Caracara's Hunt 111 Runaway Beas

A mix of emotions warred in Arawn's mind. He wanted to trust the young lady, but her father was becoming less and less likable by the minute. He seemed to be on a quest to become the person Arawn hated the most, though he was bound to fail in it.

Yet what wrong had Lorick done that they should let him die? If Sylvester could heal him, it was only right that he should do it.

While Arawn pondered over it, Mutallu jumped down from the top of the carriage. He landed on light feet and put his hand on the handle of the door. "Don't let go of the ether."

With those words, he went inside and closed the door behind himself. For a moment, there was no sound, then Sylvester sputtered to life. He dashed out of the carriage still half-asleep and with bloodshot eyes.

When he blinked awake, he stopped in his tracks and took in the situation. His lips twisted in a mockery of a smile, and he walked back to lean against the side of the carriage while brus.h.i.+ng his hair back.

With a yawn, which he covered with his hand, he turned to Arawn, who was still holding half the ether in the courtyard. "Are you planning to kill them all?" he asked in a nonchalant tone, like the fate of everyone in the castle didn't concern him.

"I don—"

Before Arawn could finish speaking, the lord regained his composure and pulled back his daughter behind himself. He then waved for Sylvester. "Come here. You don't belong with those madmen."

Sylvester pushed off the carriage, and the lord's eyes lit up with smugness of victory, but the doctor stopped by Arawn's side. He bent a little and pointed at the lord. "See him? That's what I meant when I told you doctors are no better than fas.h.i.+on statements. He's a good man, and smart, usually, but I'm nothing but a possession in his eyes, a beautiful vase to be moved around as he wishes."

"You thankless mongrel! I gave you a home, I brought you up, and that's how you repay me? I even allowed you to return after you made a mockery of me in the court, you ungrateful wretch! How dare you say that I don't treat you well!"

"I never said that," Sylvester said with a shrug. While the lord shouted and spluttered, he looked as calm as the eye of the storm. His face didn't betray a single emotion. "You treated me well, that's true, but that doesn't change the fact that I wasn't allowed to have my own thoughts or ideas. Why else do you think I left that cage you called my clinic? I spent more time entertaining n.o.bles than practicing my art."

The lord breathed hard, his nostrils flaring. Based on his expression, Sylvester's words were coming in through one ear and leaving through the other. "It was for your own d.a.m.n good, you wretch! How else did you plan to stay relevant? You needed connections, people that would—"

"Enough!" Lady Irene screamed and escaped from behind her father, who had loosened his hold on her while cursing the doctor.

She dashed to Sylvester's side, paying no heed to Arawn who was getting a little sick of holding onto the ether when everyone kept ignoring him, and grabbed the doctor's hand with her own.

"Please," she begged. "Help my brother. I know you hate my father, but help Lorick! He hasn't done anything to deserve this. Please, I beg you. No one else can save him anymore."

Tears ran down her cheeks, and she aimed the full power of her red-rimmed eyes at the doctor. He grimaced and tried to pull away, but the woman didn't let go. She held onto him like her own life depended on it.

"Doctor Otshoa, please. I'll give you anything, do anything, just save my brother. Please!" When he still didn't say anything, she dropped to her knees again and bowed to the ground. "Please, if you ever felt anything for our family, help my brother. Don't let him die, I beg you."

She raised her head at that moment and looked up. "Sylvester, please."

Her last phrase, uttered in a soft whisper, broke through Sylvester's cold facade. He pulled the girl up and took out a handkerchief to clear her eyes of tears. "Ladies shouldn't kneel on rough ground like that," he said in a gentle voice.

"Does that mean you'll help my brother?" she asked, not showing any care for her image or dirty clothes. Her eyes only shone with hope that she might be able to protect her half-brother.

"Irene! Come back here!" the lord hollered, ready to drag her back again, but Arawn had had enough of his manhandling.

Without warning, he sent two ether blades right where the lord was about to step. The man paled and almost fell back from the speed at which he backed away. "What are you doing?" he shouted.

"They're talking, if you can't see," Arawn said in a calm voice.

The crowd of soldiers and servants had been subdued by Lady Irene when she mentioned the amount of deaths it would require to stop him, so he had the initiative. If he stepped forward, no one would rush at him with an unsheathed blade.

He used that and did walk forward. It was the first time he was using his power to openly intimidate so many people, and it was a strange feeling. There was a sense of pride, of glee to be so much better than all of them, but at the same time, he felt guilty. He was using his monstrous power to do wrong again.

But was it really wrong? All he wanted was to protect himself and Sylvester. This was prevention. If he didn't show his power, everyone would rush him, which would result in their deaths.

It reminded him of the time he and Corwal had met the bandits. Back then, he hadn't known what he had been doing, but now it was obvious. With a show of power, he was saving people from untimely deaths.

When he was only a few steps away from the lord, who was also calling out to a large amount of ether, he stopped. "I don't want to fight you," Arawn said slowly. "But I will if you give me no choice. Those soldiers slaughtered the refugees who had only wanted to find shelter and food, and so I showed them what happens to people that take blood as the only price.

"Your man just now came for my life, and I don't take such things lightly. You can attack me for that, and I will fight back, which will result in the deaths of everyone here. You've seen how much ether I can gather, but did you really think that's all I can do? Anyone with at least half a brain would keep some of his talents hidden from strangers, don't you think?"

The lord's eyes widened a fraction at his statement, and a nervous s.h.i.+ver ran down through the surrounding soldiers. They hadn't wanted to face him based on what they knew, and he was hiding even more? If that was true, what chance would they have against him? He might level the whole castle to the ground!

It was all a lie, of course, but Arawn kept a straight face. He had never learned anything more complicated than ether blades, but they did not know that. And the lie was only for their own good. He had no wish to level the castle as they probably feared.

"What is it you want from me?" the lord asked in a forcefully calm voice.

Arawn's proclamation had taken up all of his attention, and he didn't even glance where Sylvester and his daughter had been. The two had disappeared behind the carriage and with Mutallu's help moved Lorick to the closest room with a bed midway through Arawn's speech.

Glad for being of real help for once, Arawn returned his attention to the conversation at hand. "Nothing. Sylvester is a friend of mine. I don't care where he goes or what he does, but if someone threatens him, I'm not going to stand idle and watch it happen. Nor if I see someone slaughtering innocents."

"Bretian sc.u.m," one of the older soldiers whispered under his breath, but Arawn heard it and advanced on the man.

All those who had heard it as well backed away like they had sensed a fire. In a moment, the greying soldier stood alone in the crowd. He cursed at his faithless companions, but did not back away.

"Have something to say, boy?" he hissed in a show of bravery which was undone by the large beads of sweat that collected on his forehead.

"I don't care if someone is Bretian, Mayrian, or Illuyankan. If someone is abusing their power to kill those who can't defend themselves, I will slaughter them upon sight." Arawn remembered how Corwal's smiles had unsettled him in the Archmage's dungeon, and on a whim, imitated one. "So as long as you don't go around killing people, you've got nothing to fear from me."

The greying man gulped and fell back on his behind. Not even daring to waste time to stand up, he backed away on hands and knees. "Demon… You're a demon..." he murmured in a shaky voice while rus.h.i.+ng away.

Arawn frowned and straightened up. He didn't need to look at himself to know that he was still him. It was probably his thinness and the uncommon ash-colored hair that had frightened the man when matched with his power and the way he had been acting.

The lord laughed suddenly, but it wasn't a good sound. It sounded like he was mocking himself and the world. "He called the court a cage, but what does he have now? Aren't you just his new jailor?"

It took Arawn a moment to understand what he meant. A wry smile touched his lips. It had actually been Mutallu who had threatened Sylvester into letting them join, but that was a piece of information the lord was better off not knowing.

"He can leave whenever he wishes," Arawn said instead. "I won't stop him, let alone chase after him if he does that. So feel free to throw all your promises and guarantees at him to make him change his mind."

He paused for a moment, then looked at the carriage. "But I would suggest you don't waste your energy on it."

"And why's that?" the lord demanded.

Having waited for exactly that question, Arawn turned to him with a friendly smile. "Who would want to return to someone who treats them as a runaway beast instead of a person whose respect they have to win?"