The Kingdom of Liticea: The Sorcerer Prince

Chapter Seventeen: Arrangements are Made

"If you value your teeth I suggest you keep your fucking mouth shut!" he growled at Bart.

The other young knight wisely kept silent. There were times to play and taunt Locke, the imminent death of his future lord was not one of them.

"He's not dead, you know," Gor assured him. All five of them and Jon Maverick were sitting around a table. They took pity on the naive warrior and decided to take him in.

"What do you know about it?"

"I know that if Baldrick was dead, we'd hear about it."

"His death would be too important," Jon added, "He's actually well-liked in the Swamps. More so than his father."

"A decent man in House Gaule?" Bart chided, "That will be a first."

"Lord Desmond has kept the Swamplands going for nearly half a century," Locke said, "Him and Lord Oaran bore the brunt of raids during the rebellion."

Jon looked confused, "Lord Peter Gaule was the Lord at that point."

"At that point Lord Peter was old, grey, and going mad. It was Desmond who led our people against Arthur and his bandits. He never cared about the opinions of underlings."

"Like you?" Bart asked.

"Aye. We're all underlings compared to that man! He's the one who should be leading the charge against the Morcars! Not the Sorcerer Prince!"

"Mind your tongue!" Eliza warned, "You could lose it for speaking such words."

Locke scoffed, "Always the brown nose, aren't you Eliza? I guess I shouldn't be surprised, seeing as you probably opened your legs for half the lords in Blackfield to get into the school."

Eliza shot to her feet. The table painfully shifted against Locke's body as she drew her sword.

"I will not have my honor belittled by a lapdog such as yourself!" she shouted. The whole tavern had their eyes on them, "You speak of me as a brown nose, yet you sit there with Desmond Gaule's cock up in you, riding around as you endlessly sing his praise. The only reason you favor him so is because House Horcaster is the bitch of Gaule and nothing more! Your father and his father before were all rabid dogs on leashes and you are no different, Locke Horcaster. So look in the mirror before you start passing judgement on who's being ridden!"

Locke never went for his sword. No women was worth that trouble. For years, it was a mystery why the School allowed girls in at all. Most dropped out and went home after a few months, not because of the rigors of their training, but because of the abuse levied at them by their male classmates. But there were some like Eliza who were different. She put with and eventually fought off the abusers and made it all the way. Possibly it was because she had the bummers at the table protecting her from all the pinching fingers. Locke heard of a few times where the lady-knights got their maidenhood stolen away in the lower washrooms by the more undesirable cadets at the school. Served them right for trying to play at war as Locke saw it.

"Eliza put the sword away," Jergan pleaded. gripping her wrist and slowly moving her sword had away from Locke.

"It's alright," she shoved him away and sheathed her sword. She went back to her drink and slowly the rest of the tavern did.  

"I heard that Baldrick will live," Jergan spoke, trying to keep Locke calm.

"Yeah, the Userian spear went into his neck but he'll live"

"Doesn't matter if he lives. That sand rat cheated! The next one I see is gonna wish he had never left his mudhut!"

"I had no idea you were so devoted," Bart said.