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LCoT Chapter 46
🕑 Added 2025-08-25 20:10:44 +0000 UTCAs the nobles feasted, the hunters and soldiers did the same, at least in their own way.
The night was like any other, besides the many carriages that were stationed around the baron’s small castle. The Ashfield side was filled with encampments of hunters, where the fighting men and women who held the line against the tides of tailed goblins or the Quaggoth ate, cheered, and shared stories of their victories—of when they slew beasts or escaped by the smallest of margins. They spoke of how their fathers’ fathers once stood where they did now, fighting against the tides.
“It was a mighty beast it was, but with my grandfather’s help, the Lord of Fordgehold put it down.”
“Please, you’ve told that story a dozen times. First time I heard it, the lord was saving your grandfather, and now they’re fighting like brothers to kill the beast.”
“Yes, he got up when it was distracted and cut its leg off.”
“Please,” he turned to the five around the campfire, “how about I tell you of what we found in the forest—”
The rumors were that there were monster nests deep in the forest, and once every year, after they grew in large numbers, the monsters would attack. The few magicians and scholars brave enough to venture deep often found dark holes that went so deep torches and lights could not reach them, even once dropped into those bottomless pits.
“And you have come close to one of these bottomless pits?”
“No, I’m not a fool. I have a mother and a brother-boy to look after.”
The old man turned to the youngest of their group of five.
“What of you?” he nodded toward the young man in his late teenage years—too young to be making camp this deep in the Ashfields during the tides.
“My father said make something of yourself, and he wouldn’t teach me how to work leather, so here I am.”
“Now why would he do that?” the bearded man asked as he sipped from a waterskin, but the boy’s head suddenly turned to the side.
“What is it?” the female hunter asked, squinting at the forest as the boy was doing.
“Do you hear something?”
“Yes. There it is again.”
All five mercenary adventurers rose to their feet and readied themselves, weapons in hand.
“How many?”
“A lot.”
It all happened so fast—the chattering shouts, and the tailed rat goblins jumped onto the group.
—
The bells in the city rang. The bells in the castle rang. Marcus felt a hand grabbing him below the elbow. He turned and faced Clara.
“We need to get out of here,” she pulled.
Marcus let her drag him to the edge of the castle. There Ivor was standing with Geneve, and Gabe was missing, gone somewhere.
“Where is Gabe?” Marcus asked, as the many nobles and their guards rushed out of the castle, mounted horses, raised banners, and marched in a frenzied rush toward the city gates.
A carriage stopped in front of them, blocking the path, and they all froze—only to have Gabe gesture for them to get on.
“Hurry up, we need to head back to the manor. It’s too much chaos around here. With Marcus having that grimoire, we better head back fast,” Ivor said, pushing his way inside the carriage that seemed small for someone his size.
“Where did you get the carriage?”
“I paid one of the stable hands a silver. He let me take it.”
“You are a smart man,” Marcus nodded.
As they rode, many hunters and noble houses who had taken up leaving in the city—unlike the common folk who could not afford to kick their fellow men—mustered their forces, banners raised, soldiers of their houses led by knights on horses.
Each company that left for the gate was made up of no more than a hundred men—the finest the lord could afford—and another decree to keep the houses and their power in check. Of these men who rode past the carriage, some companies were made up entirely of knights, others conscripts, others still a mix of both, and others even had bands of mercenaries and hunters to bring their houses glory.
“Men, it’s time. Let’s do it for the last cities!”
“Men, the baron has filled our stomachs—it’s time for us to repay his kindness!”
“I would have asked for coin,” one of the soldiers said.
“I would have too,” the lady replied.
“This is what makes us men. We ride to battle against those demons!”
And so the lords and ladies rallied their fighting companies.
At the broken manor, Arlath and his company of fifty duskguard, sentinels, and knights were gone. The campfires in the manor compound and around the surrounding buildings were left unattended. That would have been all well and good because of what was going on outside—except for the absence of the rest of their house. The only two present were Yu and Ismay, who stood behind Clarisian, the stern head maid who followed Arlath around.
“Where is everyone?” Clara looked around.
“I thought you knew. The bells rang and the respectable lords are out to save the people of the city,” she said this as she looked down at her, nose upturned, her glowing eyes fixed on the short girl.
Clara looked around, then glared up at her.
“Where are my people?” she asked, stepping by her and making her way into the manor.
“They are gone,” Clarisian said.
“Gone where?” she turned, narrowing her eyes at the older half-Goliath woman with her judging gaze.
She shrugged. “They are fools to follow you. Half-bloods like us can’t save the last races of the last cities.”
Clara clenched her jaw and balled her fists. Then she turned and started yelling as she ran upstairs into the manor, the others not far behind.
“You think they could just leave us?” Geneve’s lip quivered as they stepped into the meeting room on the second floor of the manor.
“No, not Zek and the others. Orlan maybe—and I still don’t know what Gael is thinking.”
“Why now of all times?” Gabe asked, taking a seat and shaking his head.
“Yu. Ismay. Tell us what happened,” Clara turned to face the girls, seating herself in her large chair.
Marcus raised his head. Before they could talk, he turned to the right, into the shadows. He used his arcane sight and could see very clearly a figure hiding in the dim room. Whoever this was, their concealment magic had a touch of psychic aether to it.
“Levin. What do you want?”
“Old man, he seems to have gotten better,” Levin said, stepping out of the shadows and walking over, punching Marcus in the shoulder.
“Last time I saw you sneaking up on me, you wanted to fight me,” he said, stepping back from the taller boy.
“Come on, we are friends now.” He pulled an arm over Marcus’s shoulder and turned to Clara. “By the way, your friends are at the guild.”
“Are they fine? What are they doing at the guild? Victor—” she snapped in his direction.
“And Victor, does he know of this place?”
“Oh yes, he does.”
“And?” Marcus sat, pushing the serpent grimoire over.
“And he wants no one in the guild getting involved with you.”
“Does he want something?” Marcus asked.
“No.” Levin shrugged. “He actually let Jethro heal your boys. They showed up all beaten up.”
“What happened?” Clara asked, turning to face Levin with narrowed eyes.
“Who beat them?” Marcus asked.
“They said the lord’s guards.” He walked around, sat on the bench, and started playing with his dagger. “By the way, I don’t know what lord you’re hosting, but they’re rich.”
Ivor paused mid-sip from his bottle and looked at Levin.
“I hope you didn’t take anything. Aretha is one of the strongest lords in the mountains.”
“Now what’s a man like that want with a group like yours?” He looked between Clara, Gabe, Ivor, Geneve, and Marcus. And out of all of them, only Geneve did not look away—clearly, there was a secret they all kept.
---
What happened, Linus?” Marcus asked when the group stepped out of Jethro’s wagon that morning and into the small back compound of the manor.
“When you left, the guards beat us up. Said we weren’t allowed to be here.”
“I tried to tell them that this is our home, but they beat us,” Nel said, stretching his arm and feeling out long-forgotten pain.
He looked at Orlan and Gael. “And what did you do?”
Orlan scratched his head, but Gael responded, leaning against the carriage.
“We ran when those two started fighting with the guards.”
“You ran?!” He looked at them, his mouth half open in bewilderment.
“Yes, we ran,” Gael matched him, standing straight and challenging.
Orlan raised his hands. “Let’s all calm down. Listen, we all like what you’re trying to do, but they’re a company of knights. You didn’t expect us to fight them?”
Marcus huffed. “You have no idea, do you?” He used his arcane sight. “You, you, you, and you.” He pointed at four from the two groups, including the two leaders.
He had picked out all those with some sort of innate magic. “You guys have more magic than them.”
—
The Driftspire company was seated, cheering and laughing as they cleaned up and boasted after the bloody night they had just had fighting the goblins and the few quaggoth that had attacked from the forest.
It was all fun and games until one of the half-bloods walked up to their fire and asked the boy beside him a question.
Marcus turned to Linus. “Who was it?”
Linus turned to the seated men, slowly raised his finger, and pointed out three of the knights.
“This is payback.” Marcus raised his hand to one of the knights who had stood and was starting to walk his way, and the man flew backwards as if he had been hit by a runaway carriage.
Linus and Nel did not waste time. They bull-rushed the other company guards wearing gambesons and knocked them to the ground. It was very hard for the goliath guards to stay on their feet with their legs caught.
Orlan took the chance to blow black hex magic from his mouth that covered the other guards, causing them to stumble.
A whip of water and ice swung out at one of the other men, and the entire front compound was thrown into a brawl. Even Levin was there, appearing behind a man and hitting him with a log of firewood.
Whenever Marcus saw someone being overmatched, he moved in their direction and helped them out. He did so mostly for Linus and Nel, fighting close to the wild pair.
When any of the knights started using magic, he flicked his hand and a force of arcane energy knocked them back.
When they were done, Marcus was the first to speak up. “Stop!” He turned to some of the bloody guards. “Next time, do not touch anyone of House Morkan.”
“You did what?” Clara turned to him, and for the first time Marcus could see that she was clearly angry with him.
Even Ivor had his mouth agape and was cleaning the ale off his shirt.
“It had to be done. Trust me, they will think twice before they lay their hands on any half-blood again.”
“That’s not the problem, Marcus.”
“She’s right. They’re going to report this to Arlath.”
“No, it’s even worse. All those allowed in Arlath’s company resting in the camp are sons of some important people,” she said, biting her thumbnail, her eyes darting about for solutions.
Marcus raised his hand. “Don’t worry. I will talk to Arlath. In fact, tell him I led the others and helped them beat up his men.”
Ivor spat again, his eyes wide. “Are you mad, boy? He is Arlath—he could kill you.”
“He won’t.”
“How do you know?” they both asked at the same time.
“You said he was a man of honor. I’m testing a theory.” Marcus turned to the both of them and leaned against the wall. “If he says what his men did was right, then clearly fighting those weaker than you is honorable.”
“I don’t know where you suddenly got the courage, but be careful around nobles of the High Wall,” Ivor said, shaking his head from side to side.
Marcus copied five spells into his new grimoire: Healing Breath, Arcane Push, Lesser Strength, Minor Bloodrush, and Arcane Jump.
And not long after he was done and moving over to practice his enchanting as Penrin had told him, a call came for him. Geneva looked nervous.
“It’s Clara. She is calling you to the goliath lord’s tent downstairs.” She paused, leaned in, and whispered, “Word is you and the boys beat up some Driftspire guards.” She tried to speak but stammered and resolved to keep quiet.
“It’s going to be fine, don’t worry.”
“Are you sure? You know Ethne won’t be happy if her teacher got injured.” Geneva looked him in the eye.
Marcus looked around. “Tell her not to worry,” he whispered.
When Marcus walked into the tent inside the manor, Arlath was seated on a simple throne. Clara and Ivor were to one side, only looking up at his approach. On the other side of the tent stood two of the guards who had taken part in the brawl, their injuries somewhat taken care of.
“That’s him. He was the one leading them,” the man pointed at Marcus.
Marcus did not mind the man pointing at him. In fact, from where Arlath sat, he thought the boy did not care.
“Good, you’re here.” Arlath gestured with his hand, calling him close. “Do you know why you’re here?”
“I can guess why.”
“You attacked the men of my company.”
“I did,” Marcus nodded, and Arlath leaned his head back, eyes going slightly wide at the audacity. “But did they tell you why I did it?”
“Why don’t you tell me?”
Marcus shrugged and placed his hands behind his back. “Well, they attacked my people first, and to me there is no honor in attacking the weak, like your men did.” He continued, looking up into the nothingness. “I once read that to understand people, one must understand how they treat their weakest members. And I protect my people.”
That had the room fall quiet. Arlath’s eyes shifted to the goliath, but even he was lost, his face showing folds of confusion.
It stayed that way until the goliath lord spoke again.
“Honor, you…” Arlath tossed a scroll at Marcus’s feet. “Pick it up,” he sneered.
“What is it?” Marcus looked down, head cocked to the side.
“Pick it up and read it. Can you not read?” The goliath lord leaned forward.
“What do you expect from a street rat?” one of the offended guards pointed at Marcus.
Clara began to move to pick it up, but Marcus lifted his hand, stopping her. He reached down and picked it up, his eyes never leaving the goliath lord’s. He opened the scroll and read it.
“Is this a request for a duel?” Marcus asked.
“Yes. You offended one of the nobles of Driftspire,” Arlath said, relaxing in his chair and massaging his forehead.
“And he wants us to dissolve our house?” Marcus looked up from the scroll to Arlath, then to the grinning man.
“What?!” Clara turned and walked to stand beside Marcus, grabbing the letter from his hand and reading it. “If they win the duel, they want us to hand over our house seal.” She looked up at the goliath lord. “Can they do that?”
“I noticed there are no terms stating what happens if we win.” Marcus turned, looking at the furious goliath guard he had beaten.
“You dare? You’re nothing. My family has spells the likes of which you have never seen, boy!”
Marcus’s eyebrow twitched at the word. “If I win this duel, all assets of the noble of Driftspire are to be turned over to us. Fair deal, if I say so myself.”
“That’s outrageous!” the goliath noble pretending to be a guard said.
“No, it’s what you’re asking of us that’s outrageous,” Clara turned on the man. “We all know that once we are no longer a house, you will send someone else to kill us.”
The goliath’s face turned red and he turned to his lord. “They cannot speak to me that way!”
“I don’t know how they did it, but the church gave them the seal, and she is by all laws that govern the mountain of higher station.”
“If he thinks that unfair, then he can go and shove that duel up his arse.”
“You both speak so confidently, as though you think you can win.”
“Marcus can win.” Clara stepped forward.
Arlath’s jaw clenched. “Winning two duels like you did yesterday does not suddenly make you a master.”
“I know I won’t lose,” Marcus said, avoiding the other goliath’s gaze, his eyes fixed on Arlath. “Not against him.”
“You feel so confident, boy, then why don’t I challenge you?” Arlath narrowed his eyes, leaned forward, and grabbed his sword.
Marcus met his gaze with a cold, calculating look and said nothing. He activated his arcane sight.
Arlath knew the boy had mage-sight for an innate magic, and he prepared for it. He focused on his arcane affinity, and to his dismay, it did nothing. The mage-sight spell the boy was using on him simply pushed aside his arcane like a belligerent whelp blocking its path. It meant the boy had a higher affinity—seven or higher—in his arcane.
If you had seen it once or twice, you clearly could not be fooled a third time. Ivor watched the shadow begin to shift, and his eyes went wide. He could not let the boy use that kind of power in front of one of the most powerful lords.
Clara saw it as well. The shadow around the throne seemed to pull toward her. She turned to Marcus and was about to speak when Ivor jumped in front of them.
Ivor jumped in front of Arlath. “Forgive the young ones. Their friends were hurt. I’m sure you can understand, oh great lord.”
----
Arlath looked up and laughed heartily.
“My lord, this is not funny,” the goliath guard tried to say, but Arlath did not stop until he was done.
“On your feet,” he gestured to Ivor. “If my students were as talented as yours, I could see why you would be willing to take a knee on his behalf.”
“My lord,” the goliath guard stepped forward again, “they must be punished.”
“No, they won’t. I said this to the nobles at the feast already—there will be no noble of Driftspire warring with another house.”
Over the next days, Penrin came back to the broken. At first, the old enchanter had been surprised to find the tent that covered part of the lower section of the manor. He walked at a brisk pace, hoping the boy was still there because he wanted to ask him about the designs of the weapons he had requested. Furthermore, he wanted to ask Marcus about the odd designs of the blades.
The smith he had asked to curve the blade had been so impressed with the amount of detail that he had come along with him to meet the boy.
“So where is he?” the muscled, shorter man growled as he looked at the green-and-gold tent. “Is he with Arlath?”
“No. Last time I was here, these tents were not here,” he said, holding the cloth tight as he moved towards the manor.
The old enchanter made his way to the top of the small manor, and the smith was not far behind him.
They found Marcus and Clara seated in the study filled with rune markings. At this point, the room was more of a craftsman’s shop.
“Penrin! You’re back,” Clara said, putting down the serpent grimoire.
“There you are. When I saw the tents, I thought you were gone. How do you still have a place with one of the strongest lords around?”
Marcus looked up from the grimoire to the speaker—a large goliath with folded arms in front of him.
“Who are you?” he asked.
Penrin waved his hand. “Don’t mind him.” He walked over to the table and placed a cloth wrapping from his bag onto it. “We finished the work on the claws, and this is the smith who worked on them.”
Marcus rose to his feet and walked over to the table. He looked down at items made of bone, pearl white in color. He picked up one of the worn-edged blades and examined it. It resembled a wakizashi from his world.
As he admired it, the smith spoke up. “I followed your instructions to the letter. I did the same for the wands, but the blade—I have never seen anything like it. As an artisan, it’s right to ask for permission to recreate blades of its like.”
“Well, you can’t.” Marcus placed the sword back down. “This is a blade of House. That means it is to be kept as a house secret, not recreated without paying a price to House Morkan.” In most cases, houses did this sort of thing with spells and enchantments they produced.
Clara looked at the blade, and it clicked.
“He’s right. This is a house secret. Any recreation of this blade will be subject to the church’s laws of punishment,” she said, her back straight.
When Ivor saw the blade that afternoon, he frowned. “It’s too short for a sword and too long for a dagger. Where did you learn of it?”
“It’s a blade with far more history than I can speak of.”
Ivor frowned. That was a lie—he could tell. The problem was he always had to be paying attention, listening for the boy’s beating heart. He looked at Penrin, but the old man was busy with something else. And Clara had left the room to discuss with the goliath smith.
“And where did you learn to put it together?” He watched as Marcus took one end of the blade and fit it with a hand guard.
“From masters of an old world,” Marcus said, his hands moving for the metal collar. He slid it at the base of the blade, then slid the handle on. Looking for the hole in the handle, he ran the peg through it, holding the blade and handle tight together.
