Tristan
October 13, 1786, Realm Timeline, Austria, near the Morava River
Outworlders are confusing, Tristan decided. Enemies of the Holy Roman Empire, at first, then trying to be friends, without any good reason he could see, they behaved strangely and dressed in funny ways. The latter part had been a blessing in disguise, as the Envoy's wife, Eliza, had given her own shoes to the Empress. Outworlder footwear was sturdy and comfortable.
They entered the forest unimpeded, but that didn't mean they were out of the woods yet. Leaning down, Tristan poured pepper on the ground to deter the Hunting Master's hounds from following them. When in doubt, improvise, was his family motto, and they had served the Habsburgs for time immemorial.
"That doesn't really work, you know," the Outworlder woman said. "We have to speed up."
"I… can't…" the Empress heaved, leaning on a tree.
"I'll carry you, Your Highness," Tristan offered. "If we cross the river, we'll be safe."
"I'll help her; you focus on protecting us," the Outworlder woman said. "You do know how to wield that toothpick, right?"
"I'm a knight," Tristan snapped, brandishing his dagger in defiance. It was childish, but he couldn't stop himself.
"Where's your sword, then?"
"I'm a lancer. How am I supposed to carry my koncerz without my horse?"
"What?"
"Their swords are very long," one of the guests explained.
"Shush! I hear something."
Making a stop sign, the Outworlder ran forward. Her bare feet were not making any noise, even when stomping on the fallen leaves or twigs. That detail directed Tristan's attention to another: everybody's breath was letting out vapors—the night was cold—except hers.
However, examining Outworlders was not his main purpose; ensuring the Empress and the line of succession lived was. He focused on the woods around, watching. The woman returned a minute later.
"Good news and bad news," Eliza said. "The ferry is near. That's the good part. The access is blocked by a bleepy pack of hounds and a big guy. Huge."
"The Hunting Master," Tristan said.
"He's a Tamer," the Empress added.
"I thought we left the hounds behind," Tristan said.
"Evidently, he took some with him. How many of those beasts does a hunting master use on average?" the Outworlder woman asked.
"F-forty or so," the Empress said.
"Bleep!"
Even their curses are weird.
"There's a ford upstream," Tristan suggested, making his tone sweet to convince the Empress. The crossing was farther and deeper than he liked it, but it was the only choice left. They were in no shape to fight twenty hounds.
"How far?" Eliza asked.
"Maybe half a mile?" The distance was thrice that, but he couldn't tell them the truth.
The Outworlder woman looked around, sighing, and he knew she knew he was lying and that they wouldn't make it. Her gaze made the others understand the truth as well.
"We should fight," a man said, picking a branch from the ground. It was dead wood and bound to break at the first hit. "If each of us fights a hound, and the knight goes for the…"
Tristan pointed at the Empress. "If a single dog gets through and kills Her Majesty, our mission fails."
"Hey, stupid! Keep your voice down, or we'll all die."
A pebble followed the hiss. It was aimed at the Outworlder, but hit the Empress in the cheek instead because the woman had leaned forward to look toward the the place the voice came from.
"Your Highness!" Tristan exclaimed, putting himself in front of the Empress, dagger at the ready.
"I'm fine," the Empress said, rubbing her cheek.
"Who's there? Show yourself!" Tristan hissed.
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A girl walked out from behind a bush, rocking a sleeping baby in her arms. Tristan frowned for an instant, then remembered her. The serf who had been whipped during the trip. The one who attracted the Outworlders' pity.
"What are you doing here? Using the attack to escape?" he hissed.
"Duh…" Eliza rolled her eyes.
"None of your business," the girl snapped back.
"Are you all right?" the Outworlder woman asked.
"Lily has a fever," the girl said rapidly, intensifying the rocking. "I had to escape."
"Lily? What a cute name!" the Outworlder woman exclaimed.
"Didn't the Sage look at her?" the Empress asked, coming near the girl to examine the child, patting the sleeping toddler's forehead. Her concern was visible and likely caused by her own pregnancy. She empathized with the girl.
The girl shook her head. "I tried to ask him through a maid. His assistant said he can't be bothered before tomorrow."
"We'll sort it out later," Eliza said. "Let's scram."
"I beg your pardon?" Tristan asked. The foreigners' vocabulary was awfully evasive to his understanding.
"We need to move."
"If you move, you—" The girl cut herself off abruptly.
Tristan beckoned the group to follow and stepped westward.
Eliza grabbed his arm, stopping him short in his tracks. "Wait! What were you going to say, girl?"
"Nothing. Go. I'll wait here. We'll be only a burden to you."
"You know something we don't," the Outworlder said. "Tell us the truth, and nothing but the truth."
The phrase was one of the Outworlders' clichés, and Tristan would have thrown some internal sarcasm at it, if not for the girl's reaction. She shivered and spoke reluctantly.
"I'm using an Obscuring spell to hide from the hounds and the Tamer… They can't sense us as long as I'm channeling. If you move outside my area of effect…"
"So that's why the dogs didn't smell us."
"It's the pepper," Tristan said.
"You think hounds are deaf?" the girl said. "You're shouting like mad."
"So, you have powers?" the Outworlder woman asked.
"What if I do?" the young woman asked, pulling her girl closer.
"Nothing. Are you a Rroma?"
"A what?" the girl stared.
"She means a Gipsy," Tristan explained. "They talk funny."
"Saying Gipsy is offensive," the Outworlder insisted.
"Why?" Tristan furrowed his brow. "This is nonsense. They're from Egypt."
"They're from India."
"I'm Vlach," the girl said, cutting the argument in its bud.
"I'm sure this conversation helps our escape tremendously," one of the guests pointed out. From his tall wig and the discreet sarcasm, Tristan deduced on the spot that he was a Frenchman.
"If we move together, can you take the AoE with you?" the Outworlder asked.
"She can't," Tristan said. "Otherwise, she would have suggested it first."
"Sorry," the girl said, lowering her head. "The spell is affixed to the place where I cast it. It's a daily…"
The implication was obvious. Once the spell was gone, nothing was stopping the hounds from sensing them.
"How wide?" Tristan asked.
"Dunno… maybe two hundred feet?"
"I think it's wider," the Envoy's wife said. "There were hounds behind us, and they avoided the woods. I think you're casting it stronger when you're in danger…"
Because her instincts command her to protect her kid… That also meant the witch, or whatever the girl was, burned Mana at an accelerated rate, and they had to act fast.
"I'll go toward the ford and make the hounds follow me," Tristan said. "After they're gone, take the boat. There's an Outworlder border garrison straight ahead. Cut the the ferry's rope as soon as you're on the other side."
"What if the Tamer and some dogs stay behind?" the Outworlder pointed out.
"Give me your wigs," Tristan said. "They'll pick the scent and think we'll all be moving."
"Why bother? I'm tired of running," an old man said, flourishing his walking cane. "I lost too much to the Revolution. The least I can do as a retired musketeer is to put up a good last fight. I'll come with you."
"So will I," a younger Hungarian woman said. She bent down, searching for a rock, and tied it into a scarf. "It's my duty to the throne."
A few others raised their hands. Tristan nodded. "Our sacrifice will not be in vain."
"Pick anything that can be used as a weapon. You have five minutes," the Outworlder said. "A word," she continued, pulling Tristan aside. "Good plan, except for the part where you all die. What if I could give you a fighting chance?" the woman leaned forward, whispering. "I can bestow you powers."
"You can what?"
"Lower your voice. I can give you powers."
Suddenly, Tristan recalled the Emperor's appalled expression when the woman had sussured something in his ear. "What's the… err… catch?" he used one of the foreigners' expressions.
"I'll become your boss… That's how these things work, not my fault."
"I'm a knight. My family serves the Habsburgs from—"
"And tonight, you'll be a dead knight. C'mon, let me help you."
Tristan looked back at the group, and his heart sank. Even the Empress was trying to find a makeshift weapon. The Emperor himself had made the supreme sacrifice for his wife and unborn heir. Who was he to put himself above that?
"Fine." He extended his hand, expecting a ring of sorts, like in the Nibelungen story. Instead, she wrapped her arms around him, pushed on her toes, and pressed his lips to his neck, to the barely cicatrized wound.
Is she biting me?
A blue text appeared in front of his eyes, bringing even more shock.
Countess Erzsebeth, Vampire, has offered a pact you accepted. You will become her thrall in exchange for specific powers. Your Interface is installing. Progress: 5%
God! A Vampire! He would have jerked back and tried to escape if only he could. Tristan was paralyzed, and lines of blue text, with characters he didn't understand, filled his vision. At the same time, his mind erred toward what his senses perceived. Warmth filled his body, dizziness filled his mind, and it tingled. The woman's chest was pressed against his, and he could feel the wires and the foam that the Outworlder women used to cover their chests with.
They call that a bra…
Her bosom was small, and she had no womanly shapes to speak of. She was slim, if somehow cute, but that only if Tristan made a bit of effort to think positively. Medium-tall at best, with dark hair, looking taller because of her thinness. Pale white skin, of course, like all the witches and evil creatures…
God! What will I do if she calls me into her bed? Vampires were notorious for their lewdness. The woman looked young, maybe thirty, but Outworlders were older than they looked, and Vampires… What if she's older than forty? Ew…
Forty was the maximum limit Tristan considered acceptable for a thrist. More, and that was granny territory, which was gross… I'm drunk, Tristan realized, because those kinds of thoughts didn't come to him naturally.
"Don't worry if you see texts; they are meant to help you," the Countess said, walking away.
"Texts? Whoa!"