Maksym Pachesiuk
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Old Grudges and Treachery - Chapter 1
🕑 Added 2025-09-16 09:00:08 +0000 UTCLord Loxlin Series:
Book 1 - Warlock's Last Exam https://www.patreon.com/collection/1254431?view=expanded
Book 2 - Wizard's First Lesson https://www.patreon.com/collection/1282311?view=expanded
Book 3 - Old Grudges and Treachery
It was my first birthday at the Anvil. Outside the window, snow-covered trees reminded me so much of Bremor Forest, yet the rooftops of the uniform city buildings beyond shattered the illusion.
On this day, we would usually have a hearty breakfast before Grandfather, Logan, and I set off for the Ancient Stones. We would spend some time meditating, channelling the earth’s magic through our bodies and energy nodes, then go hunting, have lunch, and return home by nightfall. Aunt Mary would greet us with a table full of food, and the whole family would gather in the cosy parlour.
How I miss them!
My first thoughts upon waking were of my family—my uncles and aunts, my cousins and their children, the Kinkaids, Bremor, Avoc, and the home I had left behind six months ago.
Looking out the window, I spotted the postman trudging through yesterday’s snow, his heavy satchel slung over his shoulder. After more than a year under siege-like conditions, Harry had finally eased the security measures. It was mostly the Bremor folk who had forced his hand, appearing at the manor with increasing regularity. First, Uncle Gordon and Bryan McLilly had stayed for a while, sorting out the purchase of land in the slums. Then our architect, Peter Logg, had joined them. He had explored the Anvil from top to bottom, spoken with Harry, and drafted plans for the manor’s renovation. The construction was due to begin in the spring, while the winter kept Peter busy in the slums, where the clan was building more than just a few blocks.
As a result, the manor was overrun with architects, builders, gardeners, accountants, lawyers, and, of course, the ever-present city officials. Even His Worship deCamp had visited a couple of times. At some point, the manor could no longer accommodate the sheer number of people, Harry developed a nervous tic, and the clan was forced to find another building. Still, at least no blood was spilled, and the security measures remained relaxed. That was why the postman could now walk onto the estate without a care. Lately, he had been here quite often.
I made my way downstairs and opened the front door before the man could even reach for the bell.
"Thomas," I greeted him.
"Young lord," the postman replied, his breath forming clouds in the chilly air as he pulled off his gloves.
"Come in," I invited him inside.
"Much obliged," he said, stepping in without hesitation.
"Tea? Or something stronger?"
"No, thank you!" he refused firmly. "Starting the rounds with a drink—bad form. And there's plenty of post today." He handed me a small parcel wrapped in grey paper. "This one's for you, my lord." Then he added a stack of letters. "And these are for Sir Harry."
The influx of Bremor folk and de Camp had, unintentionally, given Harry a certain reputation—turning him from a dangerous thug into someone one could do business with. That said, some reckless individuals still underestimated his intellect, and among the pile of correspondence, only one or two letters contained serious offers. One, for instance, involved a set of protective amulets for Lady Aurora Austin, crafted in collaboration with her jeweller. The enchantment work alone was worth ten thousand.
Taking Harry’s letters, I bid the postman farewell and made my way to the kitchen, where the rich aroma of beef stew filled the air.
Cap had been in the kitchen since early morning. The stove was too tall for the little one; he couldn’t see into the pot, so he used a low stool as a makeshift step. Even now, he was standing on it, stirring the stew with a wooden spoon.
"Morning," I greeted him.
"Morning. You’re up early."
"Couldn't sleep."
"Then you’ll have to wait—nothing’s ready yet. You can put the kettle on."
"Sure."
I tossed the envelopes onto the table, picked up a kitchen knife, cut through the twine on the parcel, unwrapped the paper, and pulled out a roughly made pinewood box. A card fell from the wrapping.
"Happy Birthday!"
I smiled and lifted the lid.
A wave of ether and blood magic pulsed through the room. Even Nathan turned away from the stove, intrigued—then the stench of rot hit.
"What the…"
Inside the box lay a large rat. Its matted fur stuck out in clumps like bristles, and where it had fallen away, its skin was riddled with sores. Its beady red eyes glared at the world with malice, as if— Ether and blood!
"Shit!" I flung the box aside just as the undead creature leapt.
It shot past my cheek by mere inches. I raised my left fist to activate my shield—only to realise I’d left my ring upstairs on the desk. I’d left everything upstairs.
The rat thudded onto the floor, twisted around with unnatural speed, and lunged again. I grabbed the knife and hurled it at the creature while jumping onto the table. The blade sliced off its tail, but the wretched thing performed an acrobatic flip and landed on the table at the same time as me.
I timed its next leap and kicked out, striking just as it aimed for my foot. Its claws and teeth sank into the soft upper part of my slipper, but I hadn’t held back—I sent it flying into the wall, slipper and rat.
The slipper saved it.
The rat-slipper projectile hit the wall sole-first, cushioning the impact. The chimera slid down onto a sideboard and tumbled to the floor in a daze. I jumped down after it, my booted foot poised to stomp.
At the last moment, the rat sprang towards my other foot, sinking its teeth into my big toe through the sock.
"You little shit!" I swore, jerking my foot. The rat came loose, tumbling across the floor.
From the stove, an ice spell shot past, striking the floor near the creature and coating a small patch with frost. For a moment, it was stuck. That was all the time I needed. My heel came down hard. Bones crunched. Rotten guts sprayed in all directions, filling the room with a sickening stench.
"Well… that’s a first for a birthday gift."
"It’s your birthday?" Nathan asked, snapping his spellbook shut. Smart kid—even brought it to the kitchen. Unlike me. "Why didn’t you say anything?"
"I dunno…"
And why hadn’t I? We celebrated Nathan’s birthday in autumn, after all.
"…an. Duncan!"
Cap’s voice sounded muffled, as if he were shouting from the far end of the house.
What’s going on?
The rat!
Only now did I realise—the bite didn’t hurt. In fact, I couldn’t feel my feet at all.
"Satchel," I said. "Antidote."
The kid jumped off his stool, flipping through his spellbook as he ran, then cast something at me—a blood-based spell. For a second, my mind cleared. I managed to turn, take a step towards the door—then collapsed.
A fog rolled over my vision, as if the spell had only accelerated the poison. My body seized up instantly, locking me in place. Yet my mind, though sluggish, remained aware. With detached curiosity, I wondered—would Cap make it upstairs in time to fetch the antidote before the paralysis reached my heart?
If it hadn’t already.
The moment I thought about my heart, a sharp, searing pain tore through my chest. White-hot light flared in my vision—the blinding glow of death—only to be swallowed by the green of blood and the deep blue of ether, streaked with water’s pale shimmer. A burning sensation surged through my body, wrenching a growl from my throat. The fog clouding my eyes turned to a haze of tears, and through them, I made out Harry’s concerned face.
"How do you feel?" the wizard asked.
The question gave me pause. It hit me—I’d nearly died. Realisation brought fear, and then relief.
"Alive. And I hope to stay that way."
"So do I!" Harry confirmed, shaking his beard as he offered me his left hand to help me up. Over his right palm hovered a large droplet of dark blood, round and heavy like a grape.
"Poison?" I asked. "That much?"
"I’d like to know that myself. What happened here?"
I told him everything.
Harry sent Cap to fetch a vial and sealed the poisoned blood inside. The mangled chimera went into an empty tin of preserved peaches, while the stench of decay and the mess it left behind were erased with a cleansing spell. Five minutes later, the only scent lingering in the kitchen was the mouthwatering aroma of beef stew.
I set about making tea while Harry examined the gift box.
"Curious thing. Well-made."
"Fairburns?" Nathan asked, still stirring the stew.
"No," Harry replied. "Unless they’ve got a new player in the game. I see no symbols or sequences typical of fire magic."
"What does fire have to do with it?" I asked.
"Have you forgotten what source they draw their power from? No, this is blood magic. I haven’t even delved into it yet, and I already see at least two questionable linkages. I wouldn’t have used something like this myself unless I knew for certain it would work. Whoever put this together is well-versed in blood magic."
"I wasn’t thinking of the Fairburns anyway," I admitted. "Since you’ve found favour with de Camp and society at large—and been made a baronet—they’ve gone quiet. And they’ve got no reason to come after me."
"Vampires?" Cap suggested.
Harry and I exchanged a look.
"The Valentines have used chimeras before," I recalled.
"Those were more… alive," Harry noted.
"But not quite living, either," I countered. "Vampirism."
Harry placed the jar of remains on the table, then used telekinesis to separate the rat’s head from its flattened body and lift it up. With another flick of magic, he pried open its jaws, stretching them so far that the rotting flesh around its mouth tore.
"No fangs," he observed. "And no body modifications."
"It jumped from the floor onto the table."
"Magic, my underachieving apprentice."
"Underachieving?! Since when?"
"You’re seventeen. The lad’s twelve. Compare your progress."
I was about to argue that my grasp of magic was far superior—but for a boy who had been nothing more than a street rat a year ago, Nathan’s progress was staggering. Especially compared to me, with my solid theoretical and practical foundation. What stung the most was that it had taken me weeks to learn how to lift a spell off the page, while he had managed it on his third attempt. A similar pattern emerged with the elemental source. While the boy was only just beginning to stabilise his energy node, mine had been unlocked by Ferrish for over six months—yet I still hadn’t attuned to any element.
"Eighteen now," Nathan said.
"When?" Harry asked, surprised.
"Today," I replied.
"Why didn’t you say so?" Harry frowned.
I shrugged, unsure how to answer. The awkward moment was mercifully interrupted by the ringing of the telephone, and I rushed to pick it up. It was Uncle Bryce and Aunt Ailie, calling to wish me a happy birthday. Later, during breakfast, the phone rang again—first Sally, then Bryan McLilly.
Harry suggested we celebrate, but before I could reply, the phone rang yet again: Uncle Gordon, along with the rest of the family—except for Logan, who, apparently, planned to call separately. By the time they were done, my mood had lifted considerably, and I suggested a modest barbecue.
For the meat, Knuckles and I took the Cooper down to the butcher’s. Clint made sure to bring his submachinegun, while I went fully equipped—amulets, pistol, satchel, and spellbook.
Knuckles talked me into getting a couple of bottles of lager, while Harry picked up an oatmeal stout—he preferred his beer dark and strong.
By the time we returned, the kid had already lit the grill in the back garden and was practising an accelerated combustion spell on it. The logs in the iron brazier sent flames shooting nearly a metre high but burned down to embers in just a few minutes. We set the grate in place and laid out the sausages.
Harry handed me a knife and had me slice the fillet, claiming he knew a secret five-minute marinade recipe. I’d just taken off my enchanted rings, not wanting to get them covered in meat, when the girls walked in.
"Oh, for crying out loud! Ladies, not today?" I pleaded.
The thing was, these two still hadn’t forgiven me for the whipping they’d received at the hands of their families—courtesy of my little tip-off. Every now and then, they tried to get back at me by setting up traps around the house. And their revenge was very specific—they wanted to whip me in return.
Harry, of course, fully approved, calling it "combat training", though I was fairly certain he just found our scuffles amusing. Not that it mattered—so far, they hadn’t managed to pin me down even once.
"And why should we?" Finella asked, raising an eyebrow.
Ellie’s shifter eyes gleamed as she vaulted over the table, cutting off my escape to the garden door. Spark ignited a flame at the tip of her index finger.
"I have a knife!" I warned.
"Enough fooling around," came an irritated voice from the hallway.
James Flower stood in the doorway, his blind eyes staring at anything but me.
"Happy birthday, Lord Loxlin," he said in that unmistakable way of his. He snapped his fingers, and Finella’s flame flickered out.
"Oi!" she protested. "Can’t even have a little fun?"
"Not today. Show some manners," Lord Flower muttered, handing his sister a wooden box.
"Happy birthday," Fin sighed, clearly disappointed as she passed it to me.
"Uh… thanks," I said, quickly wiping my hands before taking it.
"I wanted to get you a combat ring, but James insisted," she grumbled.
I opened the box and let out a low whistle.
Inside was a set of ten large citrines, each brimming with fire. An expensive and highly practical gift. A ring would have given me only one or two uses, but reservoir stones were invaluable to any wizard—even after they ran dry. Not to mention, fire magic wasn’t cheap to train with.
"And this one’s from me!" Ellie looked far more pleased with herself as she handed me a smaller box. "Don’t get any ideas—I’ll still get my revenge. Just not today."
Inside was a vial of solidified fat, thick with earth magic and the scent of hound.
"Father said it might help with your elemental source," she said.
"Thanks."
"Alright, girls," James interjected, "behave yourselves. I’ll be outside before Nathan burns the meat."
"And why did we bother with firewood?" I quipped, nodding towards his elemental affinity.
He ignored me. Harry, however, did not.
"Because meat cooked over coals has a distinct flavour."
"There won’t be enough meat," I noted.
"John’s bringing more."
"You invited Sunset?"
The doorbell rang.
"Ah. That’s probably him now," Harry said, heading for the door.
"Alright, birthday boy!" Ellie declared, snatching the knife from my hand. "Shoo! Spark, grab—"
Finella instantly realised she was about to be roped into kitchen duty and tried to slip away.
"I think James called me…"
"You thought wrong!" Ellie cut Finella off. "Take the knife and start peeling potatoes!"
"But I’m wearing a new dress…"
"I’ve already seen you in it."
"Oh, come on, Goat…" Finella whined. "You know how much I hate—"
"Knife in hand, my dear friend!" Ellie said cheerfully. "Duncan, where’s the potatoes?"
"Basket in that cupboard over there."
A soft clinking of glass heralded the arrival of Simon Kettle, lugging in a crate of bottled beer.
"And who invited you?" I asked, surprised.
"Ah, happy birthday to you too," the baronet replied dryly. "Always a pleasure to see you."
Harry followed him in, carrying a second crate.
"Don’t you think this is a bit much?" Harry asked Simon.
"There’s no such thing as too much alcohol!" the baronet declared.
"You were supposed to have quit," the girls and I said in unison.
"It’s a special occasion!" Simon protested, pulling a wide wooden box from his coat pocket and sliding it across the table toward me. Then he fished out a bottle, popped the cap off with a flick of his thumb, and took a generous swig.
"I’m heading to the fire," he announced and strolled out the back door.
"Again, I ask—who invited him?"
The doorbell rang.
"Not me," Harry said, heading to answer it.
I turned a sharp gaze on the girls.
"It was me," Finella admitted. "You don’t have that many friends in this city, and you and Simon have been through fire and water together. Literally."
"You can peel onions too," I said.
Sunset strode into the kitchen, arms weighed down with two paper bags of food.
"Happy birthday, Duncan."
"Thanks."
He set the bags on the table and immediately began unpacking them—jars of pickled onions, beetroot, gherkins, and a large jar of pickled eggs. Then, with a casual flick, he placed a wooden box on the table and nudged it towards me.
"Congratulations," he said.
I set it next to the one Simon had given me—identical down to the last detail.
Lifting both lids at the same time, I found myself staring at a pair of Webley Bulldogs—short-barrelled pocket revolvers, polished blued steel, walnut grips.
Sunset raised a questioning brow. I turned the boxes towards him.
"Someone’s got good taste," he remarked approvingly.
"A certain baronet with a fondness for alcohol," I muttered.
"Thanks for the reminder," Sunset said, pulling a bottle of gin from the second bag. "Harry, fancy a drop?"
The wizard nodded without hesitation.
"Have you both forgotten what happened last time?" I asked pointedly.
"Oh, right!" Sunset snapped his fingers. "We should call Moody. It’s a special occasion, after all."
Harry nodded in agreement and fetched two glasses from the cupboard. Without missing a beat, Sunset poured two fingers of gin into each.
"To your health!" the two men toasted in chorus, their voices dripping with mockery.
"At least add some tonic," I grumbled just as the doorbell rang again. "Who now?!"
This time, I went to answer it myself—if only to avoid seeing their smug faces, which were starting to irritate me.
"Who is it?" I barked, yanking the door open.
"Your own kin, little brother!"
Logan.
He had stopped growing taller, but he was still broadening—a mountain of muscle now. He swept me into a crushing hug, clapping me on the back twice, nearly knocking the breath out of me.
I did my best to return the gesture, but my pats might as well have been raindrops on a boulder.
"What brings you here?!" I was both delighted and stunned.
"A day like this—you should be with family!" Logan grinned, flashing that familiar brilliant smile. "Or… are you not happy to see me?"
"Of course I am!" I grinned back. "Come in."
Logan had been with me through the darkest moments of my life—of course, I was glad to have him here on a day that was meant to be happy.
Even my irritation at the sudden influx of alcoholics faded.
"I hope this isn’t a dry evening?" my brother teased.
"Not you too! No, it isn’t!"
Comments
Максим Пачесюк
Lord Loxlin Series: Book 1 - Warlock's Last Exam https://www.patreon.com/collection/1254431?view=expanded Book 2 - Wizard's First Lesson https://www.patreon.com/collection/1282311?view=expanded Book 3 - Old Grudges and Treachery
Demitas
Did you put a synopsis of this somewhere? Or a description of where it fits in the storyline?
Jonathan Griffith
Tyftc!
