Edgars Auziņš - Dool

Before you disinherit your son, get another one!

– I'll curse you. I will disinherit. I’ll send you to a distant garrison. Brat. And this is my son!

Marius expected, of course, to face his father's anger, but did not think that it would be so strong. The hissing, barely audible whisper sounded more like the hiss of a snake than a human voice – a sure sign of extreme rage. Sieur Gaunt del Marre never raised his voice, considering it inappropriate for a relative of the royal family, and the more angry he became, the quieter he spoke. Whoever does not listen is to blame.

The words spread like a heavy poisonous gas, wrapped around and suffocated, Marius’s temples rang and he wanted to gasp for air, like a fish thrown out of water. And suddenly the father almost lost his temper, steel rang in his dispassionate voice:

– Shame of the family, the ancestors are turning over in their graves!

The obsession disappeared, it became easier to breathe, as if a gust of hurricane wind carried the poison away – but for how long?

“They don’t roll over, I know for sure,” Marius objected disrespectfully. – And you, father, better imagine what benefits it will have for the family if you have a heart-to-heart talk with your ancestors. One great-great-grandfather’s treasure is worth something! And those strange hints of royal gratitude in your second cousin’s diaries? What about your father’s secret techniques that he didn’t manage to teach you? And how many more did the ancestors take with them beyond the Border that could be useful to the clan? And you – “I’ll deprive you of your inheritance”! Yes, and deprive me, I’ll ask my grandfather on my mother’s side for protection!

In Marius's voice, resentment became clearer and louder, a nervous blush flared up on his cheeks, and magic flared and crackled in his dark, military-style, short hair like green swamp lights. But the proof of considerable magical power did not at all please the high-born Sieur Gaunt del Marre.

Why be happy? Because the heir and, alas, only son, with the connivance of higher powers, was born a magician? And it would be nice if he were also a combat magician, an elementalist, or at least an empath – such gifts can be easily combined with service to the crown and with the elevation of the clan. But a necromancer! Pah-pah, Great Power forbid! And if, as the father orders, forget about the damned gift, so he, you see, decided to study! And I even found a mentor without asking my father!

To be honest, it was with his mentor that the heir showed himself to be quite good: master Turvon was passing through their area, not everyone would have had time to make such a fuss. Go find a master necromancer who is ready to take on an apprentice. There are maybe a dozen of them in the whole world, or even less, but in the kingdom there is only one. And, to be honest, in the depths of his soul, Ser Gaunt understood this very well. As well as the possible benefits of finding grandfather’s and great-grandfather’s hiding places and secrets. But the son is a necromancer!

But, whatever one may say, son. The only one. One cannot expect continuation of the family line from daughters; they will go to their husbands’ families, and in general, abandoning the first-born, the blood successor of the family name, and accepting a son-in-law-consort is much worse than allowing a son to study in a way that is not entirely appropriate. It is “not quite”, and not “not at all…” – magic, after all, not some kind of chicanery or, Great God forbid, trade. And the wife, although she does not interfere in the upbringing of her son, loves him and will not allow him to be driven out. To fight with his wife and daughters who adore his brother – no, he is still sane! Peace in the family is worth more than indulging a kicking offspring.