Caj moved his backside back and forth, trying to settle into the saddle more comfortably. He still wasn’t quite used to riding a horse that wasn’t trying to murder him. It was a surprisingly enjoyable experience. He shifted again, moving the saddlebag behind him so that one of his books wasn’t digging into the small of his back quite so much. When he turned back to face the direction that their small procession was journeying, Bietre was giving him an amused look.

“You realize that when riding a horse, you are meant to look forward, yes? Yesli vy idete, oglyadyvayas' za toboy, vy, navernyaka poteryayete.”

Caj ran through a quick translation in his mind. He wasn’t fluent in Edralian, but spending the past three and a half years in the Noblis estate meant that he had picked up a passing proficiency in the language. What Bietre had just said roughly translated as ‘If you go, looking behind you, you will fail’. It had taken him a moment to translate that and he was somewhat embarrassed by the fact. He hadn’t the ear for languages. Caj hunched he shoulders slightly, overexaggerating his sullenness and muttered under his breath.

“A beard does not a philosopher make.” Bietre let out a huff at that, making a point of stroking his pointed beard and glaring at Caj with his multi-colored eyes.

“Hey now, that’s going to far. Insulting man’s facial hair… those are fighting words.” Caj glanced at Bietre with a certain level of incredulity.

“Excuse me?” He asked, venom lacing his words, “If I recall correctly, you compared Maxim’s attempts at a beard to, what was it? Oh, yes! ‘The fur on the backside of a diseased baboon’.” Caj paused for effect. “I am quite curious to know why exactly you know what the fur on the backside of a diseased baboon looks like. As far as I know, they’re not native to this part of the continent.” Caj studiously examined his nails, while Maxim and Rai, who were both riding nearby, snickered. Bietre waved airily, apparently unconcerned with his hypocrisy.

“Better slapped by the truth than kissed with a lie,” Bietre said, “I’ve seen bodies of headless walrus in possession of more impressive facial hair.”

At that moment, Natalia happened to be at a gap in her conversation with her serving maid, and she turned to interrupt their conversation.

“What are you talking about? I’ve heard some suspicious phrases coming from this way.” She said, looking pointedly at her father. Bietre’s eyes widened innocently in turn, and he put a hand to his chest, as though deeply hurt.

“You wound me Lapatchka.” Bietre said, “Your eyes pierce me like daggers. What could possibly make you look at me with such accusation?” Nat’s eyes narrowed, and she opened her mouth, likely to threaten to pierce him with more than just her eyes. Before she could, Caj decided to have a little fun. He was leaving the city today anyways, so it wasn’t like Bietre could take it out on him in their next practice session. He suppressed and evil cackle, as well as a malicious grin, keeping a deadpan expression.

“Your father was just educating us regarding his extensive experience with the animal kingdom.” Caj said, expression filled with utter stoicism that he was certain Natalia could see right through. True to form, she turned her pointed gaze at him, cocking an eyebrow.

“Really.” She said drily, no tone of question coloring her words. Caj pretended there had been anyways, nodding his head seriously.

“Oh yes, my lady,” he intoned, “His observations regarding the anatomy of decapitated walruses is extremely informative, and his insight into the posteriors of sickly primates…” Caj shook his head, as though astounded. “Truly, I don’t possess the words.”

Now Nat just looked mildly confused, while Bietre was glaring daggers at Caj for the blatant misrepresentation of their previous conversation.

Just as planned. Caj cackled internally.

Before he could speak up to continue, Maxim interjected. The comments about his facial hair had to have injured his pride, regardless of the truth of them, and the malicious glint in his eyes showed his delight at being able to take revenge on his father.

“Yes,” he chimed in cheerfully. “Fathers knowledge is truly impressive. He must have extensive experience in such things. I have never heard such thorough explanations of the haunches of diseased baboons.”

“I be agreein’ with these two, I do be. Aye, it truly does be an educational experience.” Rai piped up. “Ye know what I’ve always said, don’t ye? Fer the learning of everything from Baboon Butts tae lost Walruses Tusks, there be nae better teacher than Pointy-beard. Aye, I said it once, and I’d be like tae say it again, he be the most learned man ‘bout such things this side o’ the harvest.”

Bietre was now going back and forth between pouting and glaring at the younger men riding beside him. Caj, now thoroughly satisfied with himself, let his smile break. Natalia looked back and forth between the four of them, then turned away, shaking her head and muttering something about ‘Wooden headed, fool men with nothing but cobwebs for brains.’. Caj didn’t hear what was actually said, but he had gotten quite proficient at anticipating which of her myriad different grating metaphors she would use to rail against the stupidity of men. His grin broadened, making several of the passersby on the street shy away uncomfortably. He ignored them. It was a good day. The sun was shining, Natalia was cursing his stupidity, and Bietre was pouting atop his battle charger. What more could a man ask for? Not much, Caj was sure.

A silence ensued for a few moments, with nothing but the clopping of hooves to fill the autumn morning. After a few moments , Bietre pulled Maxim aside for a private conversation, probably giving some fatherly advice. After a few minutes with Maxim, he moved on to Valerna, then Natalia. While he was doing this, Rai and Emma rode next to Caj at a respectful distance from the conversations between father and children.

Duff was steady under Caj as he rode, ever the plodding carthorse, which made the newly acquired brigandine Caj was wearing, in addition to his weaponry, look somewhat out of place. Duff, for all his size, was very clearly not a warhorse. He was far too placid for it. Brown-Nag, on the other hand, had the body of a Rouncey, but the mare seemed to think that it was a born and bred battle horse, high-stepping and tossing its head sharply. Snap, Emma’s barrel-shaped pony simply walked forward with little to no direction. The older pony was obviously used to travelling in a group of people, and required little direction. Caj thought it was likely that the beast had been used as a packhorse for a small merchant or performers caravan at some point, and had picked the habit up there. Regardless, it was a desirable trait, as he saw it, as it meant that if there was an emergency, Emma’s lack of ability as a horsewoman wouldn’t keep her from staying with the group.

Stolen novel; please report.

Caj smiled to himself. HE could perhaps have picked a better horse for Rai, but then again, it would do the lad some good to have to struggle with his mount. An exercise in patience and morality, as Narm would put it. It’d build some character.

And also get back at the one-handed bastard for laughing at me every time Old Red bucked me off. Caj thought smugly. That, of course, was a secondary objective, obviously. Caj was much to mature to give Rai a difficult mount just for the sake of revenge. At least that’s what he told himself. It helped him sleep at night.

It was after one of the frequent bouts of muttered cursing from Rai, as the lad tried to get his mount under control, that Bietre fell back to their little grouping of three. Emma was riding next to her brother, trying not to smile at his plight when the aging sword master trotted up. When Bietre reached them, his countenance was serious, and his features as still as an epitaph carved in stone.

“Rai, Emma.” He said curtly, “We near our destination. Natalia requires your presence. Go.”

After exchanging a look with Caj, Rai and Emma did as bidden, riding forward until they were just out of earshot. Caj looked at Bietre, somewhat curious as to what the mischievous bastard had to say. He was half convinced that this was some elaborate joke, and that in the next instant, Bietre would start laughing in his face, breaking the tone for the conversation that his current expression was so helpfully providing.

Unfortunately, the tone did not seem inclined to change. Bietre’s expression was as deathly still as a mausoleum, and his eyes, one green, one brown, were dull, like the face of a tombstone left too long to the elements, giving the impression of an ageless monolith, with nothing left but painful memory.

Scythe and Sickle, Caj. Caj thought sarcastically to himself, You’re certainly in a good mood today, comparing men to mausoleums and gravestones. If that’s not a signal of a healthy mind, what is? Sure as sure.

A deep sigh pulled Caj away from his inner monologue, and back to the present. Bietre rubbed at his pointed beard, and any trace of his good humor from earlier had fled.

“Caj.” He said softly, voice laced with sadness. “I would like to send you off with words of encouragement, as is the tradition with my mothers people…” He grunted, and rubbed at one of his multicolored eyes distractedly. “ However, it is not to be. There are to many things, and too little time.” He met Caj’s eyes, and his gaze was no longer dull, but sharp enough to split a gnats hair. “Firstly, and perhaps most obviously, protect my children. They are all innocent, in their own different ways… It’s not fair to ask this of you, but I must. Be their Zashchita. Their Shield.”

The stress that Bietre put on the word made it obvious that it was a title rather than an expression. Caj though about opening his mouth to ask, but decided against it. Bietre had much to say, and he felt no need to waste the sword master’s limited time. Bietre continued before he could’ve responded anyways.

“I have been their Zashchita to this point. I have protected them from the greatest dangers in this world, as best I could. Sometimes in ways that they do not even know. In ways that would make them disown me if they did know. If not worse. I am giving this responsibility to you Caj. This is the greatest honor a Zashchita can bestow. To pass the shield. I am entrusting you with not just the lives, but the well-being of my children,” Tears sprang to Bietre’s eyes, much to Caj’s surprise. He had never seen the man cry before. “Of my world. Do you understand?”

Bietre’s voice became as firm and unyielding as the bonds of death and as sharp and deadly as the Reapers Scythe. Caj looked at the man’s eyes, and wasn’t certain that he did. He thought deeply for a moment. He thought about what it meant to be a shield, a bulwark in the defense of Bietre’s children. The more he thought of it the deeper and darker his thoughts became. How was a man to protect against not just physical dangers, but mental ones also? To what lengths was he required to go? What deeds might he do as a Zashchita? As he realized exactly how important a position this must be to Bietre, his respect for the man grew, as did his pride that the Lord trusted him so completely. After more than a minute of pondering, Caj replied with one word.

“Yes.” Bietre was watching him closely, and nodded once, sharply.

“Yes, you do.” He said with satisfaction. “Do you accept this? Are you willing?” Caj swallowed deeply.

“I do.” He replied gravely, “I am.” Bietre smiled, ever so slightly, just the twitching of his lips.

“The burden has been passed.” He said ritualistically, “May the Zashchin bear it well. The Shield has been bestowed. May the Zashchin wield it with discernment.”

Caj tensed. He could swear that he felt an almost physical pressure on his shoulders, like a weighted blanket, but when he looked nothing was there. On further inspection, he was certain the weight was there though, as it effected his movement. Bietre rolled his shoulders and grinned knowingly at Caj’s distressed features.

“What is this?” Caj whispered, feeling inexplicably terrified. Bietre shrugged.

“The weight of responsibility? The judgment of death? The hand of the Reaper himself perhaps. Who can say. It is something beyond me, and beyond you also. You are Zashchin. That is all you need to know.”

Caj opened his mouth to object that he certainly felt that he did need to know about whatever this invisible weight was that now, literally, rested upon his shoulders. If there was some strange divine power now working against or for him, he should probably know, sure as sure. Bietre looked at him then, not with a commanding gaze, but one that said that even if Caj asked, he truly had no answers. Caj let out a frustrated sigh, but left it be for the time being. Bietre had started speaking again, quickly now, as the Stormholme Estate entered into view.

“Your new duty may require you to do things that separate you from my children. They may not be able to except what you sometimes have to do. What sometimes must be done. You may lose them as friends, as confidants, or even as lovers.” This last was said with a pointed look towards Natalia. Caj shifted uncomfortably. The weight suddenly seemed even heavier. Bietre looked at him firmly. “You must not waver. No matter what you have to do, no matter how horrible. Ho matte how unforgivable in their eyes. You must.” Caj gulped, and looked at Nat for a long moment before asking in a whisper.

“Will I lose her?” Bietre smiled sadly,

“I do not know, Uchinek, who can? In life, we are meant to learn from our mistakes; however, life rarely goes according to plan, yes? If you make a mistake, you will not have a chance to learn, it will be to late, you will lose her, one way or another. She will leave this life, or she will leave you.” Bietre met Caj’s gaze. “It is heavy burden. Not easy to shoulder, but someone must. I am sorry.” Caj looked straight ahead, trying to come to terms with what he just heard. Well shite. He should’ve asked for the details before he agreed. He sighed deeply.

“Well then,” he murmured with a dark chuckle, “I suppose I just won’t make any mistakes then.”

Bietre snorted, but did not object, opting to speak even more rapidly as they entered the gates to Stormholme.

“Lastly, your name is changed on all public records to Caj MacDouglas. It means Caj, Son of Douglas. Douglas is old tongue version of Dougal, so it still is technically true, if you need to be Caj Donovan again. However, it will help protect you from the nobility if they think you nothing but a commoner risen to his station. They always underestimate commoners. Trust me, I should know.” He said with a wink of his brown eye. Caj snorted lightly with amusement at Bietre’s reference to his common-blooded mother. “Your name should not have gone far, as we have tried to stay out of public eye as much as possible. Knowledge should be limited to us, the Duke’s family, and a handful of spies and attendants, most of whom were probably killed so they could not tell Adarian’s enemies about your existence.”

Caj nodded, trying to keep up with the rush of words coming out of Bietre’s mouth. Before he could say anything in response, Bietre clapped him on the shoulder.

“I must go talk with Adarian.” He grimaced, “politics…”

And with that, Bietre rode off, leaving Caj with more questions than answers, and a lot to think about. Fortunately, he wasn’t supposed to have to interact with people for at least an hour, which would give him some time to consider things. He rode up to where Rai and Maxim had just joined Lewis, and were sharing a joke, to inform them that he needed some time to himself to think. They would make sure that others would leave him be. He would have to make sure to scowl. No one liked to be around him when they thought his was brooding