The Elder Lands - Chapter 13

Lucan patted his horse as the stablemaster tightened and tested the straps on the saddle. His mount was black with a thick mane that streamed down its neck. Even though they wouldn’t use mounts in the incursion into the forest, his father wanted him to take his warmount for appearance’s sake. Lucan donned a badly-sized, steel breastplate over mail and padded cloth. The breastplate would be his armor until the blacksmith was done with a properly sized full plate, which would take a while. He was expected to keep growing in the coming years, so the plate would have to be resized or possibly even replaced.

They were in the middle of the bailey with Lee, the old man-at-arms, already mounted. Lucan’s father and Thomas were present to see them off.

“Do us proud, son,” his father said. “This is your Rite.”

Lucan nodded, even if he found the whole thing nonsensical. The Rite was a tradition that had survived from the old continent. It had supposedly been a custom among warrior clans and families before the Death of the continent. A son must face his first encounter against enemies–human or beast–without his father or family. Once that was done, he would be considered ‘a man’ of his own right. The stupidity of Rite wasn’t wasted on Lucan, specially considering that the Dead Continent had never had Elder Roots like the ones present in the Elder Lands, which, according to books, meant that one couldn’t get their Blessing without going into combat first. That made the first encounter all the more dangerous.

Nonetheless, Lucan complied with his father. At least he was sending old Lee with him and not throwing him to Sir Wolfe alone. The intensity of the Rite differed from family to family. Some Houses sent their sons with whole complements of troops to protect them during their ‘Rite’. Others made sure that the first encounter was as safe as could be. Of course, some families, like those in the Veti Empire, took the Rite much more seriously. Older accounts of how sons had been thrown into danger to either perish or come out stronger made Lucan shiver.

His father got his attention again as he spoke. “Follow Sir Wolfe’s commands and listen to Lee’s counsel.”

“Yes, father,” Lucan said. He turned to Thomas who was as presently silent as always. “Any advice, uncle Thomas?” The old man had urged him to stop calling him ‘uncle’ as he came of age, but Lucan found it difficult to do so, even if old Thomas would become his subordinate someday.

The steward gave him a kind smile, tinged with something. “I’m certain you will do well, Lucan,” he said, a twinkle in his eyes. “Though some would suggest you avoid reading your Blessing’s announcements during combat.”

Lucan cringed at the reminder. He’d already done something similar twice. The first time was during his spar with his father, which was understandable since the aim of that had been to gain the skill. Yet the time he’d done it against Winton had been more dangerous. If his second cousin hadn’t stopped and Thomas hadn’t been there, it could’ve ended badly. Lucan decided to answer humorously even as his face flushed with embarrassment. “I suppose it could be quite inconvenient when a beast is coming for your throat.” He nodded sagely. “Thank you, uncle Thomas.”

The old man nodded with an amused smile.

Lucan mounted his horse, preparing to leave. He lowered his head as he bade farewell. “Father.” Then he nodded to Thomas.

He rode out of the bailey first, old Lee close behind him. The man-at-arms was graying already, though he wasn’t as far along as Thomas. He’d been a man-at-arms to one of his father’s friends before the latter had died and Lee had gone into his father’s service. He was the oldest of those serving under him aside from Thomas.

They took the road southeast, towards Sir Wolfe’s territory, which was the closest to their own. The road had originally led to the old Kingdom in the east before it had shattered. Now the extended part of it that led there was ill-maintained and often patrolled to prevent interlopers from getting into Barwalis.

It was still dawn, and the trip would only take negligible daylight from them. They rode in silence and soon came by one of his father’s villages but didn’t stop. Lucan saw the villagers working their fields diligently, and he breathed in the fresh air that came from the open. The moats around the motte-and-bailey often produced a stagnant wet smell that Lucan didn’t much like, so he savored the refreshing clean air. Thankfully, he was far enough away from the village to avoid the smell of manure.

Once in Sir Wolfe’s territory, they would join him and his men-at-arms in their cleanup of the outbreak. Though the Elder Roots made any large outbreaks rare in these lands, some smaller ones did happen from time to time, and they had to be wiped out before they could scatter or even dig wider passages for their brethren to come out of the Labyrinth.

Thankfully, the catastrophe the Rebels in the eastern Kingdom had wrought hadn’t struck Barwalis since they had two Elder Roots of their own, one of which was in the Elder Lake not too far from here. The Roots had always been there, supposedly even predating the Wildermen. Their benefits made this land a perfect haven for the Dead Continent’s escapees. The Elder Roots provided early Blessings, whereas back in the Dead Continent one had needed to earn their Blessing in combat. The ones on land also served as safe entrances to the endless Labyrinth when needed, which, with some luck, allowed humans to hunt beasts and mine rare minerals like adamant and mythril. But most important of all, the Roots protected against major outbreaks from the Labyrinth.

That hadn’t prevented the foolish Rebels in the east from tearing down the Elder Roots in desperation once the tides of the war had turned against their forces. It worked. The King had failed to annihilate their Houses. Because the whole Kingdom had collapsed, and most of the Houses had fallen anyway. The number and size of outbreaks had been disastrous and still was, from time to time. Nowadays, warlords, outlaws, and some of the old Houses were fighting over half of the ruined Kingdom, and the other half had formed the Union, which somehow managed to thrive.

The sun had only risen slightly by the time Lucan and Lee arrived at Sir Wolfe’s fortified manor. A rider had hailed them at the edge of the knight’s territory, leading them the rest of the way.

They were received by Sir Wolfe, a wiry man a bit younger than his father with hawkish features and bronze skin. He was armed and armored, surrounded by six men-at-arms.

“Welcome, young Lucan,” he said, then nodded to Lee who lowered his head.

Lucan and Lee dismounted quickly, as it would be disrespectful to greet the knight while they were mounted and he was not. “Sir Wolfe,” Lucan said, lowering his head, keeping a rigid and respectful posture.

“Ah, come off it, boy,” Sir Wolfe said. “I’ve known you since before you could talk.” Lucan relaxed slightly, though not entirely. After all, Sir Wolfe wasn’t the reason he was anxious in the first place. The knight gestured for a man who took their horses, leading the mounts into the manor’s walls. “Are you ready to go? I’d rather we don’t waste any more daylight.”

“Yes,” Lucan said decisively, before he could give himself a chance to think about it.

The knight nodded approvingly, then he gestured for his men to begin moving. “My hunter will lead us to where he spotted the beasts. Once there, we’ll spread out until someone finds them and alerts the rest of us. Don’t bog yourself down in a fight without my say-so.” He looked at Lucan as though waiting for affirmation.

So Lucan gave it to him. “Yes, Sir.”

The manor was on the western side of the canal, with farmlands stretching around it much like the farmlands in his father’s territory. On the other side of the canal was the forest. A bridge facilitated movement between the two banks. Sir Wolfe’s party crossed it in silent anticipation, plunging into the forest without a word.