Chương 15: The Camp

A large fire burned in the middle of the camp, spreading a warm orange glow. A giant wild boar slowly turned over the fire, filling the air with a meaty aroma. Velion sat in the middle of a felled tree, men of Lunvale surrounding the fire—both mundane and awakened.

"What's happening?" Master Davos said as he stared toward the mountain's peak. Velar shook his head.

"Nothing good, I suppose." He doused a white cloth in oil, then wiped the length of the blade. The blade glistened in the flame's orange light.

"Spill it out!" Velion spat. Velar glanced at him before nodding.

"Your boy is still up there?" Just as he was about to speak, Velar cut him off.

"No need to answer that," he chuckled.

"Master Kulin sensed a buildup of mana on the third peak, where the young Lord is. And something about a broken pact, though the old fool did seem to be out of his mind by then."

"A broken pact," one of the men next to him muttered. Velion's hand tightened around the hilt of his sword. He glanced toward the mountain; all he could see was darkness and its silhouette against the night sky. Nilan, his boy, had yet to descend from his quest. He wanted to find him, bring him back, but… he couldn't. The Lord's son and heir was also on the mountain. And he was yet to give the command to bring him back. If the Lord could wait for reinforcements to arrive, Velion would too.

No matter how hard it was.

"What else did he say?" Master Davos asked.

"A whole lot of nun," Velar chuckled.

"The old fog needs to retire. All he does is speak gibberish."

"You are one to talk," a soldier quipped. Velar gave him a sharp glance, and the young soldier made an excuse and vanished into the night.

"Was that really necessary?" Velion asked. The young soldier was just a few years older than his son. He was a good lad, with a good head on his shoulders. If he did well enough, perhaps the Lord would help him awaken in time.

"You know," Velar said as he studied the edge of his blade.

"If my gut is right…" He paused. Master Davos slapped the back of his head with his gloves.

"Ouch," Velar muttered, scratching his neck.

"The last time the Lord looked as angry as he does now was… during the last skirmish!" He said the last part excitedly. Velion frowned but held back. The last skirmish had taken many innocent lives and destroyed decades of growth in the Lord's territory. And here was Velar talking about it as if it had been the best thing that ever happened.

"We can finally test our skills! Against worthy opponents."

"Aye, aye!" a few of the younger awakened cheered, while most of the older ones—the ones who had experienced the last skirmish—didn't look pleased with Velar.

"You know I'm right," he muttered. Velion didn't pay them any attention after that. His mind was focused on his son. The ground around them quaked, but no one reacted. It was the sixth time since it had all started just a few hours ago. And now, they were all waiting for the Lord to give the order to march against whoever dared to interrupt the Coming-of-Age ceremony and incur the wrath of Lunvale. A boy, no more than fifteen, came running from the side of the tents.

He stopped just a few feet from the fire before scanning the men around it. His gaze stopped on Master Davos.

"The Lord has summoned you," he said with a deep bow toward Master Davos.

"Sir Velion and Sir Velar as well." The boy looked around, trying to find them. Velion stood up.

"Lead the way." They walked in silence toward the biggest tent in the camp. Two guards stood outside it. Both were boys who had been adopted by the main house because of their talents. They stopped before the tent and waited to be called inside.

"—is in danger! I must go," a loud voice came from inside the tent.

"So what?! Would it even matter if he is dead?" The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation. It quieted down afterward, and no one outside the tent dared to speak. The Lord's son was also on the mountain, on his Coming-of-Age. If the Lord wasn't marching to find him, neither could Velion do anything rash. At least, that was what he told himself. A few minutes passed before the tent flaps suddenly opened. Master Dorian's head popped outside.

"You can come in, lads," the older man said. As soon as Master Dorian retreated inside, the guard opened the tent flaps fully, and they went inside. The tent was spacious. A large table stood in the middle, with twelve chairs around it. At the head of the table sat Lord Lunvale, while Master Dorian sat on his right. In the left corner, the young Lord stood with his arms crossed over his chest, a deep frown etched across his face. He didn't look pleased with the Lord's order, Velion thought.

"Sit down, lads." Velion and the others sat at the end of the table. Master Dorian took the head, while Velion and Velar sat on either side of him. The atmosphere inside the tent wasn't exactly welcoming. The sheer pressure he felt sent thousands of little pricks across his body. But he didn't allow it to show on his face. It was the first time he had met the Lord like this. Being around him wasn't always pleasant, but it had at least always felt like you belonged there.

Velion didn't blame the Lord for the atmosphere now. He, too, wasn't exactly pleasant to be around at the moment. The next few minutes were spent waiting. Every few seconds, someone would walk inside and take their seat. Velion mostly nodded in greeting, as no one was in the mood for anything else. The last to walk inside was the father of the third boy undertaking the quest on the mountain. He looked like he wanted to say something, but after glancing at the Lord, he sat down.

A few seconds after everyone had settled, Master Dorian stood from his seat. He studied the men around the table, stopping on each face for a moment longer.

"Let's get this started, then. From the little information our scouts managed to gather, it looks like the neighboring demon folk have finally managed to gather the courage to invade us again," Master Dorian stated. Velion's heart stammered at the confirmation, but he managed to withhold the feeling building within him. The others at the table didn't react much, as they had already expected it to happen within the next few months.

The only difference was that the demon folk had acted earlier than expected, on a day that was sacred to all Lunvales.

"This time is different from the last skirmish." Master Dorian paused, scanning the table.

"They have done something they shouldn't have. I don't have permission to speak on that matter." Different… how? Did that mean his son's life was in danger? He gritted his teeth, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. A few murmurs came from all over the tent. Master Dorian raised his hand, silencing them before anything could escalate. He glanced at the Lord before turning back toward them.

"The Lord has already requested permission to share it with you. But until he gets approval, he won't be able to talk about it; neither can I. Now, let's talk about what you've been summoned for." He waited for everyone to calm down.

"Lord," Master Dorian said, motioning for the Lord to start. The Lord nodded and stood from his chair. He straightened and clasped his hands behind his back.

"Master Dorian will brief you on what to expect after the meeting," he said, nodding slightly. He then turned toward Carcian, who stood in the corner.

"Send three messengers back to the estate, each taking a different route. They should deliver the messages to the butler." He pointed toward the six scrolls on the table.

"One of them is for the Lunnian Council, while another is for the Mage Association." Quite a few heads were raised around the table.

"Mage Association, Lord?" Master Davos asked. The Lord nodded.

"I am requesting that they send a mage."

"Is it really necessary, Lord?"

"Perhaps not, but the pact is broken. This time, we don't have to hold back. At least, not too much." Velion was even more confused by that. Had they held back during the last skirmish? The only ones they had held back were the awakened at the higher ends of the Ascension scale. Well, they hadn't summoned any mages either. The whole skirmish had only involved warriors from both sides. Before he could think too deeply about it, the Lord continued. He gave order after order.

Most of them concerned the reinforcements and the captains who would be leading them. The reinforcements were to arrive in a few hours, come dawn. Their orders were to clear every demon folk presence from the mountain while avoiding certain areas. The Lord didn't give a reason for that, and no one asked. One by one, the awakened left the tent until only a few chairs remained occupied. Velion and the men who had come with him were among those left. Six others remained as well.

"Master Davos, you'll be in charge of finding Kal. Take Velion, Velar, and five spearmen." Velion wanted to ask about his son, but held back. The Lord wasn't done.

"Sir Nicholas, you'll be leading the team to find little Neil." What about Zilan? Velion asked inwardly, tapping his fingers against the table. The Lord looked at him.

"Your boy is on his way down. The scouts are only watching him as he completes his quest. You should be proud."

"Y-yes, my Lord," Velion said.

"I am." The words caught him by surprise, and he felt some of the tension leave his body. A strong hand slapped his shoulder. Turning, he saw Velar looking at him with a grin.

"Now, before you go. Kal should be coming down the road." Before he could ask which road he meant, he noticed Davos nodding.

"Under no circumstances should you go toward the peaks." Those were the Lord's last words before he left the tent. Master Dorian stood up again and started explaining what they should expect. They left soon after and went to find five spearmen to accompany them. In an hour or so, they would begin the mission to rescue the youngest Lord.