The Vampire & Her Witch

Chapter 1668: Bring Her Back

For several minutes, silence reigned in Shubnalu’s studio, broken only by the faint sound of burning candles. For those with exceptional senses, the sound of drying paint pulling against the canvas was louder than any noise Shubnalu made.

Answaen didn’t move any more than her Master did. Stillness belonged to the dead, and she occupied it patiently as she waited for him to either arrive at a decision or ask questions.

Eventually, after several minutes of stillness, Shubnalu moved again, dipping his brush in a rich, velvety purple paint and returning his attention to the canvas.

"Has the Mother of Thorns made a move toward this new Great Witch?" Shubnalu asked as his brush danced rapidly across the surface of the canvas, blending rich purple with midnight blue in order to perfectly capture the texture of the sky on that night so many years ago. "Or my stolen prize?"

"Yes, Master," Answaen answered smoothly as she watched him paint, wondering which long-forgotten place he’d chosen to conjure tonight. "The Mother of Trees was seen in Crystal Lake City over the summer along with a woman from the Horned Clan titled as the Willow Witch. She came to the Mother of Thorns to learn, and when she left, she took the Thistle Witch with her."

"So Amahle knows," Shubnalu said, trading out his brush for a softer, fluffier brush that he swirled in a thin gray paint before returning to his painting to build in the faintest wisps of clouds across the night sky.

"And Little Nyrielle?" the Fangs of Death asked, changing the topic. "Why was she visiting Hamdi? What did she want from him?"

"Recruits for an army," Answaen said, shaking her head at the foolishness of it. "She intends to fight back against the humans in their own savage style of fighting. She took Savis and Tausau with her," she added, frowning as the light of her horn shifted to a dull, dark purple.

"I see. You brought Hamdi back with you?" Shubnalu asked, turning his attention to the door to his studio and the pine box standing just outside it. The heartbeat that echoed from that box was both faint and dreadfully slow, beating less than once per minute as the vampire within the box invested all of his strength into healing his wounds, but Shubnalu’s ears would never miss the sound of a beating heart so close at hand, no matter how pathetic it was.

"In case you wished to question him," Answaen said as she prepared to fetch the all but crippled vampire.

"Not yet," Shubnalu interrupted. "How quickly could you reach the Vale of Mists if you left now? Has the winter been kind to you, or cruel?"

What most would consider a fierce, cruel winter was a boon to a Frost Walker vampire. Long nights and frozen ground would make for swift passage to the far side of the mountains where she’d been born so long ago, but a mild winter would slow her progress with lakes and rivers that had yet to freeze.

"Winter feels late this year, Master," Answaen acknowledged. "It’s finally gaining strength, but to make it to the Vale of Mists... Three months, maybe more."

"And if you went north, through the ice flows and the frozen isles?" Shubnalu asked, pausing as he considered his work before reaching for a thin brush and blending reds, oranges, and yellows, adding a soft glow to the underside of his wispy clouds.

"Slower, by half a month or more," Answaen said, frowning as she tried to imagine why her master would send her the long way around to approach the Vale of Mists from the north rather than simply finding passage to sail across the Lake of Stars. The lake hadn’t frozen over in centuries, but the Silent Ripples clan had learned to build boats and ferried visitors across the lake hundreds of years ago... and her Master should know that.

The days when they had to travel everywhere by walking were long over. Carriages, boats, even gondolas carried by the Soaring Clan were available, though the latter could only accommodate members of clans much smaller than the Frost Walkers.

"Go the long way," Shubnalu commanded. "I had hoped that the humans would have managed to destroy the Vale of Mists by now, but since they haven’t, it falls to you. You have my permission to bend the Tuscans in whatever way you need, so long as you leave at least half of them alive. Combined with the remnants of your people in the High Pass, it should be more than sufficient for you to do what must be done."

"Within a year, I expect that Nyrielle will be here," he concluded as he switched his brush yet again, roughing in dark, steep hills beneath the under-lit clouds. "Ensure that she brings her pet witch as well," he added. "You understand, don’t you? All of it?"

"Of course, Master," Answaen said, suppressing a twinge within her heart that should have long ago become incapable of feeling things as petty as jealousy or desire.

Her Master didn’t care about the Vale of Mists one way or another, but its destruction would free Nyrielle from the chains that bound her to the world of her birth. Shubnalu had decided years ago that it needed to fall before he could do anything further with his wayward apprentice, and he’d made it clear to vampires like Hamdi who ruled as Eldritch Lords that they weren’t to support Nyrielle should she come to them.

Now, it seemed, he was no longer willing to wait for nature to take its course.

"And the Thistle Witch?" Answaen asked, pushing past the sense of discomfort she felt at the question. "If she’s with the Mother of Trees, do you still desire her?"

"Of course," Shubnaly said, frowning at the oldest of his living progeny. "I had never considered that a witch could be a Seneschal. My little apprentice has opened a new door. But if she dies in the struggle, so be it," he added. "Since I can consider even a Great Witch as a candidate, there may be a more perfect option to choose..."