Chapter 11 - Erik - To Become A Man II

In the hour before dawn, Alaric Morsin, traitor and coward, choked on his own blood, taken in sleep.
Dorian Morsin, storm-eyed and bitter, reached for his focus -
Too late.
Bjorn's axe split his spine.
No mercy was shown.
The children cried out - once.
Then only the crackle of fire remained.
Bjorn left with ash on his boots and silence behind.

The Saga of Bjorn, Verse 18

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There was no need to build a scaffold. There was no need to find a suitable tree-stump. There was no need to arrange for a pike over the castle gates.

They were already in place.

After Duke Morsin’s decree, events moved swiftly. Jonas was stunned and dragged to the executioner’s platform. Erik took Bjorn’s legendary axe, and soon found himself on the platform, in front of over a hundred wixen. Young and old, mages all, he could feel their gaze boring into him. The goblins were lurking around the edges of the crowd, imps were climbing along the walls, chittering as they cleaned, and everyone was waiting for him.

Erik was comfortable with normal public speaking, but the added weight and gravitas of the event was weighing heavily on him. Less than an hour ago he’d been with his violin, warming up for the most elegant of magic. In less than an hour, he’d condemned a man to death, and was expected to swing the axe.

He blinked as he realized - he should still be playing his violin, not swinging an axe.

“In the name of Odin, under the auspices of Duke Bjorn Morsin, we are gathered here today.” Erik started off with the traditional greeting, opting to keep things as short as possible. “For-” His voice broke awkwardly, and Erik licked his lips, trying again. “For the crime of desertion, Jonas has been sentenced to execution by beheading, until death.”

The young wizard hated how high his voice got at the end. The bloodthirsty cheers at his announcement weren’t exactly unexpected, but Erik never thought they’d be cheering at him.

He hesitated, knowing what he was supposed to do, not quite sure how to start.

“Get on with it!” A voice shouted from the crowd.

And Erik did.

He used two hands to lift the heavy axe over his head, then brought it down with all his strength onto Jonas’s neck. The blade bit down, but it didn’t go through his spine.

Erik blessed his prior mercy. Instead of screaming in agony at the botched execution, Jonas just limply lay there, the stunning spell still effective. He brought the axe up and swung again.

It took a dozen blows to separate his head from his neck, and Erik was splattered in bright red blood by the end of it. The crowd’s cheers turned into a roar of approval as Erik lifted the head up high.

He didn’t have eyes for them. He scanned the windows around the courtyard for his mother, focusing on a particular set, but she wasn’t there. Instead, he spotted Jonas’s parents sobbing in the back.

Whoever takes a life kills the world.

It hit him like a punch, and he barely managed to stammer out the words.

“Justice has been served.”

He dropped the head back into the basket and numbly walked off the stage. Other people would preserve and stick the head on a pike, a reminder to everyone. His friends and family met him off the stage.

“Wicked!” Caleb exclaimed.

“You okay?” Sora asked.

Aoife shot him a silent look of sympathy, but Bjorn’s presence commanded everyone’s attention.

“A fine showing!” He clasped Erik on the shoulder, and carefully pried his axe away from his shaking hands. “Today, I am proud to call you my son! Tonight, you will sit at my right hand! But for now, I have gifts for you and your three followers! Come! Let us talk somewhere where we can hear ourselves think.”

The boisterous man didn’t give Erik any time to react, and simply strode off, expecting everyone to follow. Aoife rolled her eyes and waved goodbye. Anders - one of Erik’s hanger-ons - started to follow, but was glared down by Caleb, Loren, and Sora.

The boy was related to one of the Morsin’s vassals, and had been sent to be one of Erik’s friends. It had gone poorly, to say the least.

The rest of the kids were caught up in his wake, and followed him to one of the endless rooms that dotted Dublin Castle. There were a few silver platters covered with silver domes, like the meals were served on during the fanciest of dining experiences.

Bjorn rarely had the tolerance for the events. He waved his axe over Erik, banishing all the blood that coated him. A few more swipes of the axe in the air, and Erik was cleaned, warmed, and freshened up. Bjorn had nothing against spreading blood all over the castle, he just didn’t want to make more work for Chloe and her rats.

“Erik Morsin. For stepping up in a magnificent way, for passing the trial, I would like to gift you with a magic mirror.” Bjorn uncovered the first platter with a flourish, revealing a medium-sized oval hand-held mirror. The devices were relatively new, a copy of the mundane cellphone that would work in Arcadia. 

“Oooh sweet.” Loren leaned over and looked at it.

“It has already been in touch with your fiancee’s mirror, and you should be able to communicate with her now.” Bjorn continued to happily explain. Of course, they were both going to Camelot in just a few weeks, so being able to talk with her ahead of time was a little pointless. At the same time, they had never met before, and it was a solid chance to say hi in a more private setting.

Erik couldn’t wait.

“Now, for the moment I’m sure you’ve been eagerly awaiting, I have your letters.” Bjorn’s voice continued to boom like a bear’s. He grabbed the lid of the second platter, and removed it with a flourish.

Six letters were face-down on the platter, each with a name on it. Three of them had Erik’s name, and Caleb, Sora, and Loren’s names graced the other three.

“Good luck.” Bjorn rumbled, then unceremoniously left the four of them. Each of them grabbed the letter with their name on it.

Erik knew where he was going. Landed nobility always got invited to Camelot, and it looked like he was invited to two other schools as well. The big question was where would his friends end up? Which one would end up his closest friend on the back of shared experience, and which ones would probably drift away?

“On three.” Loren suggested.

“One.” Sora said.

“Two.” They all said in unison.

“Three!”

They flipped the letter over, immediately staring at the crests.

“YES!” Sora jumped up with both arms in the air, shouting her delight. Caleb fell to his knees.

“Thank all the gods I didn’t get in!” He shouted. The others did a double-take.

“Wait what?” Erik asked, making a note to look after Loren next. The boy looked like he was going to cry.

“I can study engineering! Economics! Sciences! I can go to Cambridge - mundane Cambridge! Or maybe Oxford, if I have to. Magic’s cool, but the things noonies can do with their ‘science’ is just awesome! Plus, you’ll need a noonie expert when you’re the big boss, and that can be me now!” Caleb crawled back to his feet, being a little less dramatic.

“Group hug!” Sora declared. She didn’t wait for anyone’s reaction, just swept everyone into a spine-cracking hug.

“We’re going to Camelot!”

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Erik hurried through the hallways to his room, eager to call Alexandria. He knew almost nothing about the girl. He wasn’t the biggest fan of an arranged marriage, but such was life. There were a million other things he liked less and put up with.

The thought of running from everything and simply abandoning his station and lot in life had occurred to him now and then, but the number of people it would screw over was breathtaking. The odds of it being a catalyst to a second civil war were far too high, among other things. The line of succession would be entirely broken, leading to a third civil war among the Morsin’s vassals as they all vied to be the next duchy, nevermind being so internally focused that the monsters and zombies would be able to murder and eat far more wixen than before.

No, running away to play his violin was no option, not while he had a conscience.

His mother stepped out of her room as Erik passed.

“Mom!” Erik skidded to a halt and hugged his mother. She felt skeletal. “I love you.”

If he was trembling in her robes, she said nothing of it. She hugged Erik with her one good arm.

“E-e-e-erik.” She stuttered out. “I l-love you too. B-be safe. Who-who’s coming with you?”

“Sora is!” He happily told her. 

“Sh-she’s a good g-girl.” Maeve Morsin said. “I-I’m happy for y-you.”

She started to shake, and Erik could tell it wasn’t going to be one of her good days.

“Here, why don’t you sit down.” Erik gently guided her back into her suite.

“T-thank you. I l-love you. Too.” The duchess said as Erik got her sitting back down. One of her maids hurried over.

“Tea, your grace?” She asked. Maeve tapped the table once, an easy sign for ‘yes’.

“She’s not eating enough.” Erik muttered to the maid.

“I know.” She huffed with some frustration. “It’s an eternal battle with her. Why do you think I put so much sugar in her tea?”

Suitably chastised, Erik planted a kiss on his mother’s cheek.

“I’ll see you after the feast!” He said with a wave.

There were no more interruptions before Erik arrived at his own room, sliding past a cursed hallway the Purifiers had never quite managed to solve. He quickly checked himself in the mirror - nothing in his teeth, his hair was combed, no mud on his face.

“You preen more than a peacock.” The mirror griped at him.

“Oh hush you.” Erik replied. There was no true soul in the mirror, no sapience or awareness. It just gently insulted anyone using it. Why he’d ended up with it was a mystery he hoped to solve one day. He knew it had to be one of his friends responsible, but none of them had ever confessed.

He planted himself in front of the window, a beautiful view of Dublin Harbor behind him, then activated the mirror. It took him a few minutes to figure out how it worked, before he tried to ‘call’ Alexandria’s mirror. 

Music started to play - a beautiful harp arrangement, custom-scored for the magic mirror, Erik had to get ahold of the sheet music for it - and Erik grinned in excitement. He was going to meet his fiancee! What was she like? Tall, short? Loud like Sora or quiet like Aoife? The Renard family tended towards red hair, would the Bloodline magic have her inheriting the same traits?

The music played and played, but nobody picked up. Erik’s smile slowly faded, until it cut off entirely.

“Huh. I wonder what I did wrong? I thought I did it right.”

The bells tolled, and Erik almost jumped.

Time was up! Onto the next lesson!