The Vampire & Her Witch

For a moment after Bastian made his plea the hall went quiet and even the crackling of the fires in the great hall’s hearths and the tapping of rain and hail against the windows felt loud while the Marquis contemplated Bastian’s request.

Next to the young Hanrahan lord, Liam Dunn fumed quietly. The Dunns had already made their tithe for the autumn but if his father was right, the losses to their herds of sheep and cattle would be extraordinary. Men were still scouring the countryside in the wake of the storm, but early estimates were that they had lost more than three hundred head of livestock.

To the whole of the barony, it might sound small, but for the individual hamlets, the losses were devastating. Replenishing the sheep that produced so much of the march’s wool would take at least a year, and the cattle would take between two and four years to replace, so while the most recent tithe had been met, when the next ones came due it would be much more difficult.

By contrast, the Hanrahans had lost crops of vegetables and grain. Their losses amounted to a single harvest and while they would doubtlessly suffer a lean winter, by the end of spring, it would be as if nothing happened to them. Yet they were already begging to be excused from their obligations and even had the gall to ask for the Marquis and the Church to guard their caravans from the demons!

"Your request isn’t entirely unreasonable," Bors said, provoking another fit of coughing intense enough that he briefly clutched his chest. "The winter weather doesn’t agree with me," he said mildly after taking a moment to collect himself and sip more of the steaming mulled wine. "Pay it no mind."

"Father," Loman said, standing up from his seat and looking at the aging Marquis with genuine concern. "Perhaps we should take a brief recess. The news has been... significant. I’m sure that many of us would benefit from a few moments to compose ourselves," he added with a brief glance at High Priest Aubin. Unfortunately, his subtle request for support was met with nothing more than a non-committal shrug, as though the aging priest didn’t care either way.

Jocelynn, on the other hand, didn’t bother with asking for permission. She knew the old man’s pride well enough by now to know that he would never ask for anything that implied he was weak or required support, especially in front of High Priest Aubin who was older than him by decades and Baron Leufroy who had been his companion in arms.

So while Loman tried to convince his father to call a recess, Jocelynn strode across the room to the racks of fur cloaks hanging next to the hearth. The garments had dried long ago and now radiated a pleasant warmth that complimented their softness when she felt each of them.

"Forgive me, High Priest Aubin," Jocelynn said, wrapping the first of three cloaks she’d retrieved around the back of the aging priest’s chair so he could pull it around his shoulders if he wished or ignore it as he pleased. "I’ve been negligent to my elders and remiss in my responsibilities," she said as she brought the next cloak to drape across Bors’ lap while bringing the third one to Baron Leufroy.

"Thank you, Lady Jocelynn," the baron said as he draped the warm cloak around his shoulders, smiling affectionately at the young woman who had already taken his darling daughter under her wing.

"The cold has a way of troubling every old soldier and I’ve grown so used to the aches, I hadn’t even noticed the chill taking hold of me," he added with a pointed glance at the young lords at his table as if to suggest that one of them should have been so courteous to their seniors.