“Please, come in,” my father said as he stepped aside from the doorway, gesturing inwards. “Would you care for a cup of tea?”

“Tea will not be necessary,” said the marshal as he entered. He removed his gloves and tossed them carelessly upon the dining table, but did not take a seat. He turned back toward my father. “My men and I were able to discover the location of the wolves’ den. As suspected, an artifact commonly suited for pyromantic affinity was found within it. When the wolves made a home there, the artifact’s power must have latched itself to the pack and fused with them over time.”

Two soldiers had accompanied the marshal, but remained outside our cottage. A flash from the marshal’s eyes prompted one of them to shut the door. 

“Well,” my father replied, “it seems you’ve found all that you needed.”

“Not quite. There was also the matter of why the pack came to your village.”

My father narrowed his gaze. “The pack was hunting all the large game in the forest. When the Guild brought the stag back to the village, they pursued.” Father spoke the conclusion plainly, but his tone came out like a question, as if the wolves may have had a different reason for coming to the village.

The marshal smiled the way a parent might smile at their child when they tried explaining something beyond their understanding, as if he thought, That’s adorable, but incorrect. He turned and stepped slowly around the table, examining the cottage as he spoke. “Do you know how men are able to control magic, Krig?”

My father watched the marshal and remained silent, unbaited by the rhetorical question.

“Magic,” the marshal continued, “requires a certain level of aptitude to control. Men possess the mental capacity required to control magic that lesser beasts do not.” He turned his head toward my father, studying his reaction.

“But… the wolves were breathing fire. Is that not controlling magic?”

“To the untrained eye, it would appear that way. However, men are capable of asserting their will upon the artifact to use it as a tool for their needs. What is not so commonly known,” the marshal went on, his condescension unwavering, “is that artifacts push back, asserting their own will, so to speak.

It is a minute force, one that is inconsequential to an Imbued, but to a beast, it is overwhelming. The artifact afflicts the beast with a sort of hunger, forcing it to seek out more magic.” 

The marshal had chosen his words carefully, but they did not pass me unnoticed. He spoke of the difference between men and beasts, but the thin veil did not conceal that he meant nobility and peasantry. The furrowed brow hanging above my father’s eyes revealed that he noticed this too, but allowing a stranger to insult him in his own home would be worth it if it meant the marshal would leave us alone.

“My point is that the Fire Wolves were not drawn to your village by the stag; they were drawn by an artifact.”

Father’s eyes widened. The smallest of reactions, but the marshal would have surely noticed had he not had his back turned. Unless he doesn’t need to see Father to know he had reacted.

A bead of sweat formed at my father’s temple. “Is that so?”

The marshal faced my father again. “It is. Tell me, Krig, what do you know of the Clerics of Thren?”

Confusion washed over my father’s face. “They were an order of healers, channeling their magic to help others before the empire… until their barbaric ways were corrected by the empire.” The marshal looked pleased with my father’s phrasing. “What do they have to do with this?”

“I’m afraid I’ll have to spare you the details. All you need to know is that your village shan’t be bothered by any more infused beasts. Which brings us to this visit.

“Your slaying of the alpha Fire Wolf was an impressive feat, and my superior officer has written to me expressing a great deal of interest in you. He would like you to consider joining the ranks of the empire as a soldier.”

A wooden plate bounced and clattered against the kitchen floor as Mother spun around. Mother had been in the kitchen quietly polishing dishware, but the marshal’s “request” caused her to look to her husband, saying with her eyes, he can’t be serious.

The marshal offered further explanation, seeing as he didn’t only need to persuade my father, but my mother as well. “A personal invitation from the High Marshal is an honor privy to few. A military career would allow you to rise above your station, and the empire can always use more soldiers with your level of aptitude. Don’t waste your gift with the blade on hunting rabid dogs in the woods. There’s no reason you need to live so…” The marshal’s eyes scanned the cottage. “Modestly.”

My father was smiling this time. “As flattered as I am by your request, marshal, I’m afraid I must decline. I’m perfectly happy here.”

The marshal’s face contorted to portray some unclear emotion: half confused, half disgusted. “To serve the empire is the highest honor one could strive for. You would rather stay here?”

Father stood silently, the answer obvious enough without him voicing it.

“Suit yourself. My task was merely to relay the message, not to understand your decision--flawed as it may be.” The marshal slid his gloves back on, and inhaled sharply through his nose when he remembered me. He turned his eyes toward me as if to say Don’t you dare. I threw a look back at him. Don’t tempt me.

He strode to the door and opened it, allowing a soldier to enter the cottage. He held two swords which he presented to my father. “Should you change your mind, you know where to find me,” the marshal said as he walked out, turning over his shoulder with a smile, ”and, remember, I know where to find you.” 

The door closed, and as we heard the trio of footsteps fade from the threshold, Father flew to my mother’s side with a hushed accusation. “Why was the marshal asking about the White Clerics?” 

“They’d beaten a poor beggar half to death; I couldn’t just leave him as they’d left him!” The man from Bev’s Kitchen! Mother, you already cursed yourself for your carelessness with Father; how could you make the same mistake again?!

“And led the marshal to our door?” Father looked more betrayed than angry. “Gwen, what were you thinking?”

“I was thinking that I would get this marshal out of our village and help someone in need. The only place the marshal was led was to the artifact, not here.”

Father retracted with realization. “You got rid of it?”

“After casting the spell, I tossed the crystal into the river. The marshal’s lead will go cold at its shore.” She cupped his face tenderly. “I would toss away a thousand artifacts if it means keeping us safe.” Father rested his forehead against hers, and they stayed like that a moment before sharing a sigh of relief.

Father returned the blades to their place above the mantel, lacking all the luster they held when he had wielded them against the wolf. I could see the lingering bittersweetness in my mother’s eyes, mournful at the sacrifice of her artifact, but solace in its getting rid of the marshal.

Finally, some peace and quiet.