The Elder Lands

Lucan, his father, and Thomas were in the bailey when Lord Zesh arrived with his entourage. The middle-aged man rode through the gates, leading a procession of mounted men. What caught Lucan’s eyes was what he rode. It was as large as the healthiest stallion, with black scales covering every inch of it, and two curling horns adorning its head. A bulldrake. They were mounts of war, and not many could afford them. His father had one, and perhaps he was to have one someday too. It was a statement of wealth and means to be able to afford a bulldrake for traveling.

Behind Lord Zesh, everyone came in with traveling horses, including Winton Zesh, the Lord’s son and Lucan’s second cousin.

As the Lord stopped a few steps from them, Lucan’s father offered a slight bow, barely a tilt in his posture. Lucan bowed a little lower, and Thomas gave a proper bow for someone of higher station.

“Lord Zesh,” Sir Golan said. “Welcome to my fief.”

Lord Harold Zesh dismounted. “Cousin.” He nodded.

Winton, his son, came from behind him, smirking as usual. “Sir Golan. A pleasure,” he said, keeping his chin up as though his neck was stiff.

Lucan’s father only gave him his attention for a moment to nod then returned it to his father. “Your travels must have been wearisome. Please.” He gestured towards the keep on their man-made hill.

“Yes,” Lord Zesh said. He glanced at Lucan, and gave him a nod but paused before dismissing him. He then eyed his father quizzically. “The boy has already received his Blessing?”

“Yes,” Sir Golan said. “This morning.”

“A little bit early,” Lord Zesh said. “I thought it would be a fortnight away.”

“Good things early are good things best,” Sir Golan said. “He can use that time to acclimate himself to his Blessing.”

“Mhm.” Lord Zesh nodded.

The stableman and some of the bailey’s inhabitants received the mounts as the retinue dismounted and headed towards the keep.

Sir Golan, Lucan, and Thomas led them up the walkway and into the keep. Lord Zesh’s men scattered in the courtyard at his command and were kept company by a pair of men-at-arms.

The three of them reconvened with Lord Zesh and his son in the main study.

Lord Zesh stood ramrod straight, mirrored by Sir Golan as they exchanged some more pleasantries.

“We must talk,” Lord Zesh said, glancing at Lucan and Thomas.

Lucan’s father nodded and looked at him. “Why don’t you host Winton in your study, son?”

Lucan nodded obediently before Lord Zesh interrupted him from removing himself with a question.

“You have your own study?”

“Yes, my lord,” Lucan said.

“Good,” Lord Zesh said, glancing at his eldest son. “The strength of a noble isn’t always dependent on his arms.”

Winton Zesh rolled his eyes. And Lucan saw the disapproving frown from his father that silently retorted the thought. Even if Lucan hadn’t been allowed to miss his weapon training, it didn’t mean that his father had been satisfied with his limited martial accomplishments. They were ‘warriors for the King’ first and foremost, he always said, and warriors needed to be outstanding fighters, not barely proper ones.

“Thank you, my Lord,” Lucan said, lowering his head before he led Winton out of the study. The Lord’s heir was silent during their walk through the hallway.

As soon as they walked into Lucan’s study, Winton walked to the small window that overlooked the bailey. From there, he would be able to barely get an eye on the farmlands on the other side of the canal.

“Don’t let it misguide you,” Winton said. “My father is simply being kind.” He turned around, fingering a book that lay on the table beside him, then he flicked it away as if flicking a flea off his body. “This doesn’t merit much. The library in our castle is twenty times as large.” He eyed the corners and the ceiling of the small chamber.

Lucan’s mouth twitched, holding back a retort.

Winton returned to the window, continuing, “though I doubt you could afford the books even if you had a proper place for them.”

Lucan gritted his teeth, not holding himself back any longer. The main house was richer, yes, but he doubted his second cousin had had much to do in building that wealth. He was barely a year older than him. “And how many of those books did you read?”

The retort seemed to take Winton by surprise, prompting a pause. “Ah,” he said. “I don’t need to. I could just ask the caretaker for any knowledge I want.”

“Spoken like a true fool,” Lucan muttered under his breath.

Winton seemed to have caught a bit of his voice, because he scowled at him. “My father says that you fancy yourselves becoming Lords since the King landed you.” He then chuckled, looking out of the window again. “This backwater doesn’t seem to have the makings of a proper fief, and I doubt it ever will.”

Lucan gave his second cousin’s back a blank stare as he took a calming breath and seated himself. “Are you here for the sole purpose of insulting us?”

Winton turned around, shaking his head. “No, but my father said that you were subordinate to the main family, yet your father does not act as a subordinate should, and neither do you.”

“We are subordinate only to the King,” Lucan said. “Your father isn’t our liege. Perhaps if you picked up a book, you would know what that means.” He knew that wasn’t true. An heir like Winton would be educated on such matters from a young age, but Lucan wouldn’t let an opportunity to hurl an insult back at his second cousin pass him by.

Winton sneered. “I know, but you are still a branch of the family. Only the rootless and the dishonored forget where they came from.

Lucan jumped up from his seat, growling. “Say that again.”

Winton snorted and gave him his back again. Lucan realized that he’d lost his temper, if only briefly. He sat back down and decided to ignore the presence of his second cousin. He reached out for the book he’d bought from the wanderer who had passed by their home almost a year ago, the man his father had called a charlatan. He held the odd book in his hands. Its cover wasn’t brownish leather like most others, but thick, greenish blue. Words were engraved on its cover: ‘The 7-Star Dance by Seif of 7-Maidens’

The book described a method to increase one’s agility in combat, though his father had announced it a sham when he’d first shown it to him. Lucan had made a fool of himself practicing it in the courtyard, prompting laughter out of whoever was his trainer when he did so. He’d draw a seven-pointed star on the ground with a stick, each point of the star had to be as far as his legs could reach from where he stood without taking a step farther. After he was done, he would be in the center of the star, and then he would start hopping between the center and each point of the star and sometimes between the points themselves. The purpose would be to increase his pace in those leaps, to the point that he’d be doing them instinctively fast and without having to look where he was going.

Eventually, Lucan had grown out of needing a drawn star on the ground after more than a year of practice, and he had started doing his training properly without it. It still hadn’t stopped the laughter. He’d even drawn a smile and a shake of the head from his father once when he’d witnessed his ‘training’. But perhaps he’d let him continue because that had been one of the few martially inclined pastimes he’d shown in the past years.

Lucan had begun to disbelieve the notion himself. A skill from an unknown book, sold by an unknown wandering collector? Only the gullible would believe it. Yet he’d spent all his savings on it when the man had offered him the ‘rare’ book. Lucan found himself reluctant to surrender the possibility of it being useful. His father’s men-at-arms would be returning to their duties soon, and Lord Zesh’s men would not know what he was doing, not enough to laugh at least. His father certainly wouldn’t have given him any time to practice what he wanted so soon after his Blessing. He would be set on getting him familiar with his ‘responsibilities’.

Lord Zesh keeping his father busy was an opportunity he was thankful for.

He stood up, relishing the thought of abandoning Winton. Then he turned around and headed out of the study without a word. He hated the thought of leaving his precious books in the presence of his second cousin, but it didn’t truly matter. Winton was a guest, even moving something from its place in the absence of the host was considered a breach of decorum. And so was the host abandoning his guests, but Lucan ignored that fact as he slipped out the door.