LCoT chapter 44

Marcus watched as the hall was cleared. The tables in the center were pushed to the side, and before he knew it there was enough space for a spar to take place.

“What were you thinking? You already have a grimoire; we do not need this one.”

“More grimoires mean more power for us.”

“It doesn’t matter. If Arlath wants us under his boot, do you know what a hundred marks are worth?”

“Didn’t Ivor tell you? Arlath is testing me, and I am not going to give up this chance. Imagine what we can do with another grimoire.”

“It’s all a trap. We don’t have that kind of power yet.”

Marcus pulled her to the side. “What are you scared of?”

“I’m scared for you. I think he’s planning on getting you killed. Think about it.” She looked at where the Goliath lord was seated. “If you kill the noble, the humans will come after us, and if he kills you that Goliath won’t care,” she said in a lower voice.

“I won’t kill him then,” Marcus said.

“The grimoire isn’t worth fighting with an already established noble house. If you take his arm or leg, they will come after us, so you can’t even maim him.”

“Don’t worry. I will kill him or cut off his leg.”

“Are the fighters ready?” An Aasimar walked to the space of the arena and called out.

“What terms does your house wish to set?” she asked, nose turned up as she looked at them.

“First blood,” Clara said, glaring at the woman and clenching her fists.

The lady huffed and walked back to the other side of the arena, where she asked the human fighter the same thing. By the look on his face, Clara thought she didn’t like what it meant.

The Aasimar overseeing the fight gestured to the guards to bring out the weapons, then to the two fighters to approach.

“Choose your weapons. What will it be, halfblood?”

Marcus turned to the woman overseeing the duel. “I will use a dagger.”

“A dagger?” the man yelled, loud enough for everyone in the hall to hear.

The nobles laughed as though he had made a particularly funny joke.

“A dagger?” one of the nobles mocked with a scoff.

“He’s a halfblood, what else did you expect?”

“The Church made a mistake.”

The woman turned to the human noble. “And you? Choose your weapon.”

“You choose a thief’s weapon,” the noble said, walking over to the rack and picking a sword. “Don’t worry, I won’t take your head. But for thieves, we take their hands.” He smirked, twirling the blade with practiced ease.

“You will have five minutes to spare to look in your grimoire. Any spells you choose must be of Warcraft.” As she said this, she looked at Marcus pointedly.

Marcus smirked. “Don’t worry yourself, I know what Warcraft magic is.” He watched her furrow her brows and walk away.

Warcraft magic was the sort of magic fighters used in short bursts. These spells did not need extensive study, were not complex, and were easy to remember, so knights, Duskguard, and Aasimar Sentinels could use a wide variety of them.

Unlike his opponent, Marcus had the Arcane Sight spell. He had not used it on any of the nobles in the crowd. After seeing how those with the arcane affinity reacted when he used it, he wasn’t willing to ruffle the feathers of powerful people he didn’t know.

He looked at the man, and even from his grimoire and the colors floating off it, he could tell the man had Light magic spells, a few bloodline magics, elemental, arcane, and dark.

As he had been told, looking into a warrior’s grimoire was akin to looking at a man’s weakness.

And now he had figured out something else: if he looked at their open grimoires, he could tell if they had the arcane affinity from the spells they kept. With that information, he could decide whether to use his Arcane Sight on the person or not.

Marcus turned his eyes onto the man and used his innate magic. Unsurprisingly, the man, having the arcane affinity, froze as he felt his arcane aether tremble around him. The man turned his head to the side, then left, then right, looking for whoever was using mage sight on him. He frowned.

Affinity     Strength/Weight

Light        4

Dark        2

Elemental      2

Arcane       2

Psychic       0

Shadow       0

Bloodline      2

When the man finally noticed him, all Marcus could do was give him a mocking, wolfish grin.

His opponent’s face turned red as he turned back down, flipping through his grimoire. Marcus thought he knew why. After all, he had given the man information about his arcane affinity. He was sure the man was preparing against spells that used arcane affinity. Sadly for the man, all the spells Marcus had in the serpent grimoire were not of arcane nature but of bloodline magic.

Thornan had loved his bloodline.

Marcus looked through the torn and sewn-together grimoire. Compared to his opponent’s, he had sixteen spells, and he chose those he thought would be best against him: False Image, Lesser Strength, and Minor Blood Rush.

When he stepped up to face the man, his opponent no longer looked so certain. He had the look of offense. In fact, the moment Marcus stepped into the area, the man was already showing signs of unease.

And the crowd… well, the crowd had gone wild, murmuring, speculating about how well he would do.

Saraphine stood from her throne and raised her hand, quieting the room.

She looked over at Marcus, and he could see the disgust the noblewoman tried to hide beneath her noble composure.

“The halfblood asks for a duel to first blood. What of you?” She turned to the human man. “I see you have had a change of heart.”

“Yes. I wish to duel to the death.”

Marcus didn’t like that. He looked back at Clara; she too looked stunned.

Before they could object, Saraphine spoke again. “I think it’s fair. The price will be worth the cost.”

More murmurs among the crowd, but none of them stepped up. Not even the Goliath lord Arlath opposed the other great noble.

Marcus couldn’t kill the man, because if he did the band would have to go to the man’s noble family. And if he lost, he doubted he had the power and resources to do the same. It was turning out Clara had been right about Arlath: the man did not care or simply wanted to see how far he could push Marcus.

“Ready yourselves,” Saraphine said, and Marcus took his stance. The warrior opposite him narrowed his eyes, slowly realizing the fight might not be so easy after all.

Marcus stepped forward, and before he knew it, Saraphine ordered the man to attack.

“Fight,” she said.

And before she sat back down on her throne—

—it was over.

----

When Marcus had wanted the grimoire, Ivor felt he had not been fast enough to talk him out of it. With so many nobles around, he was sure he would offend them if he did not back out. And yet, when the price of a hundred marks came up, the sweat on his brow began to subside, knowing full well that Clara, Marcus, and Gabe could not pay.

Arlath had accepted the cost and taken on the price of a hundred blood marks, just to see what the boy could do.

“It’s you who taught the boy, is it not? Tell me, how will he do?”

“If I am to be honest, I never trained him for this.”

“What of an offer for me to train him? In return, the boy will become one of my aides.”

“I’m afraid he would refuse. I have tried to separate him from his friends, but he refused my offer to teach him.”

“Does he know why I am doing this?” Arlath gestured toward the arena.

“He may suspect you are testing him.”

“You may not know it, but the boy has a lot of bloodline aether in his soul. Has he told you this?”

“Yes. He holds a prime affinity, capable of an innate magic. The boy told me this himself.”

“If you picked one of the many Aasimar and humans, can you tell me how many of them would have an affinity of bloodline magic stronger than his?” Arlath nodded toward the room.

“Five or less, my lord,” Ivor answered.

“None. None at all,” Arlath corrected. “Bloodline magic among the humans and Aasimar is rare… very rare.” He turned to watch the match.

Ivor nodded. “I understand, my lord,” and turned his gaze back to the arena.

When the human lord asked for a duel to the death, Ivor’s face paled. He was about to go down and fight on behalf of the boy, but the strong hand that seized his arm held him where he stood.

Ivor turned. “You can’t let him do this,” he said to Arlath. “They will kill him. And even worse, if he kills the noble, they will be aware, and they will execute all those children.”

“Relax. No one will die. I won’t let it happen. And even if he kills the human noble,” Arlath’s eyes narrowed, “it will give me the chance to bring him under my protection.”

When Seraphine told them to fight, Arlath was not expecting what happened next. In fact, no one was.

But Arlath—who already held his blade, ready to intervene should he see a killing blow being aimed—saw everything in eerie detail and felt the bloodline spells being used.

“You taught the boy warcrafts. What is he doing casting spells like a mage?” he asked.