Avacyn creeps out from behind her hiding spot in her carriage. The two stare at each other from across the camp. The Hunter, calm and perfectly collected; while Avacyn is breathless with fear. He smiles disarmingly. "I apologise for not reaching here in time to save the rest of your entourage." All Avacyn can manage is a weak smile and a timid nod.
"Princess," a small voice says meekly.
Avacyn looks down to see Remilia bleeding on the ground next to the door of her carriage. Avacyn practically leaps from her carriage while the Hunter moves in beside her. He checks her over, before pulling out a rag and cleaning around the edges of the wound in her side. "It's a stab wound, thank the Angels," the Hunter says with a little hope. He begins muttering an enchantment and streams of light issue from his hands to begin to seal up the wound. Avacyn watches in equal parts fear, gratitude and wonder. After a few minutes the Hunter stands up and offers Remilia his hand. She takes it and he pull her to her feet. "There, milady." Avacyn notices small beads of sweat forming on his brow and rolling down his face, and how his skin palled throughout the process.
"Thank you, sir," Remilia responds. The two young ladies look at each other grinning before embracing briefly.
"Sir, may I ask your name?" Avacyn asks after the pair pry themselves from each other.
"Sorin." Is all he responds with
"Well, you have my gratitude, Sorin, I will see to it that you are richly rewarded."
"Thank you Your Grace," he says with a slight bow. "Your kindness humbles me." Avacyn watches him trying to figure him out.
"Are you a member of the Church?" Remilia asks
"You could say that," he looks around and continues, "Miladies might I suggest we depart, there is a safe house not too far from here."
"What about the dead?"
"I will see to those tomorrow, I think that Princess Avacyn's safety takes priority."
Remilia shoulders slump, "He's right."
Avacyn nods, "Alright, but we must comeback and pays respects tomorrow."
Sorin sighs, "If Your Grace insists, your wish is my command, now let us be gone. Perhaps, some better footwear would be prudent." Avacyn is suddenly very aware of the cold earth beneath her feet. She hurries back to the carriage to find her shoes or boots or something. After slipping into her walking boots and grabbing her coat, she hurries back outside, Remilia is also similarly dressed.
He turns towards the woods, and the two young ladies follow. He leads them deep into the woods where, Remilia quickly becomes fed up with the tramping through the woods, Avacyn couldn't blame her though. Both had to abandon their clothes back at the campsite and their nightwear provided little protection from the branches and the drizzle that has begun. Not that my normal attire prides much protection, Avacyn reflects somewhat sardonically. Eventually Sorin stops outside a small wooden cottage in the centre of a clearing…
A manor house deep in the mountains of Stensia…
Albrecht sat hunched over outside the door to the quarters of his sire, the legendary Edgar Markov, awaiting an audience. He and his compatriots didn't count on meeting Sorin, Edgar's infamous grandson. "It would be easy," they said, "Attack under the cover of nightfall, turn and kidnap the princess, the rest we could do with as we pleased, but no biting, and get back to Stensia, everything else will take care of itself." Bullshit, Sorin was tracking us, he knew we were going to strike, Albrecht reflects bitterly. Why didn't we just kill him when we had the chance?
"Our lord will see you now," Edgar's butler announces from the door.
Albrecht suddenly sits bolt upright. His lips become a thin line and his glare slightly vaguely at the opposite wall.
"Sir, his eminence doesn't like to be kept waiting…"
Albrecht summons the will to stand up and walk in the door. He stands just inside the door, as the butler closes it behind him. He stares straight out the window directly opposite him at the rocky, craggy landscape of Stensia.
"Good evening Albrecht…" his whole body clenches and he swears that there's sweat running down his brow (vampires don't sweat) at a velvety, warm, rich baritone voice. Edgar emerges from an adjoining room in a red and black bathrobe, and holding a clear crystal goblet filled with bright crimson blood. "I hear that there has been a complication." His tone is very… curt.
"Eeehh…"
Edgar raises his hand, Albrecht closes his mouth, "Don't worry, I don't blame you, my child. I am well aware of how… infuriating my grandson can be." Albrecht feels icy fingers crawl down his back. Edgar turns to face the window, staring out in no particular direction. "It's a pity. He could have the my heir, so much more so than his imbecile father." Edgar turns back to face Albrecht. "This is only a hiccup, bump in the road. We have our agents in Thraben. They can deal with him when he enters the city, and the lovely Princess Avacyn will be ours." He crosses his arms and rests the brim of his goblet against his chin. "Innistrad will be ours, Sorin will be rotting in the ground or one of us, and the mortals will know their place." A broad, maniacal grin plays across the vampire's lips at the thought. He sips his blood.
"Long past time, my lord," Albrecht responds tersely.
"Indeed, my child, now go. I believe a new shipment arrived today. Enjoy yourself," he raises his goblet. "You lasted a minute against a Markov, you earned it." Albrecht bows, leaves and breathes a long slow sigh of relief.
Back in the room, Markov re-enters the adjoining bedroom saying, "Now my sweet," he grins with bloodlust and predatory, sexual cravings at the young girl lying tied to his bed and gagged. He brushes her light brow from her face. So sweet and so innocent, and so wonderfully exhilarating to defile, he muses as he simultaneously penetrates her nether regions and sinks his teeth into her neck and begins to thrust with bestial fury. He stops feeding momentarily to whisper in her ear, "Don't worry it'll only hurt for a second
The butler hears the muffled screams of his master's victim and leave him to it, he has other matters to attend to.
Back in Kessig…
Sorin throws open the hard wood door to the wooden cottage. Sorin mutters another incantation and several torches splutter into life. "I apologise for the less than opulent conditions, miladies."
"My carriage was direly uncomfortable, this looks like an improvement," says Avacyn.
"Good to hear it, just one problem, there's only one bed. I'll stay on watch for the night." Remilia's shoulders slump, Avacyn remains unperturbed, the adrenalin is beginning to fade and she'd quite happily fall asleep in a stable.
"Princess, you can have the bed," Remilia says reverently. Sorin raises an eyebrow, They have you well trained.
Avacyn, too tired to argue simply nods, and asks, "What about Remilia?"
"She can have my bedroll for the night," Sorin says. He goes to the fireplace opposite the door, throws some wood on it and lights it with the same spell he used earlier on the torches. "I'll show you to the bedroom, such as it is." He heads through a heavy door with massive iron bracings into a small chamber with a single cot.
"Looks like this place was meant withstand attack," Remilia observes
"Yes it does," Avacyn responds as she stares at the heavy door.
"This is cottage is an Inquisitorial safe house, it has to be able withstand attack from vampires or werewolves," Sorin says
Remilia and Avacyn's faces lose what little colour the night hadn't stolen there and then, "Werewolves?" Avacyn asks weakly.
"They're not a problem this time of year, and the Church has them contained fairly well. Large packs are few and far between. Trust me, vampires are our main concern, and they hardly show up here, unless they have business," Sorin answers in a soothing manner.
Avacyn turns that around in her head, she looks at Remilia, who also appears equally worried. Sorin turns around sees their expressions, "I'll explain everything in the morning." In her exhaustion, Avacyn pushes he worries to the back of her mind and places her trust in this stranger, she know all people can be deceptive, being raised in the royal court of Thraben, but she had little choice, he saved her life and the fact that she could sleep standing up are all it takes to convince her not to argue.
Sorin wanders out of the room and returns shortly after with his bedroll, "I offer my sincerest apologies to milady for not having appropriate accommodation," Sorin offers Remilia with a slight bow after he lays it out on the floor.
She bows in response, "I accept your apologies, sir." He's been raised well, perhaps he's even of noble birth, Avacyn reflects.
"I'll take my leave, miladies, I hope you sleep well." Avacyn offers a gracious smile and he departs, closing the door behind him. She quickly throws her coat and boots off and crawls in-between the sheets, which to her surprise are incredibly soft. Remilia does the same and slides into her bedroll.
Outside in the main room Sorin pulls out a chair and sits down, he throws his wide-brimmed hat on the the kitchen table and slouches. He sighs happy that his grandfather's plan has been forestalled. It'll only end when I sink my blade into his heart, I will relish every, single, one of his dying moments! Sorin ruminates with absolute loathing.
His mouth begins to turn dry…
His breath quickens and his stomach clenches…
He reaches for flask at his waist and takes a long draught from it. He closes his eyes as a crimson liquid flows down his throat. He breathing returns to normal, and his moistens again. Damned thirst, it's only getting worse. How long I wonder?
He sits there staring at the ground. Soon images of his previous life began to float around his skull. They only caused him to bring him to the verge of tears. Another long night.