Leybound Chapter Fifty-Three | Legacy

The gray-eyed soldiers of the Erudoran army outnumbered the guild forces by almost two to one. A hundred thousand of them. Riot drew curious glances as he strode through the camp. His long hair was tied behind his neck and held in a small leather bag in an outdated Erudoran style, and he wore the dark blue uniform of the regiment of the Duke of Fallow, which he wasn’t even sure still existed.

The command center was bustling with activity. Officers barged in and out, mingling with clerks who rushed around carrying armfuls of paper. 

Riot was conducted into the command center's main hall and directed to a chamber at the back. The ensign opened the door, and he was ushered into a large office where Lord Roveran Listor sat behind an expansive desk, surrounded by stacks of paper. 

“As ease, sergeant,” Roverean said, not glancing up.

The door closed, and Riot remained at attention. The silvery scars on Roveran's hands flexed as he signed the papers in front of him. The scars were intricate and completely covered his hands and wrists, and Riot knew that they would carry on up his forearms. 

Roveran finished and pushed the papers aside, leaning back and setting his light gray eyes on Riot. This was the man who had unexpectedly made Riot leybound—the same man who was now the general of the combined army of Erudor and the regiments of the Arcanum. 

“It seems that this army owes you a debt, sergeant. I have a report here from the Lord of Morbian, Arcanist Walden Moran, which details your leadership and courage in seizing and liberating the citadel from the Covenant. He says that you accomplished this with only twelve leybound.”

“And a younger lad from the ranks, sir. His name was Norton.” It felt important to say that. 

“His contribution will be noted. As for the others, as you know, Leybound are disliked in the guild, sergeant, though I daresay that your exploits have gone some way toward turning the tide of opinion in the rank and file. Do you know what this is?” Roveran asked, indicating the stacks of paper on his desk. 

“No, sir.”

“Requests from every battalion in the guild. They want leybound in their ranks—more than we have to give.”

Roveran had the ability to give people his whole, undivided attention, and Riot felt that scrutiny bore into him. 

“You have spellcraft?” Roveran’s Erudoran accent was clipped and refined and reminded Riot of his grandfather. 

“Yes, sir, from arcanist Moran.”

“Walden Moran has been vocal in his opposition to the leybound practice. You must have impressed him.”

Riot stayed silent; he found that was often best when confronted with superior officers. 

“You might be wondering why I helped you become leybound, sergeant?”

“Yes, my Lord.”

“Major Kerne informed me of your family name; I can understand why you don’t use it. There are some in Erudor who consider your grandfather a hero, a small number, and though I do not count myself among them, his actions led me to the path I chose. For this reason, I felt somwhat indebted to you. But you must listen closely, this gratitude is not infinite, do you understand?”

A numb feeling had come across Riot as Roveran had spoken, and the old fear returned. There were undoubtedly many members of the Erudoran nobility in the army who didn’t feel the same way. 

“I understand, sir. If I might ask, is this common knowledge?”

“It will be now. Most of the army is aware that an Erudoran sergeant somehow managed to steal a citadel out from under the nose of the covenant, kill a high Faelen, and destroy an arcane tower, which should have been indestructible. The Erudoran officers are as prone to gossip as any other regiment, and Riot is not so far from Riotus that they will not put the pieces together.”

Riot imagined the new enemies who awaited him now. Erudoran officers who would make his life a misery because of his family name, some who would have old scores to settle. 

Roveran stood and walked to the window, staring out, his back to Riot. “Tell me, what sort of man was your grandfather? They paint him as an anarchist, you know, a rebel who burned an empire.”

“He was a carpenter, sir. He followed the rules his whole life, and all he saw was injustice.”

“So he took up the axe, and he cut off the head of a king.”

“No one else wanted to do it, sir, and someone had to.”

“And now you inherit his legacy.” Roveran returned to his desk and pulled a thick piece of paper out of the pile. “This is an order to make you an officer, awarding you with the rank of Lieutenant for your part in securing the citadel of Morbian. This serves an immediate need I have for an experienced leybound officer, but I am not entirely convinced that this is a good thing for you. The Erudoran officers are much the same as those you have served all your life, and they do not take kindly to those who come up from the ranks. You would do well to exercise caution. Here are your orders; you will need to present them and yourself to your new battalion commander.” 

Roveran pushed a folded piece of parchment across the desk and returned to his work, studiously ignoring Riot.

“Sir, thank you, sir. But what about my men?”

Roveran looked up, a small frown twisting his thin lips. “Your men? They are not your men, Lieutenant. To command a leybound company, you would have to achieve the rank of captain. Perhaps you can cut off Bimil-pal’s head? Given your family history, this is not entirely outside the realm of possibility.”

If it was supposed to be a joke, then Roveran did not smile. 

“They fought well, sir. If they stay in irons under the command of some arcanist, then I’ll have to stay with them, sir.” 

Roveran sighed and laid down his quill. “The leybound have been reassigned to a new battalion, Lieutenant. They are not in chains, and I have faith that the officers that I have assigned to lead them will treat them as well as any other rank and file in the army. Now, you are dismissed.”

Riot snapped to attention and made a smart about turn, feeling for some reason that he was lucky to make it out of the room alive. 

“Congratulations, Lieutenant; they said that you were too old, but I think that the rank will suit you.” 

Major Kerne was waiting in the anteroom of Roveran's office. Her black clothing was as ruffled and unkept as usual and she bounced on the balls of her feet slightly as she appraised him, a smug expression on her face. “Where ever did you get that sword? It looks like it belongs to a butcher.”

“Natalia Quinn, where is she?” Riot asked. 

“Come now, Nathaniel; spring is here; don’t ruin a nice day with your sour mood. I have some business in the camp, so let me take you there.”

Kerne and Riot made their way through the bustling army camp, with Kerne leading her scruffy horse. 

“You could have told me you wanted the tower destroyed,” Riot stated. 

“How could I have done that? You were supposed to be back in the camp by bedtime. But from what I hear, it was just as well I sent you along, though your amorous pastimes did almost derail the whole mission.”

“So you have spoken to her.”

“Put her out of your mind, Nathaniel; she’s gone for now. They tell me you went into the tower and met Sumner Nixton. What did you make of him?”

The memory had been like a thorn in his mind for a week now, festering until he finally realized why. 

“The tower was like the chamber underneath Ivansrook. Were Sumner and Alric Rook working together on experiments to make leybound?” 

Kerne drew to a halt at the entrance to a regimental camp. The flag that hung proclaimed it as the ninth arcane regiment. “This is it, Nathanial, I’ll leave you here. A bit of advice about your new commander; he doesn’t have much experience, but he wants leybound, and he’s asked for you specifically.”

“Wait, answer me. Sumner Nixton and Alric Rook, was that really what they were doing?”

Riot saw from her expression that his suspicions were correct, and he felt mildly sick to know what had been done to make being leybound possible. 

“Put it from your mind, Lieutenant; we have work to do. The arrival of the Erudorans doesn’t mean the war is won; it just means that now we might just stand a chance,” Kerne said, clicking her tongue and leading her horse away.

Riot made his way into the regimental camp and presented himself at the command tent. 

Tobias Worthy was a large man with wisps of gray hair gently teased over his bald head. He made Riot stand to attention and informed him in no uncertain terms that he did not approve of his rank and that he expected him to leave his criminal past behind and follow the rules of the regiment. 

“Go present yourself to the new major; I forgot his name, but with so many bloody arcanists trying to join up, it looks like we might win this thing. And get a new uniform. I’ve already given orders to the others; no more damned Duke of Fallow blue. We wear the grey of the Arcane Regiments here, and we’re damn proud to do so!” 

Riot followed the directions he was given until he heard a familiar voice calling orders and, a moment later, heard a deafening barrage of whip-like cracks that sent birds flying up from the nearby trees.

His new major was sitting on a fine wicker chair under the shade of a tree, sipping on a cool drink while the leybound hurled charges of arcane power at targets. His uniform was deep blue velvet, decorated with gold braided ropes, and hung with a heavy major chain. 

“Lieutenant Riot, as I live and breathe,” Walden Moran exclaimed. 

“You joined as a major? I’ve seen your house; you could have just raised your own regiment,” Riot replied. 

“I wanted to make sure I would see some action, Nathaniel. I rather feel like I have the taste for it now. And look at our wonderful company of leybound, recently returned from the capture of an enemy-occupied citadel, no less, heroes to a man. They will need leadership, and I can think of no better officer.”

Riot bellowed the order for the leybound to fall in and walked along the line. They were all there, all wearing crisp, dark blue uniforms with the blasted rune he had taken from the Sun Tower sewn to the sleeve, each of them grinning from ear to ear.

Now see the last man, going to war.