The Vampire & Her Witch

"What?" Amren blurted, nearly spilling the wine he was pouring for himself in the process. "But we received wedding announcements along with the notice that Marquis Bors had fallen... You’re saying that none of that was true?"

"No, not exactly," Dylan said. "Truth mixed with lies and served up as a palatable stew. Bors died, likely due to the poison Owian fed him. Spider Demon Venom, I’m told," he said. "Vile enough to drive Bors mad before his body succumbed to the toxin. In his madness, he handed Jocelynn over to the Inquisition, executed some of his most loyal retainers..."

"Jocelynn’s cousin, Eleanor, on the Blackwell side, died in the Inquisition’s hands," Dylan added, sighing heavily and taking a deep drink of the fragrant red wine. "It sounds like Bors intended to name Loman as his heir and Owain didn’t take kindly to any of it."

"What a mess," Argidir said, frowning as he tried to digest what his vassal had just told him. There had been plenty of succession disputes over the kingdom’s long history, and a man didn’t have to look further away than Trevarthen to find instances of ’mysterious deaths’ that upset the order of succession.

It had even happened in Keating, though Argidir couldn’t ever think of an instance where it had happened in his own family. It was bad enough when it happened to a barony with close to a dozen knights choosing sides between prospective heirs. Small towns and villages had struggled for generations after backing the ’wrong’ heir in a dispute. Even the victors spent years rebuilding what had been lost in the chaos of a contested succession.

For it to consume an entire march, and Owain to resort to patricide in order to stake his claim... Who was to say how many of the current noble families would still be standing once the dust settled? He only hoped that his cousin, Brighde, and her husband, the Baron of Rundel, managed to keep their hands clean in the midst of this mess. Or, if they hadn’t, that they’d at least hidden the bodies well.

The king wouldn’t look kindly on any of this, especially with so many foreigners preparing to arrive from across the sea.

"So Ashlynn is the one who brought you word of all this?" Argidir asked, pinching the bridge of his nose as he tried to reason his way through the things that had to be done. There were too many of them, but everything would start with calling together the noblemen of his court, and once he did, he would need convincing evidence to present to them."

"Did she accompany you? If she did, it would be good for her to testify before the Court," Argidir said. "I can write to His Majesty and assemble a force to take Owain prisoner within a month, two at most," he promised.

"Unnecessary," Dylan said, shaking his head. "Owain is already dead. He fell in a trial by combat after Ashlynn executed Abbot Recared for the crimes the Inquisition committed in the march. At least, according to the messenger she sent to collect Maela from the convent. I’m inclined to believe him."

"My niece isn’t wasting time," Dylan added, reaching into the leather messenger bag and pulling out several bound pieces of parchment that he set on the table in front of Argidir. "From what I can tell, Serle Otker wasn’t the first baron to lose his throne for his crimes, but he’s the one that matters the most to us," he said.

"His confession is there, or part of it at least," Dylan said with a sigh. "The part that lists his contacts in the Duchy of Keating, the lords he’s bribed, the bandits who have helped him to ’disappear’ women who have been deflowered by the lords of the march, or lords in Keating who wanted their bastards hidden across the border..."

"Three of my most trusted knights are named on that list, and one of my barons," Dylan said. "I’ve started my own investigations. I imagine you’ll want to start some of your own as well."

"Who else fell among the barons?" Argidir asked. "Did anyone oppose her taking the throne?"

"Ian Hanrahan was executed after the Battle of Hanrahan," Dylan said. "Not that we ever heard a battle had been fought there until the dust had settled. But no, after watching Ashlynn kill Abbot Recared and her own husband, it sounds like no one has dared to oppose her."

"Merciful Light," Amren said as he dropped into a chair. The cup of wine in his hand sloshed as he sat, spilling over the back of his hand, but he hardly noticed. "I’ve fought Lord Owain, once, in a tournament three years ago. I’ve never faced his equal, before or since. The man was born for the sword. Who did Lady Ashlynn find to face him in a trial by combat?"

"No one," Dylan said in a tone that suggested that he was still struggling to believe it himself. "She killed him herself. Sword to sword, in full armor, before the Lothian Court and High Priest Aubin as witnesses."

"Dylan," Argidir said, frowning at his old friend. "I believe you’re telling me what you’ve been told, but this... This strains credibility. I’ve met fewer than ten women in all my years of dueling who could wield a sword with the skill of Maestro Creston’s worst student, and none who could match his best, much less a monster like Owain Lothian. You’re telling me that your niece is one of those women?"

"Maestro always said that the best swordsmen in the world held no titles or trophies," Dylan countered. "They hone their skills on the field of battle, taking survival as their prize and another day of battles as their only reward."

"Such men don’t remain unknown for long," Argidir countered. "Not unless the lords above them conceal their achievements. But your niece..."

"Would you believe it more if I said that she used a Holy Flame Blade to execute the Abbot, Recared?" Dylan said. "Ashlynn is... Special in ways that I’m only just coming to understand."

"A Saintess?" Argidir said, going very still. "Are you saying that your niece has been chosen by the Holy Lord of Light?"

"Not, not exactly," Dylan said, shifting uncomfortably when he found that he could delay things no longer. "Though with High Priest Aubin and a High Inquisitor at her side, it’s hard to say that she doesn’t have some form of support from within the Church."

"Perhaps it would be best if you read her words yourself," Dylan said, reaching into the leather messenger bag to pull out a thick scroll, sealed with a crest Argidir didn’t recognize and several silk ribbons.

"Once you’ve read this," Dylan said as he presented the scroll. "Then I can answer your questions."