"WHERE IS MY SON?" King Arlon boomed into the main hall of Goldstone.
The few Lords and Ladies admiring the edifice went silent at his thunderous voice. All mouths in the hall closed and all eyes pinned on the king.
A very angry monarch.
Arlon was just about to thunder again when Latchlon hurriedly walked out from an adjoining chamber. Arlon covered the distance between them in seconds. Latchlon opened his mouth to speak but Arlon shushed him before the words left his mouth.
"Commander, where is my son?"
Latchlon noticed the king addressed him formally. Arlon only did that when he was furious. "I swear by the Pantheon if you have hurt him, I will behead you and burn your—"
"Your Majesty!" Latchlon interrupted, lifting his voice to be heard above the king's worried ramble. "Shall I remind you that we are in the vestibule of a public area? I assure you the bloodchild is safe. We have him contained in one of the Seer's laboratories."
Arlon softened at this information. His eyes however still sparked worry.
"Take me to him," he growled. "Now!"
"This way, Sire."
Arlon followed as Latchlon led the way. They walked past some common rooms filled with men and women exploring the architecture of the tower. They walked under archways designed by the very hands of some of the most prominent craftsmen in Syveria. They walked until Arlon thought they must have walked a mile. It was a winding path of doors, hallways and towerguards.
The officers all bowed from their posts to the king. Arlon tried to give a nod amidst his apprehension. When they walked up to a staircase, Arlon growled low in his throat.
"Latchlon, I swear if you have hurt Marsil, I will—"
Latchlon swept around in fury.
"For fucks sake, brother! I said the boy is safe. Now shut up and climb the fuckin' steps."
The Kingsguards behind Arlon withdrew their swords at Latchlon's tone but Arlon stopped them.
"He is my brother, so we will spare his tongue. For now."
The top of the steps branched into a wide area with a large door at the end of the hallway. Latchlon moved for it and Arlon was not one step behind. The Commander tapped thrice on the door. An answering tap followed and the secure latch was pulled away. The door slid open. Latchlon was moving to introduce the king but Arlon was already pounding inside the room.
"Wait here," Latchlon growled to the two kingsguards and hurried in after his brother.
A few men were already in the room and they all bowed at Arlon's entrance. The king's gaze moved swiftly over the room.
"Where is my son?" he boomed.
The men were about to answer when his gaze landed on a wide table in the corner. He spotted Marsil spread over the top and his legs couldn't carry him fast enough. He covered the distance to the table in a blur and the men looked to Latchlon quizzically.
The Commander said nothing and followed the king's stride. The men followed him. They were three men all robed in the dark red garments of the Seer clan. The first two were middle-aged while the third was in his golden years; obviously one of the Overseers. His beard was grey and his hair was balding. His features were mostly unadmirable. He had a fat face and hanging jowls. This greying man was the Overseer of Goldstone: Grand scholar Tyrese Mas.
Arlon blanched when he reached the table. Marsil was bound to it by iron chains.
"Marsil?" he called to his son. The boy lay unmoving. His body looked alright but his face looked pale, paler than usual.
"Marsil?" Arlon called again. When nothing happened, he abruptly turned around. Rage flashed in his eyes and the scholars quivered on their feet.
"What did you do to him?" he barked at the Overseer. "What did you do to my son?" He moved swiftly across the floors and in a moment, he gripped the man by his scarlet robe.
"Your—your Majesty," Tyrese stammered. "The boy is fine. We just administered the Milk of the Poppy to let him rest."
The Overseer didn't tell him the other reason; that they were all scared of the vampire. Admitting that to the king would be like offering your head to Illishan, the Bleeder.
Arlon let go of the Overseer and Tyrese lifted his hands to straighten his garments once more.
"His name is Marsil, not boy, and he is my son. Do you hear me?"
"Yes, Sire," the Seers replied.
"Good," Arlon nodded. "Now, have you fed him?"
"Yes Ser." It was another Seer who spoke. The one to the left of Tyrese. "We slipped the Milk of Poppy into the jar of blood."
"Go on," Arlon urged.
The Overseer walked a small distance forward to the table. He stopped beside it and looked down at the sleeping form of Marsil.
"We have conducted some tests, Sire, and..."
"What kind of tests?" Arlon interrupted. His fiery blue eyes dared the man to lie.
"...Just body tests, your Majesty," Tyrese hurriedly replied.
"What were the results?"
"The boy... Marsil is a hemovore, Sire."
"Isn't that like a fancy word for bloodsucker?" Latchlon growled from beside the king. Arlon fired him with upset eyes and he fell silent.
"Yes, Lord Commander," Tyrese replied. "I presume it would mean so in the vulgar tongue..." Latchlon squinted at him and the man hurriedly continued. "...but it also means Marsil needs blood desperately for survival. He could die from a deficit. From our tests, we have concluded that he barely survived childhood as he was mostly starved."
"Fucking Geralt!" Arlon swore. "I should never have kept Marsil in his care." Tyrese waited for the King to pay attention once more before he went on.
"We also detected some unnatural capabilities from him. He has quite a formidable strength. He posesses a fox's senses and a serpent's tooth which he uses for his blood feed. However, Sire, we can make no conclusions until we get physical evidence of his said powers."
"Simplify your words, old man," Latchlon toned.
"We need proof that he actually is strong. He needs to perform."
"What do you mean perform?" Arlon growled.
Overseer Tyrese Mas looked to Latchlon to help out. The king turned to his brother.
"What does he mean by perform? Arlon fired.
"He means Marsil has to fight," Latchlon replied.
"What!" Arlon thundered. "No. I am not sending my son to his death."
"Sire, I'm sure he would survive. His abilities are quite—"
"Shut up," Latchlon fired to the Overseer. The man frowned at him but fell silent. Latchlon walked close to the king. He gripped both sides of his arms and stared deep into his eyes as he spoke.
"Brother?" Arlon averted his eyes. "Look at me," Latchlon nudged. Arlon lifted up his eyes after a moment and met clear blue eyes.
"Brother, I know you love Marsil like a son but this has to be done. We need to learn more about him. Don't you want to know what he can actually do? You said it yourself. You can't judge a man by hearsay. Let him fight, then we'll see what he's really capable of. Besides, it might also draw out the Wytcher we seek."
Arlon stayed silent as he seemed to consider this for a moment. He pulled away from Latchlon's grasp and paced the room. His eyes went to Marsil lying on the table.
He didn't want to send out his son to some combat but it was the only sure way of knowing his actual powers. After a while, he turned back to the waiting eyes of Latchlon and the Seers.
"What do you have in mind?"