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LoCT Chapter 35
🕑 Added 2025-06-30 21:29:38 +0000 UTCThe courtyard outside the castle was filled with about less than twenty of the Baron’s personal guardsmen, mostly human and Goliaths—no Aasimar. The Aasimar often thought:
“Look at them all… they aren’t as strong as warriors. I could probably take them on with one hand,” Tulrun said.
“Well, if he’s hiding among them, he masks his strength well,” Vega said.
“No spark in their eyes. None of them are him,” Arlath said.
“It could be a woman for all we know,” Dea said.
“Please, unless one of them training down there is pretending to be one, I doubt it,” Vega said.
“Haven’t you heard the tale of Mulhani? The princess who dressed like a man to face the beast and save her house’s honor from ruin?” Dea asked, looking out at the crowd of training soldiers.
“If the Baron had found him first, we’d see different banners flying by now,” he said, looking up at the castle walls.
“So, if he's reached an alliance with whoever this person is, he would have changed his house colors,” Liala said.
“I, for one, would like to test them for myself.” He grabbed his sword and marched over to the courtyard where the Baron’s soldiers were training.
“Truth or lies, if you find him, he will probably knock you on your ass,” Dea yelled at his back.
“If he's not here, where do you think he is?”
“You,” he pointed at the half-Goliath head maid, “get me some wine. Watching them is like watching children play at being swordsmen.”
“That won’t be necessary, Clarisian,” Arlath waved his hand, gesturing for her to stay where she was. “Besides, it would be pointless if he had to leave it all in the mud,” he added, gesturing for Tulrun to follow him down into the training yard.
“Will you finally spar against me?” With the sword Scarlet’s Brand.
“If you draw blood against me, then you will let the Scarlet’s Brand spar with you, boy,” he said, asking one of the guardsmen for his sword.
The guardsman looked pale and stricken. He unholstered his belt and handed it over to him.
There were many reasons why Arlath never simply drew his blade. Sure, he could have, but the Scarlet’s Brand was only one of seven swords treasured by the cities of Taelaris. It was one of the seven sacred blades held by the First Protector of Taelaris, a hallowed blade of the Church and a representation of one of the governing magics of Taelaris. It was an enchanted sword said to make its holder unmatched in combat—an unbeatable warrior.
Rumors he never intended to correct. The last person who had wielded the blade, after all, was the last Great Chieftain, and he knew the truth about the sacred blades.
Could anyone hold it? He looked to the side. I won’t tell you that, he thought.
But in Arlath’s own experience, the blade’s enchantment was the true secret. Sure, he used it—but even he didn’t fully understand it. The one rumor they hadn’t gotten wrong was that the sword gave him power. When he touched it, it gave him so much power that everything felt slow around him. His senses, as well as his movements, became unnatural. His reflexes and speed unmatched, and his eyes could see it all.
And when he let the power course through his body, he felt gentle chains lift him from the earth. He felt it like the strongest wine from the finest orchard running through his blood.
By the time he came back from his musings, he was already in the middle of a spar. He parried the boy’s training sword and hit the boy with a blow to the gut. Then he moved his legs, weaved to the left, and with his wyrm’s strength, cut Tulrun’s blade in half. In but a moment, his blade was at the boy’s neck.
Tulrun—it all happened too fast for the Aasimar scion. And when he finally came to his senses, he spewed up all the food he had eaten that morning and looked at Arlath, wanting to say something.
“Speak, boy,” the Goliath lord ordered.
Tulrun held his bruised hand with his other arm and glared at him. “There was no skill in the way you achieved victory.”
Arlath shook his head sadly. “You cannot win against me when we are both holding swords of the same working… If you spar with the Scarlet’s Brand in my hand, you will die. I can assure you, boy.”
“But—” Tulrun began to say, but Arlath spoke over him.
“Use skill against opponents who are your equals. Otherwise, you give everyone watching a chance to learn the way you fight,” he said—and he saw understanding dawn on the boy.
Because if a man was facing a rabbit in his path, it was only practical to stab the creature. And in that, you need no skill.
“You will stay with the warriors from Driftspire here at the castle until we return,” he ordered.
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The streets of Srok were nothing like those in Driftspire. They were muddy, dirty, and filthy.
During another time of the year, the streets would be filled with orphaned, starved, and dying children.
But for now, with the winter snow calling for the tide beasts, the street urchins huddled together and hid away from their cruel masters, from the high walls, and from the tide beasts.
On another day of the year, the street urchins would be looking at him and his aides with speculative eyes—wandering and willing to risk their lives for coin.
And it was as Arlath and his aides rode by horseback past one of the dark alleys that a figure, in an all-black leather coat similar to that of a Veystrix, watched their backs as they moved through the streets.
The figure in the shadows had already been watching them from the moment they stepped into the castle, to the moment they met the baron, and from that moment to the one where they stepped into the muddy streets of Srok.
Arlath stopped at the street that would lead him to the black stone prison and jumped off his horse—for the figure in black to get close to the Marquis of Driftspire.
Before he even reached within an inch of the Goliath man, Arlath looked his way. But the assassin did not stop his approach. When he reached close enough that he could have ended any other man’s life, he went to one knee and bowed.
“Rise. Tell me what you have found, Finn,” Arlath ordered.
The man rose, and if you had never seen him before, you would have been surprised by his appearance and height, for he was half-blood—human and Goliath—and stood nearly as tall as Arlath.
“A few five days ago, the shadow enchantments failed in the black stone prison.”
“What would you do if you could cast old magic?”
“Verdan—if he’s discovered the truth behind old magic—then he would head to King Trenin for an alliance. But whispers say even the Aasimar have sent someone to look into this matter,” Finn said.
“Good. We still have time,” Arlath said. He got back on his horse. “Keep watching. Follow us. Remain unseen,” he ordered without looking back.
He knew Finn would follow, as he always had. Finn was his Zarynth, a member of the assassin’s guild—someone who watched his back, got the information he needed, and silenced any who would approach Arlath from the shadows.
“Dea, if you were this person and had the ability to cast old magic, what would you do?” Arlath asked.
“If I wasn’t in alliance with the Baron, I’d be finding a way to get myself into one of the great houses. If I couldn’t do that, I’d start a noble house of my own.”
“I bet he’s a Goliath wanting to test himself against the tides—to make himself known to the great houses.”
“Or they could want to start their own noble house. We should go to the temple; they should know the names of all the new houses wishing to make an appearance in the Ashfields,” Liala said.
“Then I suppose we should check it out next,” Arlath said, turning his horse around and leading his aides toward the temple.
On their way to the temple, they passed many hunters walking in the opposite direction, staring—and some, especially the Goliaths, bowed to the group as they passed.
“You know, right about now Tulrun would have his chin held high, seeing all of them bow,” Dea mocked with a scoff, as she watched one particular half-Goliath commoner hold her bow until they passed.
“Yeah, well, it’s probably from ordering the guards and the servants—it’s no different,” Vega said.
“Lord Arlath, why did you leave him behind?” Liala asked.
“He’s too brash. Too young,” Arlath said.
“Aren’t all the Aasimar? Describe one, you’ve described them all,” Vega said, jumping off his horse and looking around. For a Goliath, he was a large man, with a large gut that was barely visible as he stretched—getting rid of the discomfort that came with riding.
“There seem to be the usual hopefuls. I wonder how many of them will get noticed by a house, or how many are planning to start a house?” Dea said.
“If we are to do this, we’ll have to look through the temple records for the previous months.”
“There’ll be no need for that. I sent Finn in. We should be hearing back from him shortly.”
It was only a few moments later that a magical whisper spell reached him. He looked up in the direction of the temple and heard the words sent by Finn.
The next moment, Finn was standing in the shadows, and he nodded toward the crowd. Finn had found that only two groups had chosen to become a house. The Zarynth gestured to a group of young men and women led by a short girl who held a house charter in her hand.
The charter was a scroll—a written word that bound the Church of Sun and River to the house in protection of the last sanctum of Humans, Goliaths, and Aasimar. It was a document that said the soon-to-be house would help defend the cities of Taelaris against the tides.
Looking in the direction of the group:
“Liala, what do you see in the aether of the girl?” he ordered.
“Do you want me to read her group’s aether?” she asked, and Arlath nodded.
The Goliath woman grabbed her grimoire from her belt, looked through it, and a minute later, with a Mage Sight spell ready, Liala cast the spell.
“What do you see?”
“Three… four. Four or five of them have innate magic,” she said.
“Interesting,” he looked at the teenagers and asked the following question: “Can you tell how strong their innate magic is?” Arlath asked, looking at the group as they followed behind the teenagers.
“I cannot. My spell is not nearly as perfect.”
Seeking to understand it for himself, Arlath held his sword—the Scarlet’s Brand—and with it, he sensed. Rather, he saw the bloodline aether of everyone around him. And interestingly—
Apart from his three aides, the only other person who came close to matching the bloodline aether was a thin-looking young man with the eye of an Aasimar and another of a Human. He had the dark skin of House De of the Aasimar—or perhaps he was sired by one of the Humans from the city of—
The short girl who stood next to him was clearly so mixed-blood that her hair had turned white. The half-Goliath boy was mixed as well. And the other boy, who seemed to be the oldest, was also half-blood, by the streaks of white Arlath could clearly see running through his hair. Out of all of them, it was the boy with the different-colored eyes who sensed what Arlath was doing and looked back at the Goliath Lord.
There was something odd about the young man. It may have been the grimoire in his hands, or the pale, frightened look of fear on his face as their group left the temple.
He didn’t know—but he watched as the boy realized something. No—rather, he sensed he was being watched. Something those with bloodline magic always had. It was like a sixth sense. Something primal, like your body knew it was in danger.
The boy turned and looked Arlath straight in the eyes—and the Goliath Lord felt the boundary of his arcane aether give, like cold wind passing by his neck. Arlath frowned. The boy had used Mage Sight on him—and the truly good Mage Sights all used arcane aether. With his arcane aether as high as five, he clearly felt the boy’s arcane magic directed at him.
Maybe it was the concerned look growing on Arlath’s face, but the boy realized something, and startled back when he looked at him.
Then Arlath watched the young man turn, whisper in the shorter girl’s ear—and she looked around and behind her.
And when the short girl’s eyes settled on him, there was no respect. There was no fear he was used to seeing from those who knew what he was. No… there was defiance in the short half-blood girl’s eyes.
It was rare to see someone show hostility— even in the slightest—towards him. But this group was something else.
After realizing they had captured his attention—and that of his aides—they increased their pace. Arlath watched as the smallest girl started calling out orders to two of the boys, who ran with the house emblem and went down another street.
“Two of them just ran off,” Dea said.
“You there—halt! By the name of Lord Arlath!” Vega ordered, yelling at the two street rats.
What should have happened next was simple: the two were supposed to stop, turn, and bow. But they didn’t. Instead—
Arlath, Dea, Liala, and Vega watched as Finn was thrown from one of the dark alleys and into the cobblestone streets. The Zarynth was bleeding, holding his side where he had been stabbed.
Liala was the first to leave her horse, stepping down and opening her grimoire—followed by Arlath and the other aides.
“Show yourself! Is this an attempt on Lord Arlath’s life?” Dea questioned, drawing her sword—an action quickly followed by Vega drawing his mace.
Arlath did not draw the Scarlet’s Brand—or at least, he thought he didn’t have to.
