The Countesses of Tannensdal

So retrieving my staff I took her by the hand to lead her through the trees towards the chapel. She gave a laugh, then reached down for her basket before she let me drag her from the path. We made no attempt at silence, and by the time we emerged into the clearing Father Doonan was looking our way.

"Father!" I called with genuine pleasure, but the rest of my words were cut off as my eyes lit on a second figure.

Von Raszen had clearly just emerged from the chapel and was moving to stand by the priest. His face appeared even more haggard than it had the night before, there was more grey in his hair and his clothes -- heavy hunting jacket and short hose in the Continental style -- hung loose on his frame.

Yet his eyes were aflame with a passion, a fire that seemed to burn within him, and on his hip hung a sabre. Seeing Merri and me, he uttered what I assumed to be a curse in his own language.

Father Doonan either spoke the outlandish tongue, or guessed as I had, for he gave the young man a reproving glance. "Now, lad, that's no way to speak around friends. I gather the two of you have met?"

Von Raszen's hand was resting on the hilt of his sabre. The knuckles were white, I noticed, and I let go of Merri's hand to take a firmer grasp of my stick. "We have," I told the priest, just as Von Raszen also replied.

"Major Woodall has been enchanted by the monster I spoke of," he said. "Despite my warnings, despite my plea for his aid in overcoming her, he chooses to remain blind."

"Monster?" I did not attempt to keep the anger from my voice. "The Countess has been nothing but gracious, and you resort to such accusations?"

"Now, Sir Anthony," Father Doonan interrupted. I realised as he stepped between us that I had moved towards Von Raszen, with my stick half-raised. His sabre had half-emerged from its scabbard to gleam dully in the sunlight.

Lowering my stick, I gave a slight bow of apology. Father Doonan glanced at Von Raszen, who scowled but let his blade slide back. "Good," the priest said. "Now perhaps we can talk like sensible men."

"What is there to talk about?" Von Raszen's voice grated. "The monster must die, and if the Major stands in the way he must be removed."

"Call her a monster once more, you pup," I growled back, "and it will be you who is removed." My blood was simmering, but I kept my anger under control.

"Gentlemen!" the priest called sternly. "Calm yourselves. Herr von Raszen, please try to temper your words. Sir Anthony is an intelligent man, and I'm sure he can be made to understand the situation if we present him with the facts."

"Don't bother, Father," I replied. "I know the facts. Do you? Has this scoundrel told you that he and his precious Order make a sport of trying to murder a gracious lady?"

The priest looked troubled at that, but he shook his head. "My dear Sir Anthony, I understand how it must seem to you. But the truth... The Countess of Tannensdal is an unnatural creature -- I will respect your wish and refrain from calling her a monster -- but unnatural, most unnatural! As Christians we have a duty--"

"A duty to murder our hostess?" Despite my best efforts my anger must have been written large on my face. Father Doonan took a step back, his hands before him as if to ward off a blow.

"No, no, Sir Anthony! A duty to protect the innocent. To rid the world of her evil spirit. For that is what she is, no matter how alluring her form, how charming her manner. You must see--"

Von Raszen stepped in front of the priest, his sabre now drawn. "He does not wish to see, Father! He wishes to dream his dreams of lust. He is blinded, and enamoured, and he will seek to thwart us in our mission."

My stick was before me, held like a sword. I was under no illusion that I could best the other man without a proper blade, but I could at least defend myself. He slashed suddenly, and I blocked the blow. A splinter of wood flew and my hands stung from the impact.

Haggard he might appear, but there was an unholy strength in Von Raszen that belied his wasted frame. Again he slashed, with fiendish swiftness, and it took all my skill to keep his blade from touching me.

Around the glade before the chapel we moved, he raining blows and I fending them off with my battered stick. The priest stood before the doorway, Bible in hand and eyes raised in prayer, though for whom or what I could not say. It seemed to fuel Von Raszen's strength, though, and his eyes blazed as he began to chant his own prayer.

By now my one thought was to make my escape, to retreat into the trees and head back to the castle. I carefully stepped away, but my foot caught on a root and I barely managed to steady myself. Regaining my balance, I moved back with smaller steps, my free hand behind me to feel the way.

What I felt, instead of hard trunk or leafy bush, was soft wool and sturdy thigh. Merri, forgotten until now, had moved behind me and took my jacket to guide me to safety. Returning my full attention to Von Raszen's swinging sword, I let her pull me back step by step.

Then a wide branch appeared overhead and I sensed the trees behind me. Von Raszen too seemed to realise that I would escape, for he swung at me with renewed vigour, his face contorted in hatred. I blocked one blow, then another, then at the third my poor trusty stick gave way and snapped.

Reacting instinctively, I dropped the stump and stepped forward into the arch of his attack. His arm swung round, past me, and I seized his jacket with both my hands, pushing him back and throwing him to the ground.

He lay on the grass, glaring up at me with hatred. I was about to turn, when my eye fell on the sword that had slipped from his grasp. It was red halfway along its length.

I had felt no blow strike my body, and a glance down confirmed that I was unhurt. Then realisation dawned, and I turned to see Merri standing beneath a wide tree, eyes open, a hand pressed to her side and bright blood oozing between her fingers.

I caught her as she collapsed and laid her gently on the grass. Her eyes were wide and she was mumbling something in her own language. Taking her hand, I made soothing noises as I glanced at the wound.

That single glance was enough to tell me that the cut was fatal. Her mumbling became wheezing gasps, and she clutched at my hand, a scared look on her face.

"Shh," I told her, "shh." I reached up with my free hand to stroke her cheek and brush a strand of hair away from her face. A hesitant smile touched her lips, and she opened her mouth as if to speak again, then her body went limp and her face fell slack. A final gasp escaped, and then those bright eyes glazed over.

I sat for a moment after I closed her lids. Anger was roiling inside me. Anger at Von Raszen, anger at the priest, anger at myself for only now remembering the pepper-box in my pocket. Anger, too, at Merri for dying.

Then I rose. Von Raszen was already on his feet, sabre in hand, his face even paler. A triumphant smile was on his face but it fled as I pulled the revolver from my pocket. "No," he whispered. "No, not that! It was--"

"Sir Anthony!" Father Doonan stepped forward -- not between us this time, I noticed. "Put the revolver away. It was an accident. Surely you'll not shoot a helpless man?"

I turned my gaze on him. "Helpless, like that poor girl? Helpless, like a man armed with a stick facing a skilled swordsman?" I looked at Von Raszen again. He'd taken a few steps back, his bloody sabre slipping from his fingers once more.

"Go!" the priest shot at him before turning back to me. "Hand me the revolver, Sir Anthony."

My hand was trembling, I noticed. "Why? Why are you protecting this man?"

Von Raszen had backed almost all the way to the trees by now. His eyes, fearful, were locked on the pepper-box.

"No more I am, Sir Anthony." The priest's face was solemn as he held his hand out. "It's your soul that I'm in mind of protecting. Hand me the revolver before you condemn yourself."

V.

I have little recollection of my walk back to the castle. The priest helped me to lay Merri's body inside the chapel, and he promised to make all the arrangements. Later I remembered standing alone in the small glade, breathing in the autumn air. I was shaking all over, from anger, from grief, from shock.

I was still trembling when I crossed the drawbridge and passed below the portcullis into the courtyard. I must have been a sight, for servants scurried out of my way as I strode up the stairs into the main tower and through its hallways.

I found Ilira on the balcony, as I had known I would. She looked up from her book with a smile that turned to dismay when she took in my dishevelled look, the stains of grass and blood on my clothes. In an instant she was by my side, guiding me to a chair. "What happened?" she asked gently.

Slowly the words came out, then faster. I was no stranger to danger, to death. It was, perhaps, the suddenness of it all: between feeling Merri gasp for breath as my head rested on her back and feeling her final gasp escape her as I stroked her face, there could have been no more than a handful of minutes.

Ilira listened with growing concern, kneeling by my feet on the balcony. She held my hand still in hers as she watched and listened. That she did not share my grief over Merri was clear. For a moment I resented that, then I realised that she had barely known the girl. A new servant had entered her castle only two days before, and now was dead. Ilira had not shared any closeness with her.

But she sympathised with me, and let me speak as the angry words flooded out. When I was done, she sat silent for a long time. At length she rose and drew me up too. "He must pay. Rudolf. That priest too, for his part in it. But you will not need to fear for your soul."

She moved to stand by the balustrade. "They will come. Tonight is the full moon, when the superstitious of the valley are always at their most gullible. They will let Von Raszen incite them -- particularly if he has a priest. And they will come here."

There was no fear in her voice, or her eyes. Why should there be, after all? She had seen the same thing countless times before. I took comfort from her strength.

"Can we lock them out?" I asked. "The drawbridge, the portcullis..."

She shook her head. "I doubt the bridge will move. The portcullis would require half a dozen strong men to lower -- and a dozen to raise again. But the peasants will not venture into the castle. Von Raszen is my only worry."

I excused myself a short while later. A search of the castle, with the aid of the Hoary Cripple, yielded a sword. Not a dainty blade for fencing, but a heavy cavalry sabre. Remembering the unnatural strength of Von Raszen's arms, and feeling the anger surge inside me again, its heft suited my needs very well.

I spent an hour in the stables polishing and sharpening it. The coachman and the grooms were gone, and I spent the time in comfortable silence broken only by the rasping of steel on stone and the occasional stamp or whicker of one of the horses. When I was done, I retired to my room. Remarkably, sleep overtook me swiftly, and when I opened my eyes next it was dark outside.

The castle was almost deserted under the full moon. The Hoary Cripple served us dinner, which was a simple affair. The Relic sat hunched in her seat, partaking only of a few bites before returning to her knitting. The needles gleamed fiercely in the low light.

Under other circumstances our haste to leave the dining table might have appeared unseemly. Yet Ilira and I did not care. We walked hand in hand out onto the balcony.

The night was clear and chill. A silence boomed up from the valley below to echo the silence inside the castle. By now, it seemed that all the servants had made off. I noticed a sadness in Ilira's eyes, a deep hurt, and I drew her close.

"They're fools," I murmured, and kissed her.

I felt her smile against my lips. She leaned her head against my chest. "You are kind to say so. Yes, they are fools, but many of them have been with me for decades. I no longer expect loyalty, when the mood is on the people, yet still..."

She sighed and fell silent. For a long time we stood like that. Then I lifted her chin, and we kissed again, this time more passionately. Her body pressed against mine, setting me aflame once more. My hands were on her back, but slid down to hold her firm buttocks.

She gave a soft moan into my mouth and I felt the heat of her body. I drew one hand round and squeezed the shape of her breast, eliciting another moan. She pulled away. "I want you," she breathed. Her eyes were almost glowing golden in the dark. "When this is over... Tomorrow, we will make love, you and I."

I pulled her close again. My whole body trembled with desire, my blood pounded in my ears. We kissed until we were breathless, then we finally parted.

I opened my mouth to speak when I realised that the sound in my ears was no longer just the rushing my blood. A tide of growls was approaching from beyond the gate. We exchanged glances, then I kissed Ilira's hand and sped away. The gate! I shouted to myself. I can hold them at the gate!

Taking my heavy sword up from where I had left it, I rushed through the castle's passageways and into the courtyard. As I ran, I stripped off my jacket. I believed Ilira when she said that she could deal with the mob until their full-moon fever ran its full course. But there was still Von Raszen, and I had unfinished business with him.

I dashed through the gate, and skidded to a halt in amazement. Beyond the moat there had gathered the expected crowd. Torches flared, fists and pitchforks were raised overhead, curses were spat in that strange tongue.

At the forefront stood Von Raszen. Somewhere he had acquired a cloak and a wide-brimmed hat, making him appear as some dashing adventurer from a bygone age. The torchlike gave his face the semblance of a skull.

By his side was Father Doonan. That pleasant, genial face was flushed and hard. His hat was gone, but he held a Bible aloft over his head as he exhorted the mob with words that were lost in the noise.

They were not what froze me in my tracks, though. Side by side on the wooden bridge stood two slight figures. The Hoary Cripple, holding a battered blunderbuss that he appeared to be loading with shaking hands, and the Relic, armed with her knitting needles.

The pair of them were spitting defiance at the mob. Their thin, reedy voices somehow rang clear over the din. Inwardly I cheered -- not only for their bravery, but for their loyalty to their mistress when all others had fled and turned against her.

I took a step forward to join them, but Von Raszen was first, and closer. I watched helplessly as he drew his blade, slashed once, twice, and the two fragile servants fell wordlessly in a spray of blood.

The mob roared their approval, and Father Doonan flourished his Bible in triumph. It was too much for me.

"Try me!" I cried, striding onto the bridge, heavy blade in hand. "Try me, you murderer of innocents, slaughterer of the helpless."

My appearance must have been daunting. Tall, cast in shadows and bearing a shining sword, the peasants must have thought me some occult force come at their Countess's bidding. They shrank back, their roars dying away, until only Von Raszen and the priest remained.

"Try me, puppy," I said again, this time spitting the words out between my teeth. "We're both evenly armed. A fair fight, is that not what you wanted, Father?" I gave the man a scornful look. "Or is this perhaps too fair for you?"

"Sir Anthony," he began, but Von Raszen chose that moment to attack and I stopped listening.

The young nobleman was fast, and his muscles were fuelled by that same unholy fire I had felt that morning. Yet I too was fast, and the better swordsman, and my limbs were powered by anger and hatred.

I blocked his first attack, and the next, then swung one of my own. He ducked back, and once more I detected fear in his eyes.

Nevertheless, he came on. A brave man is one who does not give up despite his fear, and for all I hated Von Raszen I had to respect his courage in this.

It availed him little, though. A few passes later, and I saw my chance. My heavy sabre slammed down on the hilt of his weapon, and the blade left his hand and fell to the wooden planks.

In an instant my point was at his chest. We were both breathing heavily, from exertion, fear, anger -- all the emotions and sensations of a fight to the death.

I smiled at the man and prodded with my blade. "How does it feel, puppy? Are you scared?" His eyes were casting about, as if he was looking for an escape. "Do you think that poor girl this afternoon, lying in the grass with her blood spilling out, do you think she was scared?"

"Sir Anthony," the priest tried to interrupt.

"Silence, priest!" I snapped. "I haven't forgotten your part in all this." My eyes had not left Von Raszen, nor my point his chest. "How did those old people feel, puppy, standing right here? Do you think they felt what you're feeling now?"

His mouth worked, but nothing came out. Then his eyes shifted to something behind me, and another voice spoke. A soft, warm voice that now was hard and fierce.

"Kill him," Ilira commanded. "For all he has done, for all he has sought to do. Kill him."

"No, Sir Anthony," the priest said and movement caught my eye. The hand without his Bible came up holding my pepper-box, and he pointed it at my chest. "Lower your blade, Sir Anthony, and leave. We have no quarrel with you. Our business is with the Countess."

"Yes!" Von Raszen cried. His eyes were wild, his face contorted in a grin of fear and madness. "Our business is with that monster. Tonight she will finally suffer for--"

My blade slid easily into his chest, choking off his words. He glanced down at the sword, then up at me. His eyes held a question, one that he tried to ask, but all that came out of his mouth was blood.

There was a deafening bang and something slammed into my stomach. Gunsmoke swirled around, filling my eyes, my nostrils, blinding me and making me cough, but I was unable to draw breath into my lungs.

I felt my fingers slip from the hilt of my sword, and Von Raszen sank through his knees until he lay motionless atop the ruined bodies of the two servants. I was only a moment behind, and the pile of corpses cushioned my fall and propped me up.

Father Doonan was still standing on the drawbridge with his arm outstretched, the smoking revolver clutched in his hand. His face was stricken, but when his eyes met mine he seemed to collect himself. "You shouldn't have done it, Sir Anthony. You should have--"

His words were cut off in a strangled scream as suddenly a white shape flew out from under the gatehouse and pounced on him, almost too fast for the eye to follow. It was Ilira.

Her face was buried in the priest's neck. His mouth stretched in a silent scream, his eyes going wide with a mortal fear. As I watched, still struggling to breathe, fighting against the pain and darkness, the priest's form began to shrink, as if Ilira was sucking him dry. My life-force, Von Raszen had said, and that was what appeared to be happening.

The moment dragged out in silence, broken only by two dull thumps as first my pepper-box and then the Bible hit the boards of the bridge. Then I heard a soft purring, emanating from Ilira's throat. She turned to me, letting go of the priest. His body dropped to the wood like an empty sack.

My eyes were on Ilira's as she stepped towards me. Her mouth and chin were red with the priest's blood, and her eyes were as black as they had been in the mirror. She knelt beside me and took my hand from where it was pressed against the wound in my stomach. Inspecting the hole, she muttered something I did not understand.