Lord Loxlin Series [1930s Fantasy]

Simon held himself back, until the guests had left, until I had shut the door, then he grabbed me by the collar.

"Teach me!"

"Teach you what?"

"The lightning ball!"

"How? You sorcerers use a completely different approach. You don't inscribe spells on paper! Not to mention how long the whole process takes, from charging a couple of runes to dispelling and constant practice with increasingly complex schematics. I only managed to hold that thing together by sheer luck and a high pain tolerance."

"It's worth a try," Simon said, just as determined. "I felt how you created it. If you cast ten more —"

"Oh, sure, right now!" I swatted his hands off my shirt and shoved him back. "Do you know how badly that thing burned my hand? I had to heal it! Didn't you feel that?"

"No," Kettle admitted, sounding disappointed. "Why did it burn you? Fault in the formula?"

I hesitated.

Maybe? … Possible, but unlikely.

"More likely, I just didn't have enough control to keep the spell in check."

"What about something simpler? A shield, maybe? Or acceleration?"

"That's not simpler at all. Air and ether have easy acceleration spells, sure, but shields? Those are earth and steel. Lightning spells are bulky. The simplest one is a discharge. Which you already handle perfectly well."

"Fine. But when you finally do master the lightning ball, we're testing it together!"

Simon made another attempt to pressure me, but I stopped him at once.

"We'll see."

"What's that supposed to mean?!"

I ignored the question, firmly moving him out of the way as I headed for the telephone.

Uncle Bryce probably already knew, someone was definitely keeping an eye on the house, but I was still obliged to report in. As expected, Bryce was still at work, so I caught him on the first ring and gave him a brief rundown of the situation. He didn't give any instructions, just thanked me and hung up.

I considered making another call to report to Harry, but my teacher was quick to dole out consequences. I still hadn't read the books from my last assignment, and if he decided to add more on top of that, I definitely wouldn't like it.

I'd tell him later, once we were back in Farnell.

Logically, I should have started on my homework.

Instead, I spent the rest of the evening refilling blank spells in my notebook and recharging the stones in my amulet reservoirs. It was only before bed that I remembered how easily the would-be assassin had gotten into Robert's house.

I went to check my own wards.

Unexpectedly, I found half of my reservoir stones empty.

Everything I needed was in my grandfather's workshop, so I spent another half hour swapping them all out, even the ones that still had magic left. That helped dampen my suddenly surging paranoia, and I slept through the night without trouble.

The clattering alarm yanked me out of sleep at around six.

I threw on my prepared clothes, activated the rear-view spell, and bolted straight to Bryce's place, hoping to catch my uncle before he left.

I made it.

He was still in slippers and a robe, tea in hand, when he opened the door.

"What?" Bryce asked, all seriousness.

"Nothing new," I reassured him at once. "But you'll be too busy later, so I thought I'd ask what you want me to do."

He took a sip of tea.

"You're lying. You were hoping I'd tell you something interesting."

"Not gonna deny it," I admitted.

"Too bad." My uncle's voice was firm. He took another sip, then stepped aside to clear the doorway. "Come in. Ailie will feed you."

I saw no reason to refuse. Uncle carried the faintest scent of meat, and as it turned out, Aunt Ailie had made pork stew in beer. They gave me a full plate, and while I worked through it with a spoon, Bryce sipped his tea, asking questions and giving orders.

"No luck with blood?"

I shook my head.

"Then take your lot and get yourselves up to the mountains until evening."

There were no true mountains in Bremshire. The land, especially in the north, was rocky, but the real range rose only on the territory of the Elphin clan, our northern neighbours. Relations between Bremor and Elphin had always been good, both personally and in trade.

At the very northern edge of Bremor Forest lay one of our places of power. I understood what Uncle meant but asked to be sure.

"The Cave of Blades?"

This time, Bryce nodded.

It aligned perfectly with my own plans. Steel was Harry's element, it formed the core of half his spells. Which meant: a well-honed system for combining steel with ether, optimised runic chains, hundreds of pre-prepared spells and enchantment formulas.

Gaining access to that element would multiply the value of my training tenfold.

But I wasn't holding my breath.

At least, the experiments with reservoir stones in Farnell had failed. And, if I was being honest with myself, lightning magic looked far more impressive. Blood was friendlier.

And the cave itself? Out in the middle of bloody nowhere.

Five hours one way by car.

"I need a proper vehicle," I said flatly. "I'm not bouncing around in the back of a pickup again."

"You'll take Gordon's Cooper. I'm keeping Logan, so there's plenty of room."

"And what about the new beast? Logan said a badger had moved into the cave."

"Leave the badger alone. Let them breed."

"Unless it shows aggression," Ailie added.

"No." Bryce cut her off, shaking a finger. "If you so much as touch the badger, I'll snap your bloody head off and tell everyone it was an accident. That creature is one of a kind."

"Oh, so the badger's worth more than your nephew?" Aunt said, scandalised.

"Yes," Bryce agreed without hesitation. "The badger's one. My nephews, however…" He even began counting on his fingers, before being promptly smacked with a tea towel and cutting it short.

"Stop by my lab before you leave," Ailie said. "I'll prepare something for you — a potion. Might help."

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

"Speaking of," I remembered suddenly. "The Sheridans gave me a flask for my birthday. Some kind of fat, imbued with earth magic."

"Imb —" Ailie started, but she never finished.

Bryce had suddenly jumped to his feet and left the kitchen. A moment later, a sharp knock echoed from the front door.

"What?" my uncle demanded, as curt as ever.

I recognised the voice of Nicholas Boily.

"The werewolf's awake. Donald called, said he fed him the prepared liver, but he threw it back up."

"Duncan." Bryce turned towards me. "Time for you to go home."

I poked my head into the parlour.

"Oh, come on, I already heard the important part."

Bryce growled something displeased, but instead of arguing, he gestured for Nicholas to come inside, allowing me to eavesdrop in peace.

"So what's wrong with the werewolf? Stomach damage? Could be intestinal."

"Want me to cut him open and check?" Boily asked.

"Where do you lot even come from, you sarcastic bastards?" Bryce muttered. "If he dies, I'll be cutting you open instead."

That got a reaction. Nicholas straightened up and immediately got to the point.

"Maybe Sally should take a look? He didn't drop dead immediately, he'll last a little longer. And I'd get him some intestines while we're at it. He's a predator. Predators go for the offal first."

Ailie poked her head out of the kitchen.

"Because herbivore intestines are full of pre-digested fibre and beneficial flora, you ignoramuses."

"Magnus, then?" Boily named our butcher.

"No. Magnus can't keep his mouth shut. By evening, the whole clan would know, and someone would step in. You can't get any in town, either, meat shops only sell sausages. Needs to be out of town, ideally, a whole pig. Leave the carcass in the woods."

"He doesn't need intestines," Ailie said. "In human form, he'll do just fine on sour milk and pumpkin porridge with honey."

The men all turned to stare at her, trying to decide whether or not she was joking. Ailien allowed herself a smirk.

"Let me guess, you'd rather butcher a pig than cook a simple porridge?"

"Now that's just insulting," Bryce protested.

"So you'll cook it, then?"

"Of course."

"And the milk?" Nicholas asked.

"There's a couple of litres in the lab. Come on, I'll get it for you," Ailie said, pulling her coat from the rack.

Then she turned to Bryce and me.

"Meanwhile, you two, peel the pumpkin and dice it fine."

Which is how the Count of Bremor and the Baron of Loxlin ended up peeling a pumpkin.

I used the time to pry information out of Uncle, reasoning that I already knew most of it anyway. A few extra secrets wouldn't make a difference. I kept my voice as casual as possible.

"So what about the traitor? Have you found them?"

"Your late-night visit was the most suspicious thing so far."

"You already knew I had visitors before I even called you, didn't you?" I threw Uncle a look and caught the slight curl of his lips. A good sign. "Not even Feron?"

"We have a lot of Ferons."

I raised an eyebrow deliberately.

"You know who I mean. Sean. Simon's father. Your eternal rival."

"He's acting like he doesn't have a clue."

"He's pretending."

"Maybe. Or maybe not."

I frowned.

"Wait — you! This was your doing!"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Uncle said blandly.

"Oh, really? A few pounds to a young woman in a difficult situation, a few drops of aphrodisiac for Sean after a fight with his wife…"

"You think it's easy to slip something to a warlock as experienced as him?"

"I think McLilly could do it. I've seen his amulets, Uncle."

"Ha! You know, you're right, he could. But no, this wasn't me. Don't make me out to be a demon."

I narrowed my eyes.

"I still have Grandfather's journals. Including the one where he describes how he guided Simon into leaving the clan."

Bryce snapped.

"Listen, you little shit, I'm not going to justify myself to you!" he barked. "Moralists everywhere, damn the lot of you! And for the record, I haven't so much as touched your bloody Feron! Looks like his wife got to him first. Satisfied?!"

I held up a placating hand.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to upset you."

Bryce let out a heavy breath, rubbing his temple.

"Duncan, a clan leader has to make hard choices. Choices where morality takes a back seat, for the sake of the family and the future of the clan. And the last thing I need from you lot is judgement."

"The Aunt giving you grief?"

"She went on all bloody night about how I was too harsh on Matt and Alice…"

Damn it. And I agreed with her.

But I wasn't about to say it. Not right now.

Bryce exhaled sharply and continued.

"The attack on Robert was sloppy."

I nodded.

"We assumed it was because they were in a hurry. The enemy saw an opportunity and took it. Which means, they're impulsive."

I tilted my head.

"So?"

"So we've stirred the pot. Added chaos. Given them opportunities to manipulate our people." He leaned forward, eyes sharp. "And they haven't taken a single one. Which means?"

"No idea."

"That the attack on Robert wasn't as clumsy as I first thought. Maybe that's exactly the reaction our enemy wanted, and I have no interest in dancing to someone else's tune. Frankly, I hate intrigues."

I snorted, couldn't help it.

Had to say something quickly to shift his attention.

"Maybe they simply don't have the means to act."

"And what's stopping them?"

I just spread my hands.

Then Ailie arrived, and scolded us for cutting too much pumpkin.

Before I could be roped into cooking, and worse, eating it, I excused myself. Told them I needed to prepare for the trip.

Went to my other uncle to borrow his Cooper. And promptly walked into a second breakfast. Aunt Mary was more… authoritarian when it came to feeding people.

Good thing Uncle agreed to lend me the car, after those pancakes, I'd have been rolling home like a ball.

Truth be told, the cave visit wouldn't benefit my friends much.

Blood magic at least toned the body. Metal? Not so much.

Ellie, at best, could reinforce her cleaver, which I suggested she do.

There was a reason the Cave of Blades had its name.

Once, it had been a forge, crafting daggers for warlocks. But those days were long gone, techniques had evolved, and smiths now preferred reservoir stones over living streams of magic, modern workshops over stone walls.

Still, some blades were made the old way, if only to keep the knowledge from dying out. One of those methods was personal infusion, binding the weapon to magic.

Turned out, everyone suddenly had a blade to hand. Simon pulled out a knife with a curved tip and a half-sharpened edge.

Finella produced a hairpin, but not just any hairpin. It was a steel-and-fire hybrid, forged through elemental magic.

"You won't ruin it?" I asked.

She shrugged.

"If I do, James will make me a new one."

I managed to stir up some enthusiasm, which evaporated entirely after three hours of rattling down a terrible road.

I had said we'd need to drive a little. I hadn't said how long.

By hour four, they were quietly loathing me. At least the road to the place of power was direct. There were no sensitive animals here, nothing to disturb. But if the badgers settled in, the council might ban vehicles. That would mean another hour on foot, on top of the drive.

The land in this part of Bremor Forest was poor.

Or rather, too rich in stone.

Only pines grew here — stubborn shrubs, clinging to rock cracks with roots as gnarled as their will to survive.

In spring and summer, many of them bloomed, releasing a heady, intoxicating scent. But it wasn't their season. The air held only the smells of pine, moss, and damp stone.

For a while, the Cooper groaned its way up the incline, wheels scraping against loose gravel. Then the road levelled out, mostly. The car lurched to a stop on a flat plateau, marking the road's end.

The ground still had a slight slope, so I kicked a jagged stone under the wheel, one that had clearly been used for this purpose before.

About ten metres ahead, the soil abruptly gave way to a sheer rock face, a sloping stone wall. Set into it, framed by aged beams, was the entrance to an old mine.

I grabbed the rifle, the backpacks, and a couple of kerosene lanterns from the boot.

"I say we eat before we start."

Everyone welcomed the suggestion, after hours in the car, stretching and resting was more than appealing. Simon surprised me. For all the booze variety he'd packed, he chose tea from my thermos. Though, to be fair, he did add a splash of brandy.

We didn't linger.

As soon as the meal was done, we lit the lanterns and stepped through the timber-framed archway.

"I thought," Ellie said, "it would be a proper cave."

"It was. A long time ago."

I gestured at the beams.

"Then my ancestors started mining the ore here. The deposit ran out, but the place of power remained."

I nodded toward the deeper passage.

"You'll see the supports further in. The logs haven't been changed in centuries."

Ellie glanced at the beams again.

"Centuries? But they still look solid."

I smirked.

"They are. They're so saturated with magic — they've turned into iron."

Within minutes, even our heels stopped clattering against stone, turning instead to the sharp ring of metal. The air thickened, heavy with magic, firm and unyielding. I opened my third eye, and sank into a grey, almost black haze, through which only the lantern flames flickered weakly.

Even my friends' energy nodes shone brighter than that.

My ancestors weren't fools.

Upon reaching the place of power, they had cleared out as much space as possible, shaping a makeshift hall, reinforcing it with stone and wooden columns.

For convenience, they had placed crude wooden furniture, a table, its centre scattered with pyrites, and half a dozen chairs around it.

Beyond the columns, lining the walls, stood shelves stocked with other reservoirs, metals, and unfinished blades. I checked my list from home, grabbed a couple of items, then sifted through the pyrites, searching for charged ones.

Setting the lanterns on the table, I gestured for the others to sit.

While they channelled magic through their blades, I made a full circuit of the man-made cavern, harvesting used reservoir stones and replacing them with fresh ones.

Only after that did I turn to the source itself.

Steel magic felt heavy, solid, unshakable. The moment it touched me, my stomach hardened, weighed down like stone. It felt as if no fist in the world could dent it. No sharp stabs, like with lightning. No writhing cramps.

It was almost like blood magic, but solid. I finished my task within minutes, but I couldn't verify any changes here.

Meanwhile, the others remained focused, pouring magic through their weapons.

"I'll be in the Cooper," I told them. "I'll wait until you've had enough."

Something about steel magic had clearly influenced their minds. Even Finella, fiery-tempered and impatient as she was, managed to sit still for two hours, repeating the same task. I had to drag them out before they turned to stone, like those beams.

We drove home in absolute silence for the first two hours. Then, finally, Finella came back to life, and demanded food. During the meal, Simon revived as well, downing half a bottle of brandy, its neck cleanly sliced off with his knife.

Finella chewed him out for it.

Their bickering was enough to wake Ellie, who promptly found a young pine tree and felled it with a single cleaver strike.

"You might want to pace yourself," I remarked. "The effect weakens with each use."

All in all?

Things were good.

Better than good.

My source remained full.