Stahleker and the lancers swarmed in, howling and hacking with their sabres and calling Ulrika’s name. Otilia cursed and stabbed at them as the griffon spun and lashed out with claws and tail. Her spear struck the man closest to her – Stahleker, who stood directly over Ulrika, protecting her. It was a clumsy strike, made off balance and in panic, and the sergeant should have blocked it easily, but he was reeling on his feet and raised his blade too late. The point tore through the side of his neck and blood gouted from his main artery as he toppled backwards.

‘Stahleker!’ cried Ulrika, struggling to break the griffon’s grip. Her cry was echoed by his men, who surged around Otilia, slashing and thrusting at her with the strength of rage. Blades cut her arms and back and chopped scales from the griffon’s hide. Otilia shrieked in fear and jammed her spurred heels into its flanks, and with a bound and a flare of its wings it sprung into the air and swept away.

Stahleker’s men immediately crowded around him, calling his name. Ulrika pulled herself to her knees and crawled through them, dread pounding at her like a hammer. The sergeant’s face was as white as a vampire’s. She clapped a hand over his haemorrhaging neck, but the hole was too big. He didn’t have long. ‘You fool,’ she said. ‘Why didn’t you stay back? You were weak. I weakened you.’

 He looked up at her with glassy eyes. ‘Didn’t… didn’t even occur to me.’

Ulrika balled her fists. ‘This is what happens. You shouldn’t have let me drink.’

Stahleker snorted, then choked, and Ulrika had to lift his head so he could spit blood. He looked up at her again, and gripped her arm with hard fingers. ‘Ye… y’don’t win an Ostermark man’s loyalty with… with filthy blood magic,’ he slurred. ‘I didn’t do it as yer swain. I did it as yer… sergeant.’

 Ulrika choked and would have wept, could vampires shed tears. ‘Aye, sergeant. Aye.’ With a fumbling hand, he reached up and tore the braid of ginger hair from his head, then held it out to her. His own hair had come with it. ‘Would… would y’give this back to Mags? Tell her… next time, she should find a better man t’give it to.’ His hand sank to the ground as Ulrika reached for the braid, and by the time she pulled it from his fingers, he was gone. Ulrika closed her fist around the light hair and the dark and hung her head.

 ‘I don’t think she could.’ And nor could Ulrika. Horse thief, renegade, mercenary, willing to switch sides at the drop of a hat if it meant more money, willing to ride against the Empire in the ranks of its greatest enemies, and yet in all his dealings with her he had been as true as oak. His loyalty had never wavered, not in the face of threats, insurmountable odds, or death.

Nathan Long. Bloodsworn (Kindle Locations 5603-5609). Black Library. Kindle Edition.