Chapter 49 - Subduction

Clovis meets Arrian’s imperious eyes without a trace of intimidation.

I, on the other hand, feel my stomach clench. His arrogance is a physical presence, pressing in on the already thin air of the barracks.

“Our theory is based on a simple premise, Knight Captain.” Clovis begins, her voice a model of professional decorum. “The mana stones collected from the creatures involved in the attack are not merely unusable; they’re corrupted. We believe an external, ambient source of mana is saturating the forest, acting like a poison. It doesn't kill the creatures; it rewrites their very nature, altering their mana stones and driving them into a state of perpetual, frenzied aggression.”

“Ambient mana?” he scoffs, the sound echoing slightly off the stone walls. “I’ve never heard of such drivel. As I have already stated, my mages have already concluded that the mana stones are inert. They attempted to use them as a power source and the result was nothing. Your theory sounds like a fanciful waste of time.”

His dismissal is absolute, a verdict handed down from on high. He turns his gaze back to his inventory list, the conversation clearly over in his mind. But Clovis doesn’t back down.

“With respect, Knight Captain, inertness is itself a result. If a living creature’s mana stone produces no energy, that is an anomaly worth investigating. It suggests an imbalance, a sickness. The kingdom mages were trying to use them as a fuel source, which is logical. I propose we use them as a component, to see how their corrupted nature interacts with a stable spell structure.”

Arrian sighs, a long, theatrical sound of suffering patience. “Healer, stick to your poultices and leave the magical theory to those with the proper authority and training.”

A hot surge of indignation flares in my chest. He speaks to her as if she’s a child playing with things she doesn’t understand. Before I can stop myself, the words are out.

“But even if the stones are useless for written spells, wouldn’t it still be worth letting us try to experiment with them? To try other ideas? If we just throw them all away, we lose any chance of learning from them.”

The moment I speak, I know I’ve made a mistake.

Arrian’s head snaps toward me. The mild courtesy he’d shown Clovis is gone. He takes a step forward, his towering frame casting a sudden shadow over me.

“And who are you to offer an opinion?” he hisses at me with dangerous venom. “You are the Chief’s guest. A stray. You have no rank, no authority, no official standing in this village. How dare you speak out of turn.”

Each word is a deliberate, calculated strike meant to wound. I feel my face flush with a humiliating heat.

I can feel the eyes of the other guards on me, their pity as sharp as his contempt.

He isn’t finished. He turns his glare on Clovis.

“And you. Every moment you spend chasing this fantasy is a moment you are not tending to the wounded or preparing for the next inevitable attack. For you to allow yourself to be distracted by this… child’s fickle whimsy is a dereliction of your duty.”

The injustice of it is staggering, if this happened in my last life I’d explode on the spot. But here I am at the mercy of my own survival. All I can do is stand here and take it.

He stares me down for a long, agonizing moment, then lets out a short, derisive laugh. He turns away, picking up a spear and examining its tip with feigned interest.

“However,” he says, not looking at us, “I am a fair man. Your work has been instrumental in keeping what’s left of this village’s guard on their feet. Your efforts have saved the crown a considerable expense in stationing replacements here.”

He turns back, his expression now one of icy, transactional pragmatism. 

He reaches into a large crate by his feet and pulls out a small, rough thatch bag that jingles with the sound of stones clicking together. He passes it to one of the guards next to him who then walks to pass it to Clovis.

“Consider that a professional courtesy. A repayment for services rendered. Do your ‘research’. But do not bother me with it again until you have something other than idle speculation to report.”

He dismisses us with a final, contemptuous look before turning back to Roach, his voice resuming its authoritative bark. “Now, about the watchtower assignments…”

I can feel a wild, shaking anger surging up from the pit of my stomach to the tips of my temples. It’s a feeling I know all too well, the impotent rage of being belittled, of being rendered invisible. 

It takes every ounce of my willpower to fight it down, to force the corners of my mouth into the shape of a smile. I have to grin through it. For Clovis. For the plan.

Clovis simply undoes the bag to check the stones are all them, her expression unreadable.

“Thank you, Knight Captain Sir.” I force myself to say. “We appreciate your faith in our work!”

He doesn’t even acknowledge me.

The walk back to Clovis’s cottage is silent and tense.

I can still feel the heat of Arrian’s glare on my skin, the sting of his words echoing in my ears. A part of me expects Clovis to be angry with me for speaking out of turn and making things worse.

But when we step inside her cottage, she says nothing about the encounter. She actually seems completely unphased. 

She simply gestures to the large, cleared workbench. Her focus has already moved on. The humiliation, the politics, the arrogance of men like Arrian; it's all just noise to her, an obstacle to be navigated and then forgotten. The work is what matters.

“Don’t you care about how he spoke to us?” I break the silence as I can’t keep it in any longer.

“Who? Are you talking about that Knight Captain? He has no idea what he’s talking about, you shouldn’t care what he says.” Clovis’s reply is composed.

“But it made me so angry to see you get belittled like that. Why didn’t you stand up for yourself? I know you can do it.” I counter.

“Why bother, it’s not going to change the fact that we needed the stones. The conversation with him was just a means to an end. If he felt like he needed to come out on top in order to let us have the stones then so be it.” Clovis’s expression doesn’t change, I guess that’s the kind of knowledge that comes from a lifetime of conversations. 

“Right then enough of that!” she exclaims as she unties the bag and carefully tips the contents onto the workbench. “Let’s begin.”