Without thinking, Edward threw himself down the incline. He heard the Bishop launch a surprised exclamation but he ignored it. He scrambled down Bone Ridge, frantically waving with both arms, calling for his daughters and her friends to get to safely, for someone, anyone!, to intervene.

As he did, the group of ladies noticed the danger. They fell immediately into disarray, screaming in terror as they fumbled with the reins of their mounts.

The pack of Dire Rats devoured the distance, easily bounding across the undergrowth.

The Duke watched in horror as they swarmed the horses. The animals, agile mounts not at all used to battle, neighed in terror and tangled against each other even as they flailed to keep the rodents at bay. The Rats darted through the confusion, snapping at heels and clawing at legs.

By then, the group moving through the valley had noticed the assault. Crying out, they ran back to help but were far too distant.

Suddenly, a chorus of howling erupted from the forest.

Coming to a stop against a rocky outcropping, Edward watched in surprise several forms, larger than the Rats, emerge from the forest. He felt a surge of relief. It was the dogs. John must have set them loose!

His two Dire pounced amidst the chaos, the smaller dogs right behind them. Fearful squeaks joined the screams of the ladies, the rats darting away from the jaws of the hounds.

Edward almost hoped.

But then, the dogs howled again, this time in shocked surprise. The beasts stopped straight in their charge, many clawing at the earth to stop their momentum or smacking against each other.

Edward blinked but before having the chance to understand what had spooked them, the dogs turned and ran away in a disordered, yelping mass. Only his two Dire dithered, looking unsure.

Still, drawing back from the first charge, the rats had left open a corridor through which to escape. Some of the ladies had the quick thinking of pushing their startled horses the way the dogs were escaping and disappeared into the forest. But a smaller group found itself cut off by the mass of rats and pushed toward the rim of the incline.

The Duke watched in horror as a large rat jumped on the back of one of the horses, sending the animal in a frenzy of terror.

Whirling around desperately, the horse moved toward the rim. Loose dirt fell off and mount, lady, and rat started to slide down the incline. The other ladies followed suit, their horses pushed by the swarm.

Edward ran as fast as legs could carry him, risking more than once to trip on a loose stone or a root.

As he looked up, he saw with mixed relief that his soldiers were getting close to the struggling ladies. The horses were barely managing to keep their balance even as they slid down, the rats hot in their heels.

The warriors shouted and waved, trying to attract the animals’ attention. The first to respond was the one that had clung to one of the mounts. Moving with fluid grace, the animal jumped down the horse and raced toward the running warriors.

Edward was surprised by that demeanor but soon the feeling was replaced by shock and dread. He had recognized that beast. It wasn’t a Dire Rat.

“It’s a Doomrat!” He shouted frantically. “Get away from it!”

He didn’t even know whom he was shouting to, the ladies, his daughters or the soldiers.

All the same, the warriors running up recognized the Doomrat as well. Crying out, they abruptly stopped or threw themselves away from the beast’s path.

Only one kept going, a man whose white hair made him immediately recognizable to Edward.

“Cartus!” The Duke shouted. “Get away from that thing!”

If he heard him, Cartus didn’t listen. Sword in hand, the old man charged up the incline, straight toward the Doomrat.

With preternatural speed, the animal pounced, latching at the arm the old man lifted to defend himself. The rat scrabbled madly, battering the man’s arm, chest and head with its claws before Cartus slammed his open palm against its stomach, sending it flying. The Doomrat recovered almost as soon as it hit the ground; it hissed, scratched at its side and then scampered away. The rest of the pack followed, deftly veering across the terrain.

Pack and pack leader regained the summit of the incline and, as quick as they had appeared, disappeared into the woods once again.

Edward didn’t stop running until he had reached the group. The four ladies were amongst his warriors, that were busy trying to calm the horses.

The Duke recognized his two daughters.

“Claire! Lucelle!” He called, almost mad with fright. “Are you alright?”

Lucelle was too busy crying her eyes out to reply. Claire, holding her sister and looking as pale as a sheet, just nodded dumbly.

“We are, but him…”

Edward stopped just to make sure they were actually alright and to feel a moment of relief, then he ran past the group and toward the incline.

Cartus was still where he had faced the Doomrat but not on his feet. The old man was kneeling, holding a hand against the ground to steady himself. Some warriors were close by but none dared to advance toward him.

“Cartus!” The Duke called.

The old man abruptly raised a warning hand, and he stopped.

Cartus breathed heavily, the veins on his neck as thick as ropes. Edward watched in horror the scratches peppering his neck and head, all oozing a clear liquid as well as blood.

Doomrat’s claws were imbued with a deadly venom, powerful enough that, mixed with the creature’s speed and reflexes, made even an Aethyr shy away from combat with it.

The Duke’s mind raced. Once injected in the blood, Doomrat’s poison killed quickly. He needed to have a priest intervene, maybe the Bishop. He needed…

Cartus growled; a low, savage sound that almost had him jump.

The Duke watched the old man in surprise, that quickly turned to astonishment. His wounds were being enveloped by a pale fire. Soon, Cartus seemed to have many small coals dotting his skin.

As he realized what was happening, Edward remained in awe. Cartus was using his Aethyr to burn away the poison!

From his knowledge, the Aethyr gave a warrior imbued with it a series of abilities: increased physical prowess and the ability to resist magic were only the most commonly known. Veteran Aethyr could learn to alter their bodies by manipulating the essence bound inside of them. The results could be aberrant if executed by a weak mind, but a strong, disciplined warrior with a deep knowledge of the body’s anatomy, could push away poisons and increase his power even further.

During his life, Edward had known enough Aethyr with that level of skill that he could count them with one hand.

It seemed like he would have to add another to the tally.

Tense moments passed as the pale fire kept burning. When it finally extinguished, and Cartus slumped in a gasping heap, the Bishop and the Bonespeaker had joined him.

For a moment, nobody spoke.

“Well? What are you waiting for?” The Bishop surly grumbled. “Are you going to help him up or not?”

After the Duke helped Cartus, and after it was ascertained that the old man was fine, the small group retraced its steps back, where ladies and warriors waited.

The four girls were still scared witless, but, thanks to the Gods, were all unharmed. Edward severely reprimanded all of them. What were they thinking, coming so close to a battlefield? Didn’t they know of the danger? He would be telling about this to all their parents, that was for sure! And his daughters, they would be speaking about this back home, count on it!

None of the young women dared to talk back, even if Gracie seemed to be biting her lip to refrain herself from it, and didn’t object when the Duke ordered them to give Cartus their deepest apologies and thanks. The old man had put his life on the line for them, for Gods’ sake!

Cartus welcomed the mortified chorus of thanks and apologies with a benevolent if weary smile. His reprimand was lighter than the Duke’s, more an invitation to be more careful in the future than a true rebuke.

After that, the Duke had some of the warriors form an escort to bring the four ladies back to their parents.

Watching them go, Edward felt the steely mask slip from his face. He had played the part of the severe father, as it was his role, but inside he was shaken to the core. The thought that he could have well lost them both!

“Sir Cartus,” he said with fervor. “You have saved my daughters and i don’t know how i could ever repay you. Please, consider my undying gratitude as belonging to you.”

The old man smiled, somewhat wearily. “I wouldn’t presume that saving children in danger requires a recompense.”

“I insist.” The Duke was adamant. Anything else would have irreparably besmirched his honor.

To his relief, Cartus nodded.

“Thank you,” he said, his solemn expression telling him more than a thousand words how deeply he understood what that debt meant.

Edward nodded, then smiled, leaving the accumulated tension drain away from him.

“It has been an eventful day, wouldn’t you agree?” He asked. “I’d say that it’s time we return.”

There wasn’t any objection, and the group moved to leave Bone Ridge behind.

During the journey back, the Duke had Cartus ride beside him. The old man’s exploit was quickly being told around and many of the nobles now looked at the old man with newfound respect. Two of the warrior nobles, the parents of the other two ladies, had even imitated the Duke, pledging their own eternal gratitude to him.

Cartus had arrived that day as someone that many saw as another opportunistic social climber. He left now as one of them, a veteran Aethyr, a noble hero and more. Whatever suspicion there was, it was now replaced by a deep respect.

Arriving at the camp, they found it in a mix of eager gratitude and angry disbelief. The group of young ladies had slipped out before anyone could notice, only for a few to return, crying and ragged. Many had feared the worst, a concern that was dispelled only when the four missing returned with an escort in tow and a story to tell.

Furious reprimands and grateful hugs had been given out but now the old nobles and ladies were all for the newcomer of the day.

Cartus was given a hero’s welcome. Elderly lords eagerly shook his hand, old ladies offered their compliments. Invitations to tea, plays at the theatres and more rained from all sides. The older nobles had already made for themselves a good opinion of Cartus, but now they celebrated him. Forget those green young’ uns, he was one of them, after all!

The old man received everything with exquisite courtesy and endless patience, smiling and nodding and promising his presence, business permitting. To everyone, he offered his kind attention, without ever showing to be tired or annoyed. The man was a born socialite and everyone liked him.

The rest of the day passed through celebrations.

Long tables had been arranged under the shades of the trees. Noble Aethyr sat and ate meat provided by their hunters, every plate reinforced with robust doses of wine and beer. The tale of the hunt was retold many times, with elder lords providing post-facto strategical advice or ladies fawning at the sides of their chosen hunter. The younger ladies and children zipped around, carrying plates and refilling glasses, while a few matrons, the Duchess at their head, took care that everything proceeded smoothly before taking their own seats.

Many toasts were called, to that feat of prowess or that Aethyr, to victory and their commander, to the city and even to all of Avurran. The name of Cartus was called many times as well, the nobles cheering to the hero of the day.

The old man had been given the seat of honor beside the Duke. He ate and drank sparingly on his own, often refusing to have his plate and glass refilled, but never refusing to participate in a toast.

He spoke much though, surprising and awing whoever listened with his knowledge of the monsters they had faced.

“Ah, the Hags” he once said in answer to a question. “Orrible creatures. For a long time, it was unknown what race they belonged to. Someone thought them to be an all-female race but today a strong current of thought, to which I ascribe, consider them to be female Trolls. You see, differently from the males, Troll females are secretive creatures that very rarely if ever leave the caverns where their tribes nest. It’s for this reason that for a very long time nobody made the connection. But, if you ever managed to have a Hag and a Troll Matriarch side by side, you’d see that they are the same: semi-intelligent creatures, with a low cunning and powerful magic at their disposal. Even appearance-wise they are the same, differing in but one important feature: a Matriarch is invariably very very fat, while a Hag is on the lanky side. That said, it’s still unclear why Hags leave their tribes. Some think they are shunned because of the foul powers they revere: even the Trolls won’t abide worshippers of Magog in their midst. Still, others say that the reason is more mundane: Hags would be defeated challengers to the Matriarch, chased away for their impudence. But there’s a third thinking, and this will maybe steal an ironic smile from you. Hags would be chased away because male Trolls consider them ugly! Lacking the fat, you see, that those creatures supposedly find attractive, they would be unable to secure a mate and then end to wander away in bitterness. I am not sure if this is the truth but surely the Gods would have a great sense of humor to have us vexed by angry spinsters, don’t you agree?”

And so on.

Cartus was a charming guest, ever polite and kind, seeming to be an expert on every topic the conversation moved to. He spoke at length of strategy with Lord Torn, of business with Lady Bleakvale, of war stories with Owen and the Duke, of hunting with sir Ruthwald, of the proper way young novices should be taught with Barley; he even noticed the embroidering technique on the handkerchief of the Duchess, complimenting her for it, and then smoothly talking of domestic matters. There seemed to be not a thing the old man had a deep knowledge of. Ever patient and kind, he naturally captured the general attention.

The younger daughter of the Duke, Lucelle, a beautiful flower of a girl, listened enraptured, always ready to refill the old man’s glass. His mother had subtly put her in that seat so that she could offer Cartus the gratitude of the family, something the shy girl had been embarrassed about, but it wasn’t long before whatever embarrassment was gone. Eyes glittering with awe, the girl drank every word with relish. Her sister, relegated to the far seats for her responsibility in the incident, glared darkly, eating little and talking even less.

Soon, the conversation moved toward a theme many of the nobles were keenly interested in: the origin of Cartus, especially where the old man came from.

The nobles were too polite to ask directly, it was a private matter after all, but enough hints of curiosity were dropped that, eventually, the old man acknowledged the question. But, unluckily for the curious nobles, he didn’t do it as they hoped.

“Ah yes,” he said, replying to a statement from Lady Hushlan. “I spent many a year in the Seven Cities. As much as my journeys allowed me to.”

Lucelle covered her mouth, letting out an ecstatic breath. “Did you travel, Sir Cartus?”

The old man kindly nodded, then started to recount some of his journeys in distant lands.

The curious nobles took the hint: he didn’t want to talk about his precise origin. Out of courtesy, they let the matter drop. Cartus was always the hero of the day, after all.

By the time the banquet was over, porters had dragged out of the woods, tied to a large pole, the corpse of one of the Hags. While matrons and attendants took care of cleaning and clearing the tables, many of the nobles descended the hill to admire the kill. The children went as well. It was good for them to see that the fabled creatures of the forests weren’t at all invincible, and the elders would use the chance to instruct them in the proper way to fell such beasts.

Not all went with the group. Just as many, tired warriors or ladies that didn’t like the sight of dead monsters, preferred instead to relax amidst the grass or walk under the shades of the trees, with some of the couples standing aside to enjoy each other’s company with some privacy.

Cartus stood with the Duke on the same terrace where he had first seen the hunters emerge from the woods. Both observed as the men carried the dead Hag between the cheers of the nobles, Edward looking distinctly pleased.

“A good day,” he commented. The Duke wore an expression of deep satisfaction. “Only a few scratches and a group of monsters less to think about. A triumph.”

Edward allowed himself to bask in the feeling of victory. Days like those were the best for a commander. Deeply gratifying with nothing to mourn.

“Indeed,” Cartus agreed. The old man wore his benevolent smile. “And i’ll say, i am impressed by the efficiency of your brotherhood. The city is lucky to be able to count on such experienced warriors.”

The Duke accepted the compliment with a small nod.

The two men remained in silence for some moments, both immersed in their own thoughts.

As time passed, Edward felt a bad feeling rear its ugly head. Something was coming, a topic that he would have preferred not to face.

He sighed. Well, no point in delaying.

“I heard you’ve spoken with Courtnay.” He had to repress a grimace. The name of the thief felt like a stain on the tongue.

Cartus nodded wordlessly, his expression turning into a mix of solemn and apologetic.

Edward appreciated it. The old man understood his feelings on the matter.

“Out of regard for you, i will speak clearly. Forgive me if i shall sound blunt.” The Duke turned to face fully the old man. “If you think that an alliance between our two factions could benefit the city, you are sorely mistaken. Courtnay and his gaggle follow only the way of profit. The moment they’ll see a deal they consider better, they won’t hesitate to abandon us. Welcoming them in our midst would only invite betrayal at a later date. They are scum!”

Edward paused to calm himself. As always, the thief managed to make him lose his temper, even when not really present.

“It runs deeper than that, of course,” he resumed once being calm again. “You saw us. How we fought. How we won. Do you know that the villages the Hags vexed belonged to one of the Counts that offer fealty to my house? He called upon my help and i answered, as i was duty-bound to do. And, as they were duty-bound to do, the other Dukes sent some of their men to help me. If i asked, they would have sent more. Why? Because it is their duty, and they would have respected it.”

The Duke paced back and forth, speaking with fervor.

“For two centuries, a pact has been the foundation of order in Blackstone: a pact between peasants and nobles, between workers and warriors, between followers and leaders. We were to be the latter. We, the protectors. We, the defenders. We were to fight so that others could live, could work, could thrive. We were to lead so that the ignorant knew what path to follow. For two centuries this has been, and for two centuries our city has thrived, first repelling and then expanding. Was this duty, this privilege, given to us because we bought it? No! It was given to us because we are the strongest, the most educated, the ones with the breadth of vision needed to guide the city. And for two centuries we kept honoring this pact. For two centuries, we trained and prepared and fought, so that we could show ourselves worthy of our stations. And we did so, again and again, without fail. We, the protectors.”

The Duke stopped to look at Cartus, gaze intense.

“In exchange for honoring our duties, we reclaim our stations. It’s only right, but it’s not just a right. It’s also a duty. A true noble has to show himself again and again, continuously, until the moment of his death, to be worthy of his title. For a title is the insignia passed to him by his ancestors, generations of warriors that gave their blood and sweat for the city, and entrust their work upon him. A title is a mark that shows the leader, the better, the one that is burdened with rights and duties in equal measure, the protector; and it cannot, it cannot, it cannot absolutely be… bought.” Just saying the word was a struggle, so much the Duke loathed such a thing.

He needed a moment to calm down.

“Order is based upon this pact,” he said. “Without it, there can be only chaos. Will it change? Yes, it will. Everything must come to pass eventually. Maybe one day the peasants will be able to decide for themselves. Maybe one day everything will change. But this i know for sure. There will always be monsters, and so there will always be a need for protectors. And, as long as we are here, we won’t allow for the city we defended for so long to slip into wickedness. What that thief prospects us… it cannot be abided. A world where profit rules? Outrageous! What about virtue? What about duty? For two centuries we ruled following these principles and look where we are! Without us, that vermin wouldn’t even have the chance to become what he is now. He’d say that people must be enticed to do what is right. He’s wrong. People must be educated, then inspired and shown the path to follow by example.” He paused for a moment. “I want this to be clear: we are not against advancement or trade. It’s the opposite, we appreciate it. Trade brings us wealth, new expertise and, if worthy, new blood. Houses fell in the past and will fall in the future, be it for war or their bearers being unworthy. We welcome new comrades but they must pick up the sword, must show themselves worthy of the name. Otherwise, they will never be one of us.” He shook his head. “Its not against what these New Nobles do that we are against. It’s what they are. The scions of a world where filthy money rule alone and greed is the only prince. Never. As long as we stand, we will oppose them.”

He paused. He had said everything he wanted for the old man to know.

Edward looked Cartus straight in the eyes. “So you see, this is why we can’t ever see eye to eye. We are opposite in all ways. I myself i have sworn an oath that i will never share again the same room with that man. The only reason i didn’t challenge him to a duel is that, not being an Aethyr, he wouldn’t stand a chance against my blade. And even that is a proposition i struggle to keep every day. It’s his fault that Arsham…”

The Duke caught himself, realizing with a start to have spoken too much. He turned pale as bad memories stirred inside, memories that he didn’t wish to relive.

“I must do you the discourtesy of leaving you alone,” he said quickly, barely holding his composure. “If you’ll excuse me…” He bowed stiffly, then turned and marched away without another word.

Cartus watched him go, a thoughtful frown etched on his face.