The Lufian Family 7

Dagobert Lufian stands up from his desk and sighs deeply. He supposes that it’s luck that there were no more reports of bandits raiding villages. He had just sent out another party of soldiers and doesn’t know if he could afford another. If another report came he might have to set out himself, and for just a few simple bandits he feels it would be a waste. He knows it would be better for him to focus on whatever force has driven these bandits to attack, and seemingly coordinated them as well, but if his people needed him he would not be able to stop himself.

His absence would create a gap in the defenses as well. Ord has been silent after daily communication, and as such he can only assume that something regarding Pacaster is afoot. In the worst case they might take the opportunity to invade the second he steps away from the manor. He sighs deeply once more. He wishes Win were here, if only so there would be one more powerful person around. If they were two rather than one then he could take action quite a bit more definitively without so deep a fear of the misfortunes that would follow.

Sorrow fills his heart as he thinks of Win. He has only been missing for a short time now, yet his absence too has quickly made itself felt. Their dinner table has felt empty without him. Dagobert has always considered himself an honest man, yet when Odila asked where her older brother was, he lied without a second thought. He hopes she can forgive this one sweet lie, the lie that Win was sent out on some business and will return home soon.

Dagobert steps out into the courtyard. One of the few remaining soldiers, a young man barely trained enough to be called as such, is waiting there. Dagobert addresses him.

“Have there been any signs of Win yet?”

“No margrave, not that we’ve heard of. But…”

“There’s something else? Tell me. There are more problems to handle then just Win, after all.”

“Apparently Lord Anzo has died.”

“He’s dead? Then I suppose I ought to appoint somebody new and begin preparations for a funeral. But what do you mean ‘apparently?’”

“They haven’t seen the body. He’s simply gone missing. But they think he’s been murdered, margrave. They said a rogue sorcerer with a sword has killed him.” The soldier can’t meet Dagobert’s eyes.

“Did you think I might presume it to be Win? Don’t worry, I know my son would never do something like that. That boy treasures life unlike any I’ve seen before. Tell Ord to search for the body. A hero deserves a proper burial, after all.”

“Yes, margrave. I’ll do so right away.”

As the soldier turns to leave an arrow pierces his throat. He spits up blood as he falls to the ground. Dagobert drops to one knee and surrounds both himself and the fallen soldier with his cloak. He watches as the soldier’s life fades. He can feel the arrows smacking against the cloak. He again wishes that Win were here. Dagobert is no genius, unlike his son. He cannot heal. He cannot harden his skin. All he can do is manipulate the earth. And the extent of that is creating dolls of dirt. He can tell from the collisions that he’s surrounded. He wouldn’t be able to save the soldier right in front of him. He can destroy others. He can protect others. But he cannot save others. Not in the way he knows Win could.

Protection and destruction are always at odds. Dagobert chose to protect a dying man instead of destroying his enemies, and now he finds himself stuck. In protecting a single man he had perhaps endangered the lives of so many more. And he knows he would pick the same option every time. That’s the sort of fool he’s always been. Nothing at all like his genius son. He’s sure that Win, so much more suited for serving others than him, would save everyone.

As the last flickers of life burn away inside the soldier’s eyes, Dagobert stands. His cloak billows around him, the weak arrows of his adversaries, incapable of piercing it, fall to the ground harmlessly. Dagobert glances around with dark eyes. There are four burly archers around him and the soldier’s corpse. He does not fear them.

He rushes towards one. His cloak flows in the wind, shielding his body from harm. It wraps around his arm as he reaches the archer. He smashes the iron bludgeon into the man’s side. Dagobert feels the man’s ribs breaking as he slams deep inside of his chest. Dagobert flips his cloak back as the man falls to the ground. All the blood falls from the cloak. As it sways back, it swats several more arrows away.

Again Dagobert charges, now towards an archer standing near the manor wall. He wraps his shoulder in his cloak and crashes into the bandit. Dagobert forces him into the wall with a loud crack. Another archer stands atop the wall. Dagobert jumps up and begins to scale it. He reaches the top and towers over the archer. He punches him once in the gut, his cloak still flowing behind him, then grabs hold of the archer’s arm and swings him back, throwing him into the courtyard. The archer lands with a loud thud and creates a large crater in the ground and stops moving.

Dagobert glares at the final archer from the top of the wall. The archer feels the fear shooting through his spine and begins to shake. He can do nothing any longer, not as long as he is before the man standing over him now, a man more frightening now than even their leader. Dagobert leaps from the wall and lands in front of the archer. He wraps his fist in his cloak and slams it into his face. Dagobert can hear the snapping of bones as he forces the bandit to the ground.

Dagobert looks around once more. Around him is nothing but a field of death, no different from a battlefield, even as he stands in his home. He has destroyed his enemies. If there’s a third way he does not know it, and it must be the realm of geniuses. However, if it means his family will be safe, then he does not care how foolish he must become.