Volume 1 - CH 1.2

Yevgnen was in a hurry. He declined the servant’s offer to take care of his little brother and picked Boris up before dashing back to the manor. It began pouring as soon as he reached the front door.

“Where is Father?”

“He is on the second floor.”

He had seen Uncle Vlado’s horse disappearing off to the other side of the fields just moments ago. Yevgnen put down his brother, who had stiffened up, and asked, “Has Butler Tulk come down yet?”

“Yes, he’s already in the military training grounds.”

Yevgnen nodded back.

“Then there’s no need for me to go there myself. Let’s go to our rooms, Boris.”

They didn’t even have the time to change out of their muddy shoes. They left a trail of dead grass and mud all over the once-clean floors and carpet.

Yevgnen threw the door to his bedchambers open and ran inside. Once both he and Boris were inside, he spun around and locked the door tightly behind them. Then, he sat Boris down on his bed and immediately went over to his wardrobe. He took out his neatly folded clothes and tossed them unceremoniously to the floor.

He then pulled a key out of his pocket as soon as he found what he was looking for—a small box with steel hinges. He unlocked the box and flipped the lid open only to reveal yet another black key that was about as thick as two fingers were wide.

“Boris, go to your room and put on the brigandine armor that Father gave you. And don’t forget to bring your sword and boots with you when you come back. You understand what you need to do, right?”

Yevgnen could tell that his little brother was staring at the clothes that he had strewn about the floor, but there was nothing else he could say to comfort him. Boris climbed up to his feet and made his way to his room, which was connected to Yevgnen’s.

Yevgnen quickly got to work doing what he needed to do while Boris got armored up with the help of his nanny, who had come running after them. He pushed aside the heavy fireplace and ripped off the wooden plank that had been camouflaged as a part of the wall. Then, he fished around the fake wall until he finally found the keyhole to the hidden steel safe he had been looking for. He rammed the large black key inside and turned it as hard as he could. The safe opened with an audible clunk.

Boris saw two sacred relics laid out over the mess on his older brother’s bed when he came back.

The brothers shared a moment of silence. Then, Boris finally said, “Snowguard…”

The silver-white chains of the piece of armor lying on the bed were blinding, as if they had been crafted from snow crystals. They looked more enchanting the closer he looked. Boris reached out and touched the armor. It felt cold to the touch at first… and then it was warm.

It really was warm. Snowguard had many magical enchantments. The most famous among them was the mysterious power to absorb heat and extinguish it. That was why it was widely known as the armor of snow that could not be melted down even by the hottest of flames. It was one of House Jinneman’s treasures, originally obtained by Yevgnen’s and Boris’ great-grandfather.

Yevgnen picked up where Boris had trailed off. “And Winterer.”

It was a sword befitting of its name—‘one who passes the winter.’ It had been forged from a strange metal smelted from the cold itself, and it was shaped like a single ray of light. It was a white sword that was as slender in figure as the noble coldness it seemed to exude. Its hilt, which fit snug against its undecorated white scabbard, was long enough to be grabbed with two hands with room to spare. It was a bastard sword, and could be wielded with either one or both hands.

Snowguard and Winterer. Together, they were known as the Winterbottom Kit.

Countless knights and soldiers had spilled blood in the struggle to obtain the Winterbottom Kit in the past. Anyone who had ever held a sword was familiar with the rumors of the magical Kit and coveted it. It was infamous.

It was said that Boris’ great-grandfather had slain ninety-nine foes in order to get his hands on Snowguard. It was also said that the previous owner of Snowguard had been a lord of a foreign land. It was likely that the rumored previous owner had many guards and soldiers protecting him. Perhaps even more than ninety-nine.

It would then take Boris’ grandfather another thirty years to obtain Winterer. He had probably killed no fewer men than his father in order to achieve that feat.

Moreover, simply obtaining the full Winterbottom Kit was only half the story. The news that someone had collected the full Kit had stirred up a frenzy. There had even been a rumor claiming that whomever possessed the full Kit would become stronger than any other. It hadn’t been long until that rumor had become twisted little by little until it started to claim, ‘one must possess the Winterbottom Kit in order to become the greatest swordsman.’

Many people had sought out Boris’ grandfather in order to take the treasures from him in a duel. Boris’ grandfather’s secret to safeguarding the treasures had been simple. He had simply refused all duels. Countless people had challenged him to a fair fight, even going so far as to allow him to arm himself with the Winterbottom Kit for the duel, where the Kit would go to the victor. Boris’ grandfather had barely even scoffed at them. And anyone who tried to steal the Kit had been easily dealt with by House Jinneman’s soldiers.

House Jinneman had been one of the most powerful houses in Travachess at the time. That was why there had been no way to take the Winterbottom Kit from the house expect through a one-on-one duel. Put another way, the Winterbottom Kit amounted to nothing more than an exceptional set of arms. The noble houses of Travachess were tangled together in a tangled web of politics. None of the larger houses were willing or foolish enough to wage a small ‘war’ over a single sword and a single piece of armor. Especially since that war would not end unless one of the houses involved was completely annihilated.

The rumors had eventually died down after several decades had passed.

Ultimately, Boris’ grandfather had never donned the Winterbottom Kit in public despite having worked so painstakingly to obtain it. In so doing, he had stopped the greedy from coveting the Kit from its very source. In fact, he had succeeded so thoroughly that the prevailing opinion was that the Kit had ‘long since been stolen’ from House Jinneman.

Yet, the Winterbottom Kit had been safely stowed away inside the Jinneman manor all this time. It belonged in the hands of both sons of the house, as dictated by tradition.

Boris’ grandfather had not wanted his sons to fight each other over the Winterbottom Kit. That was why he had left one half of the Kit to each brother in his will in hopes that it would bring them together. Yet, Yulkan had driven Vlado out of the household. Naturally, he had stripped Vlado of his rights to the Kit as well. And Vlado was not hesitant even in the slightest in his want to recover what he believed was rightfully his.

Yulkan had also borne two sons. However, his opinions differed from that of his father’s. He believed that the Winterbottom Kit was only powerful when it was whole. In which case, there was no benefit in splitting it. It was only natural that he had passed both halves of the Kit down to his firstborn son, who was his heir apparent. Yevgnen was eight years older than Boris, who was only twelve. Yulkan firmly believed that Boris would never be able to go against his elder brother due to the age difference between them.

Yevgnen’s opinions, however, also differed from that of his father’s.

“I’m going to borrow your sword for a bit, Boris.”

For some unknown reason, Winterer, the sword of winter, was incredibly light for its size. That being said, however, it was still too heavy to be wielded by a twelve-year-old.

Boris quietly looked up at his brother.

Yulkan had passed the Winterbottom Kit down to Yevgnen earlier that year, when Yevgnen turned twenty. Yevgnen had called Boris to his room that very same night. Then, he had shown Boris the two relics and had asked his little brother which one he liked better.

Boris hadn’t given it much thought before replying that the sword looked cooler than the heavy armor set. But then, Yevgnen had promised to give him the sword once he was old enough to wield it. Boris had been shocked, but Yevgnen had only smiled gently as if he hadn’t just dropped a bombshell on him.

Boris had constantly wondered whether Yevgnen had actually meant what he had said. Yet, Yevgnen had repeatedly told him, “Winterer is yours,” whenever he had the chance ever since. Boris had started believing him before long.

His older brother was once again repeating his promise today. And once again, Boris realized that he still didn’t truly believe that the renowned blade was actually his.

Boris was old enough to know what war meant. The unwritten law in the Republic of Travachess stated that no third party was liable for the aftermath of war between houses. It didn’t matter no many how many people died tonight. The only people who would shed tears over them were the people who were already here.

Boris was young, which meant that he was not considered a military asset. It made more sense for his brother to wield the sword. Besides, he loved his brother. Yevgnen was his family.

Boris nodded back. “It’s yours, Brother.”

“No. I’ll be sure to give it back to you without fail after the war’s over. And I won’t even borrow it if you don’t want me to.”

“You don’t need to give it back to me. It’s yours.”

“Boris,” Yevgnen said as he held Winterer by the scabbard and held its hilt toward Boris. Boris grabbed it after a moment of hesitation. As soon as his older brother let go, however, his arm plummeted and the sword thudded loudly against the floor. Yevgnen instructed, “Try holding it up.”

Boris tried to do as his brother said, but the sword was too heavy for him to support with just one arm. He was only just barely able to point its tip back up by holding it in both hands. Even then, his elbows were trembling and the tip of the blade was drawing unsteady circles in the air. Yevgnen reached out and held up the sword by its scabbard once more just as Boris thought that his arms were about to give out. His shoulders sagged as the strength left his arms.

“See? You can wield it too,” Yevgnen said.

“I’m not sure about—”

But Yevgnen did not let his little brother continue. He stooped down and brought their faces closer together. Then, he whispered, “And you’ll only get better at wielding it. I know you’re going to be awesome. You’re a warrior, after all. Just like what your name suggests.”

Boris’ name meant ‘warrior.’ But what Boris cared about more in the moment was how nice his brother’s warm breath felt…

And then, that strange feeling sent another chill down the back of his neck. He didn’t like what it suggested.

An eerie silence filled the manor. The two hundred-or-so men that his father commanded were guarding the manor’s perimeter. House Jinneman had once commanded over a thousand soldiers back in its heyday, but this was all that was left. The house had peaked during the time of Boris’ grandfather, who had brought back Winterer.

Boris and Yevgnen were on the second floor, in front of the stairs that led down to the backyard. There was no reason for either of them to join the frontlines. After all, it was their father’s presence that would booster the soldier’s morale, not theirs. That being said, however, neither could they simply hide away. Not even Boris, despite his age. After all, they still had Jinneman blood running through their veins.

Boris could see the soldiers lined up like dark stakes from the window. They were the second line. The first line was so far ahead that they could not be seen from the manor.

The Jinneman manor had been renovated several times, but it was still not the best location to wage defensive warfare. Simply put, the war was as good as lost as soon as the enemy managed to step foot inside the manor. Their enemies would plunder and pillage anything and everything they could get their hands on, from common household goods to valuable antiques. It didn’t matter even if they won the actual battle at that point. It would be difficult to wash away the humiliation of having their manor ransacked. Any house whose manor had been ransacked was considered to have lost the war, even if they had, by some stroke of luck, managed to end the battle in a draw.

Multiple wars between houses were waged every year. They sometimes became the talk of town if a renowned house was involved, but normally, they were simply written off as a simple quarrel between the involved parties. Yet, it wasn’t uncommon for every last person of the defeated house to be massacred. Even the young children.

Despite everything, however, all houses of Travachess with black blood between them settled their differences through warfare. It also wasn’t uncommon for siblings who had been driven out of their houses to come back and wage war, like what was happening to House Jinneman. In Travachess, it was as common for people to leave their households due to differing political opinions as it was for star-crossed couples to elope in the middle of the night.

Yevgnen’s gaze was glued on the window. Boris, however, turned toward the stairs. He couldn’t hear anything, but there were probably at least a dozen or so soldiers standing guard at the foot of the stairs. They intended to die before the Jinneman brothers even if it was the last thing they did.

“Look over there, Boris,” Yevgnen said out of the blue.

Boris made his way over to the window. The sky was crimson and the clouds were dyed purple. Under them, were countless sparkling lights stretching across the fields that hadn’t been there before. Torches.

“It’s starting,” Yevgnen continued.

Shock stabbed Boris beneath the ribs. Boris forgot how to breathe for a moment, and then he pursed his lips together.

They heard the fighting first.

Whoo, whoaa…

Countless voices crushed together into noises that held no discernable meaning. Boris had thought that it would be too dark to see anything, but the torches surrounded the manor before he knew it. How many people were out there? Five hundred? A thousand?

Yevgnen bit his lips as he recalled the last thing his father had said to him.

‘Take the Winterbottom Kit and escape from the manor if the tides turn against us. Take the escape route I showed you.’

His father hadn’t said anything about Boris. Did he simply not care? Yevgnen, however, cared more about Boris than he did about the house’s treasures. He was confident that he could escape under the cover of darkness if he was acting alone.

There were two things that were stopping Yevgnen from doing just that. First, was the fact that it pained him to leave his father behind. And second, was the fact that he saw it as his responsibility to lead his brother to safety.

At the same time, however, under no circumstances could he allow the Winterbottom Kit to fall into his uncle’s hands.

Yevgnen was more skilled than his peers, but he was still only twenty. The sheer weight of everything he had to carry on his shoulders was overwhelming. Yet, he never felt like he had been wronged by his burdens, perhaps due to his upbringing. Instead, he reproached himself for not being strong enough to shoulder everything properly.

Yevgnen’s thoughts also went to the soldiers who were destined to spill their blood today. They were soldiers of the house. In other words, they were people who would fall under Yevgnen’s care when he succeeded his father as the head of the house. It wasn’t possible to gather so many soldiers under a house spontaneously. Most of the soldiers had sworn fealty to House Jinneman because his father had taken them under his wing when they were younger.

Yet, he also couldn’t deny that war was the sole reason why the soldiers were there to begin with. It was because of this that they were given preferential treatment over and nicer lives than the peasants to begin with. They would do their duty today.

The light of the torches flickered across Boris’ visage. Yevgnen grabbed his sword tighter and thought only of slaying as many enemies as he possibly could. He couldn’t see his uncle. Things would become infinitely easier if only he could take down his uncle in the early stages of the battle. He smiled bitterly.

Meanwhile, Boris was staring at the painting that was hanging beneath the window. It was a portrait of a women in a white dress with a melancholy smile. She wasn’t their mother. The woman’s eyes were staring directly back at him as if she was trying to tell him something.

“House Jinneman will change hands today! Hear that?! The house will change hands today!” several people yelled loudly in unison.

Yulkan had lived through dozens of wars like this one in his lifetime. He knew how these things worked. That being said, it still soured his mood considerably to hear his enemies talking about him in that manner.

“Anyone who lays down their arms and surrenders shall not be held responsible for their crimes! If you would bring House Jinneman back into prominence under a new master, then come forth!”

House Jinneman has been on the decline for years. Anyone who would be swayed by that would have already left the house long ago… Yulkan muttered to himself as he climbed up to his feet. There was no need for him to keep listening to their drivel. It was time to spill blood.

Is it time to go?

He took a step forward and roared, “Come forth! How dare you invade Longorde?! How dare you speak such nonsense about the future of House Jinneman?! Come into the light!”

The front yard, surrounded by the torches, looked as crimson as the dusk. Yulkan looking down at it from the terrace on the second floor. This put him within range of his enemies’ crossbows, but his men would begin cowering soon if he did not make an appearance.

“It’s Yulkan Jinneman! He’s up on the terrace!”

The soldiers drew nearer and raised their torches high. Their crimson glow reflected across Yulkan’s face as he looked down at them and mused. What had happened to the first line? Had it been annihilated? Or had the enemy simply slipped past it?

The line of the enemies’ torches arched into the distance. There were at least five hundred of them, even if they were pretending to have greater numbers than they actually did.

Once again, Yulkan shouted, “Raise the fire!”

White fire arose from the feet of the soldiers standing in front of the manor and clashed against the arching line of torches. Not only was it a display of the manor’s magic, but it also had the effect of increasing the stamina of the manor’s forces and boosting their morale. It had been cast by Tulk, the butler.

“Where are you, you dishonorable man? House Jinneman has stood proud for centuries! Do you really think your ragtag army is capable of felling it?”

What Yulkan heard in the lieu of a reply, however, was the thunderous hissing of a snake. Everyone—the soldiers, the people still inside the manor, and even Yulkan himself—stopped to look up at the sky. The reddish purple atmosphere trembled, and then a sudden flash of white light illuminated the area.

Yulkan was the first person who realized what had just happened.

“Everybody out! Get out of the manor! Second line, hold your position!”

Every last warrior and servant inside the manor began roaring—or were they screaming? Contrary to his own orders, Yulkan raced inside. There was only one thing in his mind.

There was one other person who had realized that the manor was in danger. He had noticed roughly around the same time that Yulkan had. Yevgnen picked up his brother and jumped down the stairs just in time to meet his father.

Yulkan’s face was pale, and his features crumpled into a scowl as he yelled, “Yevgnen! Hurry and…”

He saw that Yevgnen was holding Boris in his arms just then. Yulkan immediately snatched Boris away. Then, he turned to the brothers, who were dumbstruck because they had no idea what he was doing, and snapped, “Go alone! Boris will stay here with me!”

“But—”

“How on earth do you intend to slip away with a young child in tow?! Do you not understand what it is that you’re supposed to be protecting right now?! Hurry up and go!”, Yulkan shouted back in a rage.

Yevgnen did not dare object. He watched his father tuck Boris under his arm and vanish into the dark corridor.

Then, the manor walls began to shake. Rumbleeee…

Yevgnen bit his lips. There was nothing else he could do. He was a son. He had no choice but to obey his father. Yevgnen reached down to his side and gripped Winterer’s hilt firmly as he jumped down the stairs three steps at a time.

“Dirty bastard…”

Yulkan led the soldiers who had been on standby on the second floor and escaped out the manor’s back door. He spun around just as he crossed the backyard fence only to find the head of the gigantic monster that had appeared in the sky clamping its maw around the manor roof.

There was a flurry of white snow flying around the monster’s head, as if it was a mountain covered in permafrost. All Yulkan could see was the monster’s head, neck, and one foot with hook-shaped claws. The rest of its body was hidden behind pulsating amethyst clouds. Its turquoise eyes glistened as it observed its prey. Parts of its snake-like head were translucent, likely because it hadn’t been fully summoned.

Yulkan could hear his soldiers talking to themselves as they quaked with fear. There was no doubting it. The monster was a krigal—a summon from a world of ice. There were only three mages in all of Travachess who were capable of summoning it. This was Yulkan’s first time actually seeing one in person.

It was probably the work of Zongnal, an archmage who served Elector Khan. Who would have thought that the archmage had come all the way out here in the flesh? Was Vlado a high-ranking member of the party? Or did the declining House Jinneman mean something special to the elector?

The eastern roof of the manor collapsed into itself when the monster released its jaws. Crunch, the rafters crumbled and the pillars broke apart. The manor that House Jinneman had maintained for so many years was being reduced to rubble. But that wasn’t a problem. A broken building could always be fixed.

Then, however, the krigal shot out venom from its fangs. The venom slaughtered anyone who was still inside manor as it drenched the building—though that was only natural. It would probably take months just to purify the venom. And if it wasn’t purified in time, then the manor would likely become a deserted ruin that none could step foot inside for at least a few centuries.

It was unforgivable. Vlado might have needed to drive his brother’s army outside the building, but he should have cherished childhood memories of the manor too. How could he defile the manor like that without so much as an inkling of hesitation?

Crunch…

Yulkan grinded his teeth and spat out, “I couldn’t call myself a Jinneman if I forgave that bastard.”

Boris looked up at his father. His chest felt strangely cold even as he watched the krigal gnawing away at the roof of his home.

His mother’s room was on the second floor. Yevgnen often spoke of missing her, but Boris had no recollection of her at all. His brother often said that it smelled like their mother whenever they entered her room, which had been preserved to look exactly the way it had back when she had still been using it.

But Boris had never been able to smell anything. His mother was nothing but a pale face wearing a blue dress in a painting, as far as he was concerned, and the room only ever smelled like the dried reeds and wildflowers that the maids placed inside it.

My brother would be sad to see this. Boris had become more anxious after being separated from his older brother. Why had their father separated them?

Their father had said that it would be impossible for Yevgnen to slip away with a young child in tow. Boris knew—he was a burden to his brother. Their father had prioritized his eldest son, who was to succeed the house, and the house’s treasures over a useless young child. After all, there was nothing that a young child could do to defend the house’s name even if he happened to survive the war.

But Boris was anxious not for himself but for his brother. He’d been anxious all day long. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something bad was about to happen to Yevgnen today.

Yulkan paid Boris no mind and turned to Tulk, his butler—no, his mage—and ordered, “Check the status of our first and second lines. How many men do we have left?”

Tulk whipped his long sleeves in the air without a word and conjured an image. A mixture of white and crimson flames were burning the fields that surrounded the manor. House Jinneman’s remaining forces were engaged in battle, but anyone with eyes could tell that the tides were against them. They no longer had the numbers to wage a frontal assault.

Yulkan fell silent for a moment before saying, “We’ll hit both entrances to the manor. Split our remaining forces in two. Have everyone hide in the long grasses and wait until I give the order.”

Boris was shocked.

“But Father, the monster—”

Icily, Yulkan spat out, “Half of the thing’s body is still in its original world. It won’t be able to touch anything living in this one.”

Yulkan turned to Tulk and whispered something that Boris couldn’t hear. Tulk nodded curtly and said only two words back. Then, the mage sounded a magical whistle to signal to House Jinneman’s soldiers to begin gathering in the darkness.

It had taken only but a moment. Yulkan dragged Boris by the hand over to where the soldiers were gathering to the east of the manor and had the boy lay flat on his stomach in the grasses. Tulk, who had gathered the other half of the house’s forces on the western side, sent him a magical signal.

“Boris, follow after me slowly and,” he started. He hesitated for a moment, but he promptly continued, “Turn around and run into the fields once the fighting begins. You’re going to run away from here. Am I understood?”

Boris’ eyes widened in shock, but he regained his composure quickly enough. He would be useless in a fight, but neither would he be able to break through enemy lines and escape altogether. Was his father telling him to stop being a burden on his brother and just die quietly?

“Where should I go?”

“Toward Lake Emera.”

“But that’s…”

Boris was too shocked to calm himself down this time. After all, Lake Emera was where the red-eyed ghost was!

Yulkan saw how alarmed his son was and continued, “There is no ghost. How can you call yourself a man of House Jinneman if you believe in all the old wives’ tales the servants tell you? That being said, no one will think to go anywhere near the lake because of all the rumors surrounding it. Stay near the lake and hide. I’ll come to pick you up once all the fighting’s over. Right—wait for me by the three black trees. Do you understand?”

Boris didn’t even have the time to respond before Tulk whispered more magic in Yulkan’s ears. The signal sounded like quiet ticking.

“Go!” Yulkan bellowed as he raised his hand up high. Then, he began dashing forward without looking back at his son even once.

“Father!”

Was this the end? All Boris could do was watch as his father’s shadow melted into the darkness.

The otherworldly creature watched from up above as the forces of two brothers who shared the same name clashed mightily against each other. White and crimson flames raged against each other as they blazed.

Vlado drew Hagrune, the black saber that Elector Khan had bestowed upon him, and used it to slice through any soldiers who charged at him. His guards were defending his rear. All he had to do was keep facing forward. His blade pierced through one soldier’s shoulder before immediately ripping through another’s forehead and stabbing his throat. Then, he spun around and cut off yet another soldier’s hand. Yulkan had been better at Vlado at swordplay when Vlado had left the household years ago. However, there was no guarantee that this was still true today.

Vlado began looking for his brother from a distance. He didn’t want to encounter Yulkan without any warning. He was planning to observe how Yulkan fought first before ambushing him.

He didn’t feel guilty about it either. After all, it was due to Yulkan’s schemes that all the blame had been pinned on him, which had resulted in him being driven out of House Jinneman. He was simply planning to repay the favor, albeit belatedly.

In any case, Yulkan is older than me. Let’s see how much of a fight he can still put up!

“It’s Yulkan Jinneman! Yulkan Jinneman is here!”

Vlado’s men alerted him when they spotted his brother. He could hear the fight that was taking place to the east of the manor all the way from here. His wrinkled visage broke into a grin. It was finally time to exchange his black blade, Hagrune, with House Jinneman’s silver-white Winterer.

Yulkan was the opposite of Vlado. He was going out of his way to seek out his younger brother. His sword arm was sharp even though he was in his forties, and he overpowered every opposing enemy soldier who stood in his way.

If only he could catch his brother now… Yulkan wouldn’t be satisfied until he had run his blade through his brother’s throat. He would finally put an end to his sinful younger brother.

His wishes came true before long. Vlado wasn’t planning to fight fair and square, just as Yulkan had expected. A crowd of enemy soldiers suddenly charged at him. Yulkan gritted his teeth and began brandishing his sword. He did his best to thin out their numbers, but they seemed to pile upon him endlessly.

Something felt off. Yulkan realized what it was quickly enough.

“Long time no see, Lord Brother.”

It wasn’t until a moment later that Yulkan felt a burning sensation spreading across his side. It was a testament how surprised he had been to hear his brother’s voice out of nowhere.

“You! Vlado Jinneman, you bastard!”

Swish!

The cold and pointed object penetrated Yulkan’s lower chest one again. He felt something surging up his throat.

“Master!” a voice cried desperately in his ear.

Hmph… Vlado sneered as he turned around. Tulk, the mage posing as a butler, was highly skilled, but he did not know any offensive spells. Vlado wasn’t afraid of him at all.

“You can die with your beloved master!”

But a bolt of lightning flashed across the sky just then. It was just the weather, but Vlado stopped dead in his tracks in alarm. Had Tulk learned lightning magic?

Tulk did not let this opportunity slip through his fingers. A cloud of black fog manifested before Vlado’s very eyes.

This won’t do, Vlado thought to himself as he jumped back. Silently, he called for his own mage.

The mage, who served Elector Khan alongside Vlado, appeared right behind him. He spread open his arms and performed a wing-shaped mudra, which summoned a sudden squall that pushed the dark fog away.

But Vlado could only glower in frustration at the spot where his brother had been standing mere moments ago. Both Yulkan and Tulk had disappeared.