Project Calore (snippet)

Lord Calore had no wife, nor did he want one. He’d remark to his manservant that he had no desire to have a woman trying to pull his strings. His manservant reminded him that he would have no say in who acquired his estate after his death. Lord Calore considered this. Being a hard and selfish man, Lord Calore did not like the idea of losing the great wealth he had acquired in life, nor the special gift he carried in his pocket. He conceded, recognizing the need for an heir for a legacy. Still, he had no desire to be tied to a spouse.

The solution came in the form of a nephew, the orphan of his wretched sister. The late Lady Windblow, formerly Lady Calore, had married a militia man against the advisement of her elder brother. The then-young Lord Calore had not attended the wedding. Instead, he sent decrees to each priest in the land, along with a sizeable payment, ordering them not to marry his sister to the ragamuffin she had decided to love. A priest from an outlying land married them at twilight two weeks later. Lord Calore never spoke to either again, although his sister sent an announcement for the birth of her son, Edwin Windblow.

When Lord Calore remembered the orphan boy, he was giddy. He called to his manservant, ordering him to send out a servant to find the boy and tell the cook to prepare a feast to celebrate his good fortune. The manservant obliged, startled by his master’s sudden and uncharacteristic cheeriness. The boy was found within the week, having been taken in by an orphanage in Dwindle. He was scrawny and had long, tangled hair and a crooked spot in his nose.

“Give the boy a bath,” Lord Calore had ordered, shooing his nephew towards a female servant. The boy had the same brown eyes as his late sister and his frame echoed the militia man who had fathered him. But the rest of his features, particularly the nose, was Calore. The boy would do as an heir.

When the boy was washed and dried, Lord Calore smiled; a rare occurrence. The boy resembled him enough that Lord Calore could almost believe he was born solely to be his heir. The boy was nearly identical to the portrait of Lord Calore as a child, except the nephew’s dark hair held light curls. To rid the child of this quirk, Lord Calore had a servant oil his hair each day, slicking it down in a fashion much like Lord Calore’s. At last, Lord Calore had his heir.

An extravagant feast was held, and for the first time in memory, the doors to Lord Calore’s estate, Eldervine Manor, were open to let in the masses, although with a stipulation. Every businessman and his wife, each minor relative of a lord or duke, and those of great renown among the commonfolk were let in with welcome arms, even without invitation. While the beggars and average man stood at the gate, Lord Calore let those of prestige come and gaze upon his luck. The richness of the food, the extravagant decor of the manor, the vast land of the estate, the refinement of the lord, and his luck in finding an heir.

Many of the guests did not care that Lord Calore’s line would live on. His nephew, while not as cold and calculating as his uncle, was assumed to become more like Lord Calore as the years progressed. A chick living in the den of a snake wouldn’t make it long without becoming a snake himself. They didn’t care as long as he was stuffing them full of food.

The feast lasted six hours, turning from a great meal full of conversation to a grand ball. Lord Calore, feeling like a king and high in spirits, called for musicians to be brought from the town to play for them. He laughed merrily at the world as his guests danced. The room was in a reverie, with one exception. The nephew, who had never spent a minute in high society before this week, was overwhelmed. The adults were drunk, giggling like schoolchildren. His uncle was no better, although he held a superior air instead of a simple joy. A few of the townswomen kept asking him to dance, but he had no urge to be made a ragdoll they could spin around the floor. He declined. His uncle grinned, pleased to find they seemingly had a trait in common.

It was early in the morning when the festivities ended, and Lord Calore ushered his guests out of his home. He ordered the servants to begin cleaning up, declaring that if the manor was not restored to its proper state by daylight, he’d fire fifty percent of his help. He then complained that the soup had been below room temperature, the bread hadn’t been properly buttered, and the mean unreasonably seasoned. He then directed his nephew upstairs to his study

Young Edwin, exhausted from the night’s event, longed to retire to his new room. His hair was weighed down from the oil he had yet to get used to, his mind was half asleep, and he was still unsure of his uncle.

Lord Calore shut the door behind them, locking it with a key from his robes. He turned to his heir and gave a ghoulish smile.

“Sit, dear boy, sit,” the lord said, gesturing to one of the velvet-cushioned chairs by the fire.

Edwin obliged, eager to get any type of rest and unwilling to anger his new guardian. As grateful as he was to not be shuddering in the cold on a threadbare bed that four other children occupied, Edwin was not sure what to make of his new life. The house was a labyrinth, and his uncle, based on the fearful looks of the servants, was a harsh man.

Lord Calore grinned at the flames. “Did you like the party, my boy?”

Young Edwin squirmed in his seat. “Yes, sir.”

The lord raised an eyebrow. It dawned on the child that he was expecting him to say how he enjoyed it.

“The food was wonderful,” the child said half-heartedly.

Lord Calore snorted. “It was sub-par, but I don’t expect you to recognize refinement after the porridge you were raised on.”

The child remained quiet, rightfully so. He had enjoyed the porridge of the orphan home. Mrs. Lenora, the elderly woman in charge of the food, topped the meal with cinnamon and raisins from the nearby valley, sweetening the meal. Porridge, unlike the meals at Eldervine Manor, was never overly fine or fattening. It was merely delightful.

Lord Calore stepped to his desk and, with a flourished hand, grabbed a document that had been laid on top of it.

“Do you know what this is?” he asked.

His nephew shook his head, silent in his sudden fear.

“It’s the certificate of your adoption,” the lord explained. “I had them sign it with your new name.”

“My new name?” young Edwin asked.

The lord nodded once more. “Yes. To be my heir, you must bear my name. When I am gone one day, if that day indeed does come, everyone shall remember the saint I was to take you in.”

He noticed the confused look on the boy’s face and chuckled. “Don’t worry. Calore is a fine name with a grand history. And one day-” he knelt beside the boy, smiling as if sharing a secret. “-you will be Lord Calore.”

The boy's eyes went wide. Everyone who used Lord Calore’s name said it with reverence and fear. Despite his heart, he wanted that title. He wanted to be respected the way his uncle was.

The lord chuckled again. “Yes, yes. Fate has been kind to you.”

He sobered, turning to eye the door as if he had heard someone in the hallway. When he faced the boy once more, he leaned in close enough for the child to smell the bitter wine on his breath.

“There is more,” he whispered. “I have not gained my prestige from mere stature alone. No, no. I have a secret helper.”

“Who?” asked the boy, suddenly still as the chair itself.

The lord tsk’d. “Not who, but what.”

He reached into his robes and pulled out a thin piece of polished wood. The boy frowned, unsure how a twig could be a helper.

“It may seem innocuous at first,” the lord ceded, “but it holds a great power. It’s a wand. For me, it can persuade anyone I choose to do what I say.”

He handed it to his nephew, letting him admire it. In his own hand, Edwin could see that there were hair-like carvings on the wand, winding here and there in an intricate pattern.

“Where did you get it?” the boy wondered.

The lord appraised him, wondering briefly if the child had an ulterior motive. He took back the wand. “A friend lent it to me. He never asked for it back. One day, it too shall be yours.”

“Really?” Edwin breathed. “Will it work for me?”

“It shall, I’ve made sure of it.” Lord Calore stood. “Through an elder practice, the wand has been bathed in my blood. It will only work for those who have the same bloodline as I, although what you will be able to do with it shall be told by the wand itself.”

Edwin nodded, unsure what exactly that meant, but excited to use it the least.

Lord Calore pocketed the wand, sobering once more. “But that shall be a long time off, for I do not plan on dying for a long time, if ever.”