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LCoT Chapter 40
🕑 Added 2025-08-06 16:35:39 +0000 UTCFirst, they sent the diplomats with their sweet words to offer up any demands they may have, and concessions they may be willing to give, he thought as he looked down at the crowd of nobles in his courtyard.
The courtyard was small and filled with sand at the center. He loved that very much—it matched the tone of the matches to continue. There were balconies on the sides and at the entrance, letting viewers watch the matches. The carriages and horses were left outside the main gate in a closed section attached to the castle.
They were all here for the same thing, and not a single one of them was below his station.
“Have you found him yet?”
“No, my Lord.”
“Then what do I pay you for? You’re supposed to find them—how can we not find him in our own city?”
“Look at all of them,” the Baron said, watching the matches. “They are all here to find the caster—to find the old magic.”
“It could be Vadren the Butcher.”
“And who could have given him access to such a powerful spell?”
“We do not know, my Lord. One of the Night Side, but last I heard from the Wardens of the Black Prison of the West was he had been someone to the temple.”
“If we believe that Vadren did not cast that spell, then giving the other Nova this information will buy us more time to keep searching,” the other knight said.
“That’s good. That’s good indeed. Spread it amongst the nobles. Start with the smaller houses that might have kept his prison. That should be enough information to let them come to their own conclusions,” Aranold said.
His eyes never left the moving figure—a member of House de Colarad.
Like all of House de Colarad, Lady Seraphina was a striking woman with red hair and golden and silver irises. She was not the oldest, but the youngest among her two other siblings.
But she was the smartest of House de Colarad.
Like many among the three ruling families of the Aasimar, she was said to have a direct lineage from the King himself.
“Arlath,” she said.
“Lady Seraphina,” he said in his deep, calm voice.
“You arrived earlier than anyone to this city. How are things with the Great Chief going?”
“The matters of the hoard should not concern you.”
“But they do,” she said, looking at the sword at his waist.
“And what do you know of such matters?”
“There are rumors of the Great Chief wanting to possess the Scarlet Brand.”
“Which warrior wouldn’t?”
“But he also sees you as a threat to his power.”
“He has a strong admiration for the King.”
“Of course. Nothing concerns the King but the Archbishop and the Dragon Lord. To the humans, they see the Goliath as having two Archdukes and the Church. What about the balance of the three?”
“And what do you propose?”
“We will announce Driftspire as the new capital of your people.”
“And you think that will be enough to get him to yield his position?”
“The life draft you’ve gotten over the past three years—surely you don’t need that much. You’re still young and far from the dreams of immortality.”
“Do you wish for a trade?”
“I offer this—I will speak to the representative of Ironfax and House Deimos and get you a wyvern of your own. Surely you get tired of horseback.”
“And what good will that do?”
“It was soft... to show that the House of Deimos supports you in whatever way they can.”
“I have had the chance to take an egg for myself via the merits I earn on the battlefield, and I have not. What makes you think I will just because you said I should?”
Of course, everyone knew this of the many who got merit points from killing the monsters in battle—Arlath always made more contributions when he fought. His power was only rivaled by the Three.
“I thought you wanted the seat of the Archduke of the Goliaths.”
“I have the Scarlet Brand. That’s enough power for me,” he said, not turning to look at her.
“So sentimental. Why is that? A wyvern will give you more time to visit more cities and go beyond the Forgotten Forest to test yourself in battle against the monsters.”
“If the House of Deimos wishes to trade its resources, they will speak to me or one of my aides.”
Watching them, a Goliath fighter threw a punch at an Aasimar, who ducked and weaved back.
“What of Srok? You must have seen something—people talking, hunters willing to speak to the wielder of the red blade.”
“The streets of Srok are the worst of any city, and its people would rather look or walk away than speak to someone like me.”
“Do you not prefer it that way? They are dirty and filthy.”
He watched the man fight and kick.
“You don’t draw your sword. You may become known as a man who doesn’t.”
“I draw my sword for a worthy opponent,” he said, his hand moving to the sword at his waist.
“Tell me, if you faced the caster of this shadow magic, what would you do?”
“Had it been the Red—the bloodline Aether—I may have had to give up Scarlet Brand.”
“What of your King?”
“He does not care. The shadows are for liars and thieves. And as long as the elemental ley line floats over his city, he is not concerned.”
“For liars and thieves? Is that what he said? Is he not afraid of such a costly battle?”
“We have someone to put ahead of the threat.”
“The Butcher,” he thought aloud.
“Have you met him?” she asked. “Come across him, perhaps, in your walks through the city of Srok?”
“Does the King have plans for him?”
“The King thinks he’s the best suited to find—or cast—this old magic.”
“I’m sure the Great Chieftain won’t be pleased by that. You’ve not informed him of what you’re doing?”
“When has that man ever been pleased by anything?”
He grunted. “It’s been nice talking to you. I must go. The Baron’s palace is too small for all his guests.”
----
“Are you done with your meditations?” he asked, as they watched the stable boys bring their horses over from the baron’s stables.
“Yes. The spell was of the delicate nature—too complex for one reading.”
“The Church has made its first matching towards the gate. A band of goblins was seen at the edge of the Ashfields.”
“Let them fight the work monsters first. We will fight the others that come after,” Tulrun said.
“The Charge sends numerous girls every year to fight the monsters. Is that the only way they can acquire blood marks?”
“They do. It’s all they can do—they lack the warriors,” the big goliath said.
Arlath, however, focused on the psychic whisper spell he felt being cast at him.
“Did you find them?” he asked.
“Yes, I did, my Lord.”
“Good. Lead me to them. How have the shadows been? By the way, has she shown her face again?”
“No, my Lord. The Vedran has stayed far away from the Barren Castle.”
“That’s good. Inform me when he gets close.”
“I will try, my Lord,” he said hesitantly.
When the spell stopped, Arlath was greeted with a question.
“Where are we going?” Tulrun asked, making himself comfortable in the saddle of his horse.
“The Barnes Castle is too crowded, and when whichever joke they sent comes, we’ll have to find another place to stay.”
“What did you have in mind?”
“Yeah, in the number quarter. So let’s find one of the numbers to host our company.”
“Do we still not know who cast the old magic?” she asked, trying to seem nonchalant. But he knew the question was pointed and meant to gather all the information he had so far. He knew she was doing this for the House of Deimos. After all, she was a human noble.
“Not yet, but I heard that the Butcher was free. The numbers of Srok think he cast the spell.”
“I wonder what he’s still doing in a place like Srok. Shouldn’t he have run away after making Leav’s escape?”
“He does not need to run. For all we know, he could appear right in front of us. To a man like him, a mere thought, and he will be on the other side of the mountains.”
“So he does not need to run,” he snorted and spat to the side.
That fact also interested Arlath. He wondered why the Umber Lord was not in some mansion in the King’s City.
Could he have found what they were all looking for? No. If he had, then the Aasimar would have already acted.
“Tell our fifty men we are headed south of the noble quarter of Srok.”
As they walked through the streets, some of the common folk stopped and bowed. The hunters, who had come back from camping in the Forgotten Forest, held their hands at their chests—a formal greeting among hunters.
And the street urchins—those few they could see—stayed hidden in the dark, or as much as they thought they could be.
When they reached the southernmost part of the noble district, where the stream carried water from the fourth wall into the city, the people became fewer, only appearing on the doorsteps of smaller merchant homes.
“Why are there no guards in this part of the noble quarter?”
“Seems like the baron doesn’t care about this place any more than he does the rest of the city.”
“That building in the distance—that’s where we are headed.”
“But it’s broken. Couldn’t we choose another man in the area?”
“No. We will be making camp there. Tell the company,” he gestured to Tulrun. “The rest of us will head there first to see what’s going on at this broken manor.”
The Ashes were not empty as they usually were. They were teeming with movement. Tents were being set up across the mounds of ash and earth. Wooden vents were being placed farther into the Ashfield, and around each, groups of twenty to fifty fighting men and women sat and prepared themselves for the battle to come in the weeks ahead.
This temporary encampment was made for different areas in which warriors could face the monsters. They formed lines the monsters would have to break through. They seemed strategically placed to make sure they killed as many of the creatures of the Tides as they could.
The tents and wooden structures were set up in ducted formations across the carved-out area that surrounded the three lower cities of the mountains.
The true line, as everyone knew it, was at the center of the Ashfield—where they would truly face the monsters, preventing them from stepping into the other half of the field, closer to the city of Srok. To cross this line with men meant that many of them would not return from the thick of battle.
“How many Tides have you taken on?” a fresh-faced hunter asked.
“Faced my first one at seventeen. The Lords and the Sun and River have blessed me for it ever since,” a grim-looking hunter replied, hoping to catch the eye of one of the Lords who would come to fight on the front lines.
“It’s a good thing then, that you are still young.”
“You have fought long on this battlefield. Do you know any way of getting the eye of one of the Lords?”
“Save one from being eaten alive by a monster. That will certainly earn their favour.”
The fresh-faced recruit nodded.
“What city are you from then, child?”
“Dessa.”
“So you’re hoping to catch the eye of the Count of Dessa?”
“Not really. Any Lord or Lady will do. The coin will do good for my family.”
