The Vampire & Her Witch

Chapter 1557: The Court Sits in Judgment (Part Three)

Tybal Aleese sat uncomfortably in his seat as each baron spoke out in turn, making their positions and their principles clear.

Tybal knew better than most what kind of threat the demons outside his borders posed to the march. He’d seen the maps that Reynold and his scouts drew when they returned from exploring the Southern Steppe. He knew not only how vast the lands to the south of his own were, but how numerous his true enemy was.

For years, he’d felt like he’d become a fly caught in honey. There was plenty to eat, but he couldn’t go anywhere. He and the Horse Lord had been dueling with each other long enough that the cycle of seasonal raids and counterattacks felt like dress rehearsals for a war they never intended to fight. Only now, with the Church pressing for their Holy War, the time for rehearsals was rapidly coming to an end.

Every year, he contended with Baron Loghlan Dunn for the honor of winning the most victories against the demons. Every year, the Dunns expanded their borders further west while he searched for a viable foothold where he could actually hold anything that he took without losing it the very next year.

At the same time, his men fought more battles and returned with more trophies than Loghlan’s men ever did. The warbands of the Horse Lord were real warriors, unlike the rag-tag village defenders the Dunns so often encountered. The Aleese Barony had earned its place at the vanguard of the coming war with the strength of blood and steel, and the bitter, salty tears shed for companions who would never ride again.

Everything that he’d fought for, everything he’d done to prepare Reynold to rise in the coming war, depended on the Lothian family’s ability to lead the charge in the coming Holy War. From the alliance with the Blackwells to the support of the Church, no other marquis could match what Bors had architected, and Owain was the clear heir to those plans. Supporting him now represented the best path to securing a future for his barony, his son, and his legacy.

But Owain himself was a difficult man to support, and the emergence of his ’dead’ wife with soldiers at her back and venomous accusations on her lips only made it harder to throw his support behind Bors’s heir. The alliance with the Blackwells was unraveling before his eyes, and who knew how much else would unravel if she won the day.

Ashlynn’s cause might be righteous, but it would also unleash chaos in the march. Attacking the Inquisition, toppling a Lothian from the throne of the march for the first time since it had been founded... The consequences of supporting her uprising tonight would echo for a generation or more, and once the King and the Saint responded to what happened here in Lothian, a small frontier baron could quickly find himself little more than an ant beneath the boots of the mighty.

"Husband," Peigi said, reaching out to clutch Tybal’s forearm and giving him a gentle squeeze. "I trust your judgment, whatever it is."

"Mmm," Reynold added, looking from Lady Ashlynn to Lord Owain and finally to his father. "The choice is clear, Father," the young lord said. "Everyone who has yet to speak is losing their right to speak by the moment. We should make our position clear before the others come to think of us as cowards."

"I wish it were that easy," Tybal said, shaking his head at his son while he gently patted the hand that Peigi had placed on his arm. "You’ve spent too much time away from home, son," he added, lightly chastising Reynold. "If you’d spent more time at Court these past few years, you’d see the threats beyond the march more clearly."

For all the good that seeing clearly did him. He was no longer a fly in honey; he’d become a fly in the middle of a spider’s web, and no matter which direction he looked, there was no way out. Or, perhaps there was a narrow path that could at least preserve what he had, even if it would make it impossible to move forward for a generation or more.

"My lords," Tybal said as he finally stood. "These matters are too great for a humble court of barons at the edge of the world to decide. The accusations on either side are too grave, and no one here can claim to be truly unbiased in their judgments."

"For the matters of the Church, we should turn to the Holy City and ask them to send an emissary who can help us unravel the right or wrong of Abbot Recared’s actions," Tybal continued. "They can also explain the identity of the High Inquisitor, Ignatious."

"At the same time, we should appeal to Duke Keating to sit in judgment over the dispute between Lady Ashlynn and Lord Owain," Tybal concluded. "Or, if he decides that it is necessary, then we should prepare to guide the march in Lord Owain’s absence while he and Lady Ashlynn travel to the Royal Capital to resolve this matter before the King."

"I’m sorry, Lady Ashlynn," Tybal said with a heavy sigh. "But I cannot stand with you. Nor can I stand with you, Lord Owain," he said, shaking his head at the glowering lord sitting on the oak throne. "A man must know his limits," he said, shooting a meaningful glance at Reynold. "And I dare not overstep mine here."

Lady Ashlynn gave him a slight nod, as if she accepted his position without complaint. Perhaps she understood how great the pressure was, or perhaps she’d never had any expectations of him in the first place. Either way, once Tybal sat back down, her gaze moved on to the remaining barons.

The look in Owain’s eyes wasn’t nearly as forgiving, but before the Lothian heir could say anything, another of the barons stood to make his declaration.

"I think my good neighbor is right," Baron Telent Rundle said as he stood. The man was as thin as a birch tree, and there was an oilyness to his slicked-back hair that had only gotten more noticeable as his hairline marched ever upward and the hair itself turned from dark to steely-gray.

"We are just humble barons of the frontier," he said, wringing his hands together as he avoided looking at his wife, Baroness Brighde, in a way that left Tybal wondering whether Telent was more frightened of Ashlynn’s soldiers or his wife’s opinion on what he should do. "We should, we should send word to Duke Keating at the very least. Even in winter, it should only take half a month to receive a reply."

"Right, right," Baron Onen LeGleau said as he stood. He looked more like a school teacher than a lord, but the gaggle of children at his table, his three sons and four daughters ranging from eight to eighteen years old, likely contributed more to the effect than his neatly tied back hair and copper-rimmed spectacles.

"If things aren’t done properly, then we risk the ire of His Majesty or His Holiness," the scholarly baron said. "We could find ourselves declared heretics for sitting in judgment of the Inquisition, or stripped of our titles for usurping the duties of the Ruling Council. It’s too much to risk. We should... We should send our families home," he added with a worried look at his youngest daughters.

"If Lady Ashlynn can agree to withdraw her soldiers, and Lord Owain can agree to make no moves against her until we receive instructions from Keating," Baron Onen said. "Then that, that would be for the best."

Suddenly, all eyes fell on Serle Otker, the only baron who hadn’t yet made it clear where he stood. Three barons stood with Lady Ashlynn; three had opted for a neutral path, backing no one and hoping to defer to authorities outside the march.

Only two men had been willing to stand for Lord Owain, and the man sitting on the throne looked like he was ready to explode over the fact, glaring at the portly baron with a look so fierce that it was a wonder Serle Otker managed to stand at all. But then again, Serle had never been one to let a bit of intimidation stand between him and the most profitable outcome he could find.

"I believe that Lord Owain knows what’s best for Lothian March," Serle said, though his words were more rushed than he might have intended. "If he acted against Lady Ashlynn, I’m certain he had his reasons, and I’m sure he can prove out the accusations he’s made," he added, giving the Lothian lord an obsequious smile and bowing his head.

"I also believe that the Court is deadlocked," Baron Otker pointed out, ignoring the deeply disappointed look he was receiving from both his wife and daughter. "But in such cases where the Court cannot reach a judgment, with equal voices on each of two or three sides, then it should be the voice of the marquis who breaks all ties," he said as the smile on his lips grew even wider.

"So, Lord Owain..."

"Who says the Court is deadlocked?" Ashlynn interrupted. "There are ten baronies in the march, not nine," she reminded everyone else as she turned to the doors leading out of the Great Hall, raising her voice enough to be heard in the vestibule beyond.

"Sir Hugo Hanrahan," Lady Ashlynn called. "It’s time for you and the others to join us..."