Chapter 44: Departure

Chapter 44: Departure

Lucan knocked on his father’s door, receiving an immediate response to enter. He opened it and stepped inside, finding his father seated at the table, surprisingly, with a goblet in hand. He had never known his father to drink outside of occasion.

Gloom clouded the knight’s features as he sipped ruby liquid from the goblet. “I just came back from the King’s study.”

“Did he give us leave?” Lucan asked.

“Aye, he did,” his father drawled. “After he delivered upon me appropriate admonishment for infringing on the royal family’s dignity.” He gave Lucan a look. Then he stood up, leaning with both hands on the table and shaking his head. “This...” He sighed heavily, and his thick voice came out even, but troubled. “This is unlike me. I don’t conspire in courts. I don’t take part in the schemes of plotters. I don’t humiliate my betters to save myself.” He fixed Lucan with a stare then he sighed again and let his head fall forward as though it had been a burden to his shoulders. “It’s a relief that the King has given us our leave. I have had enough of this godsdamned city.”

Lucan was struck by his father’s forthrightness, which left him speechless for a few moments. He gulped. “I’m sorry, Father. I didn’t mean to–”

“It’s not your burden to carry,” his father interrupted. “The responsibility is mine, and the blame is for me to bear. And I will bear it. For now, you need only learn, Son. Perhaps you will fare better than me after I pass.”

Lucan knocked on his chest. “Elders protect you, Father. And long may you live. Don’t say such things.”

“Death is inevitable for all of us,” his father said. “We must prepare for it just as much as we accept it. All I am doing now is preparation so that you may inherit and live in a state better than mine. Only, I’m not so certain anymore whether I will leave you better or worse, Son.”

Lucan nodded. “You will leave me better, Father. Of that, I’m certain. Let them play their games. Now we only need to ride for our duties. The Kingdom needs us to protect its borders, and so let us.” And let me learn to play their games in your place, Father. So that I may play them in your stead. So that you may not be so pained again.

His father’s face lit up and he let go of the goblet, nodding fervently. “Yes. Let us. Let us wade through our true battles, where the sound of metal rises above the sound of man, noble or common. Where the rot of friend and foe does not hide behind the scent of flowers and the pretense of empty smiles.”

It only struck Lucan today how thin his father’s tolerance for politics was. They hadn’t maneuvered that much in the deep waters of the court, and yet the knight was already so frustrated. Lucan now understood his initial reluctance. Perhaps the only thing that had persuaded his father to back the first prince in the first place was the title of nobility dangled in front of him, besides it being the traditional thing to stand for. He imagined that his father would have otherwise never done such a thing, no matter what amount of favors or wealth were offered.

Lucan smiled and nodded to his father firmly.

The knight grew quiet for a moment, sitting back down and taking a breath, his countenance much healthier. “The princess has appropriated the mythril, I imagine?” He surprised Lucan with both the change of subject and the livelier tone.

“Yes,” Lucan said with a sheepish smile. “You were right.” He sighed. “I suppose it was to be expected, even by me.”

His father nodded sympathetically. “It is fair, considering.” He grew quiet again.

“I have invited an acquaintance of the princess to our lands, well, more of a subordinate really. He is an engineer,” Lucan said.

His father raised a thick brow. “Why?”

Lucan was glad that they agreed on that front. At least now they were leaving Eldham with something of worth, even if their court aspirations hadn’t panned out.

“We should prepare,” his father continued. “We are to depart at first light.”

Lucan nodded. “Yes, Father. I will prepare my belongings, and I will send for Sawyer to do the same.”

“Very well,” Sir Golan said, giving him leave with a gesture of his hand.

Before Lucan turned around to leave, he remembered someone. “Lukas of the High Right. Are you familiar with that name, Father?”

His father, whose glazed-over eyes showed that he’d allowed his mind to wander, snapped out of it.

For a moment, he seemed to be thinking deeply, as though recalling something from ages past. “Lukas, from the war with the Vincemare? That lad?”

“I believe so,” Lucan said. “Though he didn’t tell me much more than what I told you and that you saved his life.”

“Aye, I did,” his father said. “He’s a good lad–man–now, I suppose. A Vincemare huscarl sliced two of his fingers off during our final battle. I’ve witnessed men respond with surprising variety to having parts of themselves sheared off before their eyes. It’s never good. Lukas was of the breed that froze. I remember him growing still as he watched blood seep out of his stumps, giving the huscarl free rein to do with him what he wished. Fortune favored him, though, as I had just stepped up beside him.”

Lucan couldn’t help but feel the same swell of pride he’d felt when the sergeant had first talked to him about his father. After the attempt on his life, he had been dubious about the sergeant, since he couldn’t be certain of the guards’ innocence in the matter, yet it seemed that the man had been truthful. “He said he was of the ‘High Right’.”

His father let out a light huff. “Yes, that was what we called our mounted right flank. The true flank, that is. It was mayhem back then. Some still call it the War of False Wings in jest.” He chuckled, then took a breath before asking him, “Where did you meet him?”

“He’s a sergeant in the encampment around the Elder Root. He said to tell you that ‘Lukas of High Right lives well with three fingers’”

His father allowed himself a rare boisterous laugh. “It’s good to hear of someone from back in the day doing well for themselves. That one hadn’t been so hopeful after the battle, but I suppose he eventually got back his bearings.”

After sharing a few merry moments with his father, Lucan was content to have delivered the sergeant’s message and affirmed the truth of it. He soon excused himself and left his father’s chamber with a satisfied smile.

They rose with the sun on the next day. Lucan collected Sawyer and delivered their farewells to the princess. And with Sir Golan in the lead, they departed from the East Gate of Eldham.

Sawyer proved an abysmal rider, struggling with his horse for most of the day and earning the ridicule of their men-at-arms. Bored and on the cusp of a long journey, they enjoyed many a jest at the engineer’s expense. Before Lucan could veer them off antagonizing the man, his father put an end to it by warning them that assassins might still be after them. Lucan hadn’t missed the tension in his father’s shoulders since they’d left the palace. And even the men-at-arms with their jests hadn’t truly let their guards down, if one were to observe them carefully.

Perhaps their rowdiness had only been a front to hide their anxiety, just as Lucan’s calm was a front to hide his fear.

Fortunately, his father’s worries proved untrue by the second day, and it looked like they would have a proper boring journey, one Lucan was very thankful for.