Caracara's Hunt 108 Violence Breeds Violence

Sylvester had just closed his eyes in sleep when the lord's son burst into the room. His eyes were wild, both anger and frustration evident in his gaze. The moment they landed on Arawn, he waved at him in a hurry.

"Come! You're coming with us?"

"Coming? Where?"

As Arawn questioned the sudden command while still sitting by the window, Sylvester opened his eyes. He blinked, then began to push himself off the couch. His limbs were weak, but his determination evident.

"You stay!" Lorick stated and waved at Arawn again. "Hurry. We're leaving right now!"

Unbothered by the dismissal, Sylvester straightened and stood still for a fraction of a second, eyes closed. When he took a step, all of his exhaustion were hidden beneath a mask of cold indifference.

The lord's son tried to stop him again, but he didn't dare to push him in case Sylvester fell over, which he looked he might do from the slightest breeze, and Arawn ran after him. Mutallu had disappeared somewhere, so he was the one responsible for the doctor's protection right then.

In the courtyard, the grey-haired lord was in the middle of commanding his troops. A dozen or so soldiers were already on horses, which snorted and trotted in place in the shared impatience of their riders.

When the lord noticed their trio, he shot his son a dark look. "I told you to leave the doctor alone! Can't you follow a single command? You wi—"

"I came out myself," Sylvester said, cutting the old man's words. "He tried to stop me, but unless you allowed him violence against me, that wasn't going to happen. I'm coming along."

"No!" The lord looked on the breaking point. His face was red, and barely suppressed fury resided in his eyes. "I don't nee—"

"You're not getting yourself killed while out of my sight," Sylvester said and turned to a servant loitering nearby in case his lord wanted him for something. "Prepare a carriage. Fastest horses. NOW!"

The lord's hands twitched in reflex of making fists, but when the servant looked at him, he only nodded. "Do it."

He then turned around and continued giving orders to his soldiers. A few scouts were sent forward, one of them the lord's own son. While the rest had only to observe the situation, he had to catch up to the runaway soldiers and order them to stop and come back. If they didn't listen, he was allowed to use force on them.

The young man nodded at the command and jumped on his horse, but his expression looked grave. What would his skills matter when it was one against many?

Arawn couldn't help but give the lord a second look. Why was it that he treated his son with such disregard? While his daughter was a precious gem, his son seemed to be only a p.a.w.n to be pushed around the board without care for its safety.

Lorick seemed to be accustomed to it though. He didn't say a word of complaint and rode off like a good soldier.

When the carriage was prepared, the lord, Sylvester, and Arawn boarded it together. It was a simple thing, built for speed rather than comfort. The moment they set out, it rumbled underneath them and promised a long and arduous journey.

"What happened? Didn't you plan to set out tomorrow morning?" Sylvester asked after a while. "We won't reach the village before sundown no matter how fast we rush."

The lord clenched his hands into fists and looked out the small window on the side. After a moment of silence, he let out a long breath and relaxed against the hard seat.

"My men ignored their orders and rushed out by themselves. Twenty-six warriors I had kept by my side for at least a decade."

His expression was a mix of anger and regret, helpless fury. "And don't bother with I-told-you-sos. I'm not blind." He s.h.i.+fted his gaze to his hands, which had become stocky and wrinkled from age. "I have let go of myself, and I don't even know how or why."

Sylvester didn't say anything to that, keeping his quiet.

Arawn didn't know what they were talking about, but the mood didn't seem right to ask any questions, so he turned away and pretended he wasn't in the carriage. Instead, he recalled his disastrous healing practice.

He hadn't even come close to healing the small scar. Each time he tried, Sylvester said he had the wrong ether, if that made any sense. Ether was ether, so how could it be wrong. Arawn understood the theory behind it, that each ether particle remembered only information about its position and not any other, but how was anyone to know which it was…

Ether was like a huge blanket that covered every single thing in the world. It was in the air, on the ground, and in every living being. There was no distinction to the particles either. Any one of them could be moved from a human's arm to a rock, or from a fire into a lake.

So when picking them up, how could Arawn know where ether with one memory started and another began? Every time he tried to guess, Sylvester blocked him, saying he had the wrong one. For a moment, Arawn wondered if Sylvester was just tricking him, but there was no denying that the doctor followed his own preaching. Whenever he healed, he didn't take any ether from the outside, but very specific regions in the wound.

That thought only frustrated Arawn more instead of helping him. He understood what he didn't know, but that didn't help him get better since he didn't know how to solve the inadequacy. It was the problem with keeping the ether at his fingertips without using it all over again.

"Calm down. This is not the time," Sylvester said with a hand on Arawn's own.

He looked down to see that he had been clenching his fists so hard he was about to draw blood with his nails. A little embarra.s.sed, he pulled his hand away and crossed his arms before himself.

It was a defensive gesture, and he knew it, but he couldn't help it. Frustration welled within him for being horrible at everything he tried. Despite having more ether than anyone could imagine possessing, he could not put it to any use. His skill started and ended with him being able to fling it around like some crazy man.

"What's with him?" the lord asked.

"Take care of your own mess first," Sylvester threw out and closed his eyes.

The lord glared at him, but he didn't ask anymore. He looked older than when Arawn had seen him in his study for the first time. In a couple of days, the man seemed to have aged a decade, catching up to his actual age.

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It might have been due to his life being threatened and his people running out on him, but Sylvester's constant word daggers couldn't have done him any good either.

They had to go a long way, but at least the road was in good condition. Despite his problems at home, the lord hadn't abandoned the people outside the city's borders. The road was clear of debris from storms, bandits, or anything else that might inhibit their speed.

After a couple of hours, Arawn began to wish he had eaten something. Since morning, he hadn't had anything in his mouth, and it didn't seem like the lord planned to have a dinner break.

More hours pa.s.sed, and night descended. Since it was summer, it wasn't too dark, but the dozen soldiers spread around the carriage and some rode forward to ensure they didn't meet up with trouble.

Past midnight, they went up the hill and stopped. The driver then spoke up in a shaky voice.

"My lord, there… there's a fire ahead… Should I…"

While he was speaking, Lord Bernard threw the carriage's door open and strolled out. His footsteps stopped after a single glance before the carriage.

Arawn went out after him, staggering a little from sitting for too long. In the valley by the river below, flames danced among the houses. Their tongues were so large they reached for the sky, lighting up the whole scene in all its gory detail.

Soldiers in armor were riding through the streets with naked blades raised in the air. Most of them were already doused in crimson.

Corpses littered the streets, but the soldiers still rushed into houses and dragged the last couple people outside. Upon slaughtering them on the spot, they laughed and cheered before setting them on fire with a couple well-aimed fire b.a.l.l.s.

Arawn didn't know why those soldiers had rushed out to kill the villagers, but he didn't really care. They were monsters, and monsters had to be exterminated.

Without a word to anyone, he jogged down the hill with ether gathering around him. It seemed to sense his mood and roiled around him in angry waves that kept on growing. By the time he got close to the first burning house, he had enough ether to blast the whole village to smithereens.