of blood.

Like Rastlan’s spear, the staff he carried had been studded with garnets and rubies that gleamed with a lurid, bloody light. The top of the staff was even more menacing, appearing to be an orb of polished obsidian that drank in the light and gave nothing back.

"Mama," a young boy in the crowd said, burying his head in his mother’s skirts and taking only occasional peeks at the bird-headed man who stood atop the icy stairs. "I’m scared..."

"So am I, sweetie," his mother said, holding tightly to her son with one hand and her husband with the other. "But Papa will keep us safe; just you watch. You don’t have nothing to fear," she said, far more confidently than she felt.

"Of course I’ll keep my treasures safe," the burly, barrel-chested man standing next to her said without taking his eyes off the bird of death on the stairs as he fought back every instinct that said he should scoop up his wife and child to run far, very far away from this place and never look back.

"Don’t you worry none," he said, swallowing heavily. "Papa is right here with you," he said. Silently, however, he prayed to the Ascended Armorer that the shields in front of them would protect them from whatever was about to happen. Because if it didn’t... he had no idea how to protect his family from something like that dark, demonic bird-man.

"The final round is simple," Nyrielle said, addressing the crowd in Ashlynn’s place while her darling recovered her strength. "Force your opponent to submit. Knock them to the ground and leave them unable or unwilling to rise. Kill them. The choice is yours."

"The shields before you offer some protection," Nyrielle added. "But only as much as a castle wall. Batter it down if it impedes you. Strengthen or repair it should you find it useful. Bypass it entirely if you’re able."

"A hunter may lay traps or directly chase his prey," Nyirelle concluded. "While warriors can only clash. As sorcerers, your methods are as varied as the stars of the night sky, and we will not bind your hands or restrain you."

"Do your best," Nyrielle challenged them. "Show us your worst. Achieve victory at whatever price you are willing to pay. Your challenge begins now."