Caracara's Hunt 110 What Price Is Too High?

There were voices in the distance, but Arawn couldn't hear them clearly enough, which turned them into background noise. The two soldiers next to the carriage didn't talk more. Steph, the one more scared of the two, shivered from time to time and tried to stay as far away from the carriage as possible, but that was it. His shuffling footsteps were the only sound near Arawn.

He sat next to Mutallu while Sylvester slept on the opposite seat. The doctor seemed to have exhausted the last of his reserves and was ready to sleep for all eternity.

Seeing him like that, Arawn couldn't help feeling a little guilty. He hadn't wanted to drag Sylvester into any of it. The doctor should have stayed back at the castle and taken a well-deserved rest instead of traveling all day without a moment's stop.

Hours pa.s.sed with nothing happening. When the lord returned with his men, the sun was close to its zenith. No one spoke, but Arawn could hear their labored breathing. They seemed to have been busy with something.

One person seemed extremely weak, barely breathing at all. Below him, some liquid—probably blood—dropped to the ground, but no one seemed to notice. The lord ordered the carriage driver to start going and sent a few scouts ahead to ensure the safety of the road.

The way back was long and mind-numbing. Sylvester still slept like a rock, and whenever Arawn turned to Mutallu, all he received was a cold stare that promised him he wasn't getting any conversation there.

It left him with no one but his thoughts, and they were a dangerous thing. He had seen the way everyone had looked at him, and he couldn't help the anger that rose in him at their fury. What had he done that deserved such hatred? Hadn't he only killed the criminals that didn't deserve the gift of life?

As the carriage rocked over the uneven road, he lost himself in the vicious circle of unanswered questions and hatred he could not understand. No matter how he tried to puzzle it out, it made no sense to him. Why would anyone care about people that had the gall to kill others without a care?

His mind didn't rest for a moment, and when they reached the castle in the evening, he was about to burst. When the carriage stopped and a soldier was sent to open the door, Arawn did not wait for him. He threw the door open and stepped outside feeling like a vengeful ghost.

Ether was all about him, but he did not call out to it. He was angry and lost, but not mad. It would make him a true monster if he started using his power to intimidate or, even worse, injure people that showed negative emotions.

Yet when he was about to go upstairs and find his room, he was blocked by a dozen soldiers. Feet hit the ground, and more armed men showed up to surround him and the carriage. They looked weary, but the hands on their weapons weren't shaking. If Arawn so much as took another step, he'd be struck with both steel and elemental ether.

With a scowl, he turned around and glared at the lord still sitting on his horse. "Anything to say?" he asked in a low growl. He hadn't had a great day, and he wanted to drop into a bed in hopes that sleep would help make sense of what was happening around him.

"Step away from the carriage!" Lord Bernard ordered in a voice that brook no argument. Even the soldiers, to whom this command wasn't addressed, almost stepped back.

Arawn was about to do as asked just to avoid another pointless war of words when he remembered what was so special about the carriage. As he turned around, Mutallu jumped out of it and closed the door. Then, before anyone could stop him, he jumped on the driver's seat and the top of the carriage.

He crouched down there and unsheathed long daggers in his hands. "Where he goes, we go."

His voice wasn't loud, but in the silence that had fallen over the courtyard upon their return, it rang clear and strong.

The lord's face twisted with anger, and ether collected at his fingertips. There was much more of it than Arawn would have ever expected, which gave him pause. Was the lord someone like him? But the old man seemed like a normal person and not a monster…

"Are you taking hostages now?" he demanded in a barely controlled shout.

The corner of Mutallu's lips lifted in a sneer. "We're his bodyguards if you've forgotten, old man."

"No more. I remove you from that post and—"

"And nothing," Arawn said, walking back to stand by the carriage's door. "You're not the one making the decisions here. He hired us, not you."

Ether began to seep into the ground from the lord's hands. It was a gradual and slow process, but Arawn was intimately familiar with the white particles. He could easily notice when they were being manipulated.

Without a warning, he coalesced a blade of ether in his hands and threw it at the ground before the lord's horse's feet. The animal reared in surprise, almost throwing off its rider. Lord Bernard grabbed for the reins to calm it down, and his concentration was broken. He released the ether, which scattered upon regaining its freedom.

The soldiers drew their swords and called to the ether, but before they could attack, the lord ordered them to stand ground. He calmed his horse, then glowered at Arawn.

He shrugged in response. "If you want to attack me, do so openly. And if you want to take away Sylvester, count that as a warning shot. I won't be holding back next time."

His nonchalance seemed to touch a nerve. One of the soldiers lunged forward with his sword aimed at Arawn's heart. Arawn didn't have much time to dodge, but he didn't need it. Ether only needed a fraction of a second to rush to him, and he blasted the man away.

The soldier flew into his companions, sending a few down with him. There was a disturbing cracking sound, and while the other soldiers scrambled to their feet, the attacker did not do so. Something between a groan and a croak left his mouth as blood bubbled up his throat. He reached for something, raising his arms up, but moments later, his body spasmed and fell limp.

A shudder ran through the crowd of soldiers and servants who had been attracted by the commotion. Someone screamed and began to cry. A few others gagged and vomited.

The soldier's chest had caved in from the force, and bones stuck out in a few places. Blood dyed his armor and the ground around him crimson.

Many men and women looked sick from the sight. They turned away, unable to stomach the grotesque sight.

Arawn stood motionless. His expression was neutral, as if he wasn't concerned by the gruesome death, but inside, he was screaming at himself. Where had all his lessons about controlling his ether output gone? He had used enough power to send ten men flying!

"You killed him," Lord Bernard said in a voice unable to decide between disbelief and anger. "Right here. Now."

"Yeah?" Arawn asked with a dismissive look at the very dead soldier lying some ten meters away from him. "He tried to kill me."

To his surprise, that set the crowd even more against him. Eyes that were full of anger before now filled with absolute hatred and disgust. Like blood-sucking monsters from myths, they looked thirsty for his blood.

If it wasn't because he was so much stronger than all of them, they would have already attacked. Yet even knowing his strength, they were on the verge of throwing themselves at him whatever the cost. He could see the determination to kill him even if all of them died burning in their gazes.

It shook him. He couldn't understand their feverish desire for his immediate death. All he had done was kill some murderers and a man who had attacked him with a naked blade. Was he supposed to let those evil people roam the land and kill more? Or let himself be fatally struck so the ether monster, or the beast, showed up to slaughter everyone in the castle?

"Father! Lorick is dying, please!" Lady Bernard suddenly shouted out, attracting everyone's attention to herself. At some point, she had left the castle to check what was happening and now stood by one of the horses with a man strapped to his saddle.

He was lying over it with blood dripping from a deep gash on his arm. His leather tunic was sliced through in the chest area and as dirty as if he had rolled on the ground.

"Father!" the lady shouted out again with tears collecting in her eyes.

Lord Bernard only scowled at her. He waved off her concern for her brother without even lifting his eyes from Arawn. "Leave him be. If he's meant to live, he'll get better, and if not, that's his fate too."

'His fate too?'

A wave of anger surged up in Arawn, and he balled his hands into fists. When the lord had been injured, he had demanded that Sylvester heal him straight away, but when his son was mortally wounded, he said it should be determined by fate? What disgusting nonsense was that?

Arawn didn't know the young man at all, but he couldn't stand such double standards. He raised his hands with ether visible to all around him.

There was just so much he could pretend he didn't see before even his patience ran out. First, it was those soldiers that for some reason he shouldn't have killed, then the lord treating Sylvester as his without the doctor expressing any desire to be owned like a tool, and now a man who needed immediate attention was being ignored.

And for what purpose did the lord do that? Of course so more men could die and be injured! Anyone who went up against Arawn should write down their last words. There were enough monsters in him to kill and kill without end.

"Stop! Please!" Lady Bernard begged, falling on her knees before Arawn.

He blinked, a little stunned. Out of all the things that could have happened right then, this was one he would have never expected.

The lady ignored her expensive dress and stayed on her knees on the dirty ground. "Please," she begged again after raising her tear-stained eyes at Arawn. "I beg you, do not kill anymore. My brother is dying and needs treatment. And these people, they haven't done anything. Please, I beg you, don't let anymore blood be spilled today."

"Irene! What are you doing! Stand up right now!" her father shouted out in fury. When she didn't and only begged Arawn to stop again, he jumped down from his horse and rushed to her side to pull her up.

Yet the girl pushed him away, fighting back with her feeble strength. "Father, why would you allow this? Do you no longer care about our people?" she demanded in a tear-choked voice. "He'll kill all of them!"

"He won't," the lord said with dismissal in his voice. "Stand up and don't shame yourself like this anymore. We can take him down."

At his words, the lady whirled on him with her hair flying in the air. Fury suddenly replaced her tearful expression, and she glared at her father. Somehow, the red-rimmed eyes and flushed cheeks didn't take away from her sudden change in demeanor. She suddenly looked like a queen regent with her straight back and clear gaze.

"At what cost? What cost father? Is hiding your shame more important to you than the lives of thirty people? And if it requires fifty? Is the price still fine for you?"

The lord was about to rebuke her, but Lady Irene wasn't done just yet. "And what about their families? Who is going to feed them once they lose their main bread provider? I've seen you send a packet of gifts to wives of fallen soldiers, but who do you think such actions trick? Your gifts are enough for half a year, but what kids grow up that fast? What about the other seventeen and a half years till their adulthood?"

Her words stunned not only her father but even all the soldiers in the surroundings. They looked at each other as if waking up from a dream. Their anger hadn't left them, but all those who had someone dear, their own family or their parents, lost their eagerness for the suicide mission. Revenge was good, but not at the price of the futures of their children or parents.

Having successfully left the crowd speechless, the lady turned to Arawn. Her expression softened and she lowered her head a little. "Please, I know we've angered you, but could you ask Doctor Otshoa to help us one more time? My brother needs his help. In return, I'll do anything you ask of me."