The Blood Witch

The "Escape"

We emerge out into the fresh night air, a sea of twinkling stars overhead. Despite the altitude the air is warm and heavy with the flowery scents of spring, only the slightest of chill breezes to remind us that come daybreak a wall of snow-capped mountains will be seen flanking the capital of Pyrthia. I'm shocked by how early in the day it is, only the murkiest streak of sapphire sky to our east heralds the coming of dawn.

It appears the trickster at my side has sneaking to do yet.

Castle Avamere's prison opens up onto a secluded courtyard, at the base of the exuberant gardens and far away from the castle itself. Set midway up the side of the sacred Mount Ignatia, the castle's perimeter marks the rigid boundary where the natural alpine snow gives way to the vivid green grass and spring flowers that stretch ever eastwards to cover the entirety of Pyrthia. The land blessed by the Mother's touch to never know drought nor what the Northerner's call "Winter", in which they say all the lands are marked by snow.

I call it a castle, but the seat of the Pyrthian throne bears no resemblance to the ancient stone strongholds that dot the land to the west. Lit up in a shimmering halo of golden light in spite of the late hour, the building looks more like an overgrown manor than a building of governance. From what I can see, the three levels look to be made entirely of wood, adorned with swirling patterns of thousands and thousands of lanterns. Most probably a sacred offering to the Father, it reminds me of the enormous pyres that burned around the Pyrthian army camps at night, keeping the undead away.

As much as I hate the fucking Church of the Sacred flame, the sight is comforting.

Below the castle grounds we stand in, I can see the far more dimly lit city of Ignasfell, stretching down into the lowlands. A city of devout sleeping in peace, blissfully unaware of the bloodshed on their borders. I want to despise them.

Nobody waits for us out here in the open, instead Ash steers me around through the sheltering shrubbery to the quiet freedom. Out of the dungeon torchlight and into the hellish inky black.

The shadows of Castle Avamere's pillars stretch a hundred feet down the lawn towards us. Nevertheless I still hate the sudden stillness of the night, having my back exposed to the darkness.

Every stupidly sculptured rosebush standing shadowed against the lawn is a menacing figure. Every pool of black at the base of each tree could hold half a dozen monsters. I expect to hear the rush of air towards me, footsteps too fast to even distinguish. The feeling you get just before an attack, when your body tenses of its own accord, phantom fangs piercing your throat, your shoulder, your thighs. I feel it now,  my skin prickles painfully.

I have to close my eyes the first few steps, force myself not to strain my soldier's ears to listen out for movement in the night. Remind myself the Enemy is at least three hundred miles from where I stand. A Pyrthian officer had once begrudgingly called me too stupid to feel afraid, but here right now? Terror wrings at my bones. Fuck, I hate vampyres.

Ash walks beside me without a care in the world, breathing steady, whistling under his breath like he does this everyday. One warm gloved hand on my arm, another gently resting on the base of my spine. A bold son of a bitch, without question, but I appreciate the feeling that someone has my back. The first time since I lost my entire platoon. Since I lost Paige.

He leads me along a path of shadows, up into the gardens and through the black silhouettes of rosebushes and statuettes. Even in the heavy armour of a royal guard, his footsteps are silent enough to make even my light tread sound like that of a bullock.

"So... I've been taken into royal custody?By Sir Ash Maleric?" My whisper feels sacrilegious as it breaks the quiet. "You do have friends in high places. Or are you just that good of a liar?"