A feast to a starving man, held at arm's length and untouchable. That was the torture they inflicted on Lucius the day after. In the foul name of etiquette, even his drinking mug laid empty as serving girls poured wine down the row of tables. The lower tables, where soldiers and esteemed citizens sat, were laden with fresh loaves of bread. They stretched and tore in their eager grasps, spewing steam into the air, while none had been provided for the young hero.

But he couldn’t eat, not before the celebration had been wholly announced and it took an agonizing amount of time before Lord Raymi stood up and lifted his wine. With the throne behind him hastily repaired, he turned this way and that as the rattle of silverware settled. “Quite the tumultuous time we had, wasn’t it?” he asked to no one in particular. The peace in the room let the chefs wheel out carts of fire charred goat and beef, the animals slaughtered that morning to the delight of everyone’s stomachs.

“But, like a rock in the storm, we held fast. The tide of war broke against us. It brought with it blood and anguish, but we are the stronger for it. I ask that you all take your wine now, for I never want you to forget the men who became victims of this revolt. Too many perished to ward off the chaos. Now, all of you, a toast to the fallen,” he said, and hefted his goblet. The whole room matched him, and they all drank.

He continued. “By their sacrifice, we have kept the peace, kept order in the city. Much rebuilding is needed. It may take years to fix the wall, but time is something afforded us in peacetime. In so doing, we will also look to secure the lands against such an uprising once more. We will need advances in trade, in faith, in law and order. We will bring civilization to Giordana and the prosperity that comes from it.”

That bit was for the merchants assembled before him. Prosperity could only come from fruitful labor, and even in an immature form, Vassermark lived off capitalism. Financial theory still had a backseat to honor and pride, and nobles could be foolish despots, but self-interest and free exchange of goods still put life into the kingdom. Lord Raymi announced both a second war, and tempted them with the spoils, all while the smell of cremation still stuck in their noses.

“That is for the future. Today, the present. Lucius, stand up,” Lord Raymi ordered.

My pupil with naught but the pepper taste of wine in his mouth, rose. He looked horrid. Gaunt and with an eyepatch over one eye(1), his frame had thinned down like a plague victim’s, and he hardly had the strength to move faster than a brisk walk. No one could see him closer than across the room however, and from that distance they saw only the embroidered leather jacket we had procured for him, and the brilliant way the candle light glowed in reflection from his hair.

“The hero! The redeemer! Lucius von Solhart! Slayer of the lord of the black keep, and of the leader of the Cynizia. Lucius the Undying!”

I had coached Lord Raymi on that, in a most matter of fact and conspiratorial alliance. He wanted to tout around a heroic subordinate as much as we wanted Lucius to be seen as heroic. The connections we offered him, with my position as engineer and Lucius’ heredity, as it were, could not be beaten. We offered him bait worth any hook hiding inside. Afterall, which fish believes they can’t break a fisherman’s line?

Lucius held up his wine and took hold of their attention. “A week I spent, playing cat and mouse with these barbarians. I liberated a slave pit. I treated with the bishop of Jumeaux. I turned their trap into my own and at last I cut down their sieging ranks. A few of them were good warriors. A few,” he said, bringing on a row of jeers and boasts from the veterans.

“But we showed them. The might of Vassermark triumphed, so drink! Eat! Make merry for the days of success must be savored. They will be fond memories as we march back across the sands and set right to this forsaken land,” he said, with a great chorus of thumping fists and feet. The whole throne room rattled with approval and he sank back to his seat.

Lord Raymi grinned and nodded. He swept a hand across the room and shouted, “You heard the man, feast! If I don’t see at least three drunken duels tonight, I’ll have the lot of you soldiers running laps.”

And so Lucius tore into the sweet food of victory. I found the meal to be of a plain sort, but I do understand the pleasure of charred meat with a bit of salt and butter. Plain, simple, delicious. Perhaps it simply didn’t have the same allure to me, as I had moved from city to city aboard boats and never strayed far from luxury. For me, the sweetest prize was to look upon my pupil and know that we had won.

He was Lucius von Solhart as far as the kingdom of Vassermark was concerned, because Lord Raymi would say as much when he sent us back to King Arandall to present the embalmed head of the rebel. With such a wondrous letter of introduction, who would even bother to investigate his past? Some would, of course, but we had begun the foundation that would be unshakeable even in the most violent of storms, as we knew well would come to pass. For a man may well be his name, yes, but the regard other people have for him, his stations of responsibility, those are where his power comes from. A name is but a trifling thing that can be picked up, discarded, and stolen.

On that day, the boy I had raised and trained for the better part of a decade could revel in his own success. He could drink and eat, and pack the weight back into his body without care for tomorrow. The soldiers he had fought and bled alongside, who he had led across the deserts of Giordana and into battle, they rallied around him with kegs of ale and they alone were the cause of no less than half a dozen fights, but all in good nature. A manly sort of bonding that brought that eighteen year old boy onto the path of adulthood.

It was a good reprieve, a good memory to keep him company as he marched not into a desert of sand, but of human decency. His next destination was the king’s court.

I met with him upon the morrow. I had secured for us a simple room in a forgotten corner of the palace, the kind that surely had secret exits and paths, but of which I was sure no one would spy upon us through. In all likelihood, the architects who knew of those paths were all dead, and the original owners with them too. For us, it was a pleasant thing with a window out to the sea in the distance, now somewhat obscured by the rebuilding of the cannon battery.

“Master,” Lucius said, somewhat stiffly and awkwardly.

“Lucius–” The name felt good on my lips. “--You don’t need to be so formal. We have been together for years. What is some few days apart?”

“Yes, master. Quite exciting days however.”

“Tell me,” I ordered, “Did you ever think you might fail?”

The boy turned his gaze down and nodded his head. “Yes, when Tyrion, the lieutenant of the voluntaries, took half the men and fled, I thought the whole gambit might be for naught. He had stripped me of my army and nearly got them all slaughtered.”

“And what did you learn from that?”

“I learned that mercy is something that can only be given when a threat has been wholly neutralized. I thought I could still make use of him. I should have killed him when I had the chance.”

“Good. That is a wonderful answer. On the path before you, you will make many enemies, many friends will betray you. This first lesson in that bitter draught will serve you well. You will hesitate less when you have to cut down those you like.”

He grimaced and squeezed his hands into fists. “Yes, master.”

“It is not so bad though, now is it? You have made at least one ally, two even, if the Canta girl can pull herself back together.”

“Two?” he asked, his frustration laxened by confusion.

“Samson, the doctor. It seems he’s been quite enchanted by our grandeur. I spoke with him last night. The feast was not so agreeable to him as to the warriors. I suspect that after an entire day helping in the infirmaries that he didn’t have the stomach for rabblerousing. I… may have made a few promises to him as well.”

“Promises? On your behalf, or mine?”

I nodded. “Yours. He wishes to study you, and I gave my consent. Your healing that is. He can learn a great deal and disseminate it for us. Imagine what can be gleamed from the way your stigmata stitches your body back together! Surgery could be revolutionized. Nutrition at last cracked open to show us its secrets.”

“I’m not going to let him cut me up. Wizard, you promised me you would never again abuse my body,” he shouted, stabbing a finger at me with the conviction of a sword thrust. He of course referred to the day I killed him, so long ago. He still hadn’t gotten over that, despite my good reason for it. But, that is a matter I will get to shortly, as he spoke of it at length upon the voyage north.

“No no,” I said in appeasement. “He merely will stay with you while you get yourself injured incidentally. The duels and battles. Why, just yesterday he had to reset a compound fracture of yours. You should be thankful that you will have a medic who will understand your healing better and better, even if he has an ulterior motive.”

He groaned, but took hold of himself once more. Again, that serious glare adorned his face while he looked at me. All the more mature for the patch across his eye. “You’ll be with me next time, right?”

“Oh, for a time,” I said, to assure him. “On the journey back to the capitol surely. Then, it will depend on what they do with you, my young hero. I may or may not be able to accompany you, but we knew that was a possibility. That is why I taught you so much, so that you can stand on your own in my stead.”

“But, do I have to be half blind while we do this as well?”

I laughed. “Only for a time, Lucius. Regrowing your eye will be a wondrous feat to prove your ability before the king, and sadly that means you can’t go and get yourself killed before then. It won’t be so bad. I don’t expect you’ll get into many fights on a sea voyage. Pirates won’t dare attack a royal vessel, so the worst you have to worry about is managing yourself with dice, I imagine.”

He grimaced and shifted his feet around. There were some trivialities of organization to attend to, but our conversation lagged and drew out the more that went on. He didn’t want to go, and I came to realize I had not told him what he most wanted to hear. “You did well, Lucius. You learned and applied yourself, and you succeeded. I couldn’t be happier. I look forward to the next leg of our journey. Perhaps I should procure some texts for us to study? Merely as an option, if you don’t find yourself too busy with personal matters.”

The boy blushed from the mix of praise and playful accusation. The stoic hero vanished and there was the teenager I knew. I’d have to break him of his need for affirmation, eventually, but that was a pain he did not yet need. Not at least until he had for himself a cadre.

And thus, our travels in Giordana came to a close, and after many years, Lucius returned to Vassermark.