A moment ago, Lydia had looked resigned and lost, certain she was about to die. Now, she was all business again. The former Lord Gloomwood had been a real bastard, and there was obviously more to this “manor lord” job than being the boss of a small company.
Like the fact that these people might all be magically compelled slaves.
If that was the case, Drake was going to release every last one of them today. If he truly was this manor’s new leader thanks to the rules of this insane world, he could, at least, start cleaning up the old lord’s mess. He wasn’t about to deal with magic slavery bullshit.
It was now obvious that the old lord had been a piece of shit who had badly traumatized many of these folks, and Drake couldn’t imagine anyone enslaved by that blabbering asshole being any less than grateful to be released from bondage. Even if all he’d seen here so far wasn’t horrific, freeing the folks here would be one of the best ways to get them to trust him. Since he wasn’t comfortable with the old lord’s way of commanding his people—which had apparently been torture or beheading—he’d try his way instead.
And after he released these people he could... what? Could he lead a manor he’d never seen in a world he didn’t know? Why would these people even follow him unless compelled?
On the one hand, the idea of being in charge of his own staff, living in this giant house with all this wealth, was tempting. Being rich would fucking rule. On the other hand, people would be trying to murder him for his title day in and day out. That would suck.
Still... maybe he was wrong about all this. Maybe these people served their manor lord by choice, and they just took their oaths really seriously in this world. He needed to know more, and his “steward”, he hoped, could explain how things actually worked here.
Lydia led him past at least six unlabeled closed doors and then opened a seventh door... for him. She stepped aside and motioned for him to enter. It was well-lit inside.
Drake stepped into the room Lydia had chosen, which was about the size of a large bedroom. It didn’t have a bed, however, just two plush couches with an elegant round table between them. There was a stand with a potted plant in one corner and a big window that looked out onto the wide blue sky and silver trees.
As Drake turned to check on Lydia, he found her standing silently by the closed door. She hadn’t moved a muscle. She was obviously waiting for an order.
“So... how about we sit down and talk?”
“You do not wish me to prepare tea before we begin?”
“No, I don’t want any tea. I need to know how this place works. So sit, Lydia. Please.”
She sat on one of the two couches, then crossed her legs neatly and folded her hands atop one stocking knee. So prim and proper. Drake walked to the couch opposite her and sat. It was shockingly comfortable. Time to see if she would answer, well... anything.
“First question. What’s a blood pact?”
Lydia’s eyes widened. “How can you not know?”
He imagined this might be how the foreman at a job site might react when the new carpenter walked in and asked them what that wooden stick with the metal block on the end was. “I’m not from your realm. I came from...” He considered how to explain. “Somewhere that doesn’t have blood pacts.” That made him sound simply ignorant, rather than a complete idiot.
“No blood pacts,” she whispered softly. “Then... all right, lord. While I am no expert on ancient magical treaties, with your permission, I shall explain the basics.”
Drake sat back and motioned with one hand. “Please do.
“As your blood thralls, we cannot harm you. As our manor lord, you may issue decrees we must obey. We must answer any question you ask, and you may forbid us from speaking on any topic. Finally, we are sworn to kill your enemies.”
“You’ve just said ‘must’ a lot. But is that just you being really devoted? Or are you compelled by... something?”
Lydia tilted her head. “Compelled?”
“If I tell you to do one of those things on that list, can you refuse?”
She looked aghast he’d even ask. “No one can defy the Eidolons.”
That seemed like a non-sequitur, but perhaps Drake was still missing something important. Lydia had just made it sound like the Eidolons controlled this blood pact, not the manor lord. Just how much leeway did he have to give orders in his own manor?
“So these Eidolons are your masters? You’re their slaves?”
“No, lord.” Lydia was starting to look perplexed.
“You just implied I can make you do things you don’t want to do, through magic. Where I come from, when people make other people do what they don’t want to do, that’s slavery.”
“The Eidolons simply ensure we cannot swear false oaths. When I joined your blood pact, I swore to serve, protect, and obey you. If I could later refuse to do so, you could not trust my oath. If people could not trust in each other’s oaths, the world would fall into chaos.”
“So you’re saying because you swore to this world’s gods you’d follow all orders from your manor lord, you have to follow them. Even if want to disobey my orders, you can’t.”
“Correct, lord.”
“So in other words, you’re my slave.”
“A blood pact is not slavery,” Lydia insisted calmly.
He was starting to get frustrated with her. “Do you even know what slavery is?”
“Yes, lord,” Lydia said patiently. “Our realm does not allow slavery, but some realms still do. It is a foul practice. A blood pact is a sacred contract we enter into of our own volition, not bondage one forces upon another against their will. We enter this pact willingly.”
This sounded like a line she’d been fed by the old lord. Even if someone willingly signed up to be a slave, they were still a slave once they couldn’t choose their own actions, no matter how people justified it. So how had the old lord tricked her into agreeing to this?
“So what do you get out of this blood pact? From everything you’ve told me, it sounds pretty one-sided. Why would any of you ever willingly swear an oath to serve a manor lord?”
“Because we benefit greatly from the blood pact, lord. I gain a great deal from being your blood thrall.”
“I need you to be more specific. How, exactly, do you benefit from joining my blood pact?
“Under the authority of the noble court, you own this manor, its treasures, its resources, and its blood pact. By swearing to serve you and defend this manor, we are allowed to live here, and we live comfortable lives. You feed us, shelter us, protect us, and pay us a regular wage so long as we live.”
So this noble court was like... their federal government? And all who joined a blood pact received a job with tenure, which wasn’t so bad... other than the slavery part. “So how does living here in this manor compare to living out in a town somewhere?”
“It would depend on the town, lord. The nearest town that owes fealty to you is called Shadowfort. It is a modest settlement where many live in poverty due to limited resources. Any peasant in Shadowfort would eagerly become your blood thrall to live in this manor instead.”
So people joined a manor lord’s blood pact to live in a nice manor and not starve, while getting paid a wage that could never be taken away. According to this world’s system of government, or whatever, Drake was now a rich landowner like historical nobles of old. Everyone wanted to work for and live with the rich landowner.
He could see the appeal of joining a blood pact if you knew the manor lord was a good lord. Still... even a good slave master was still a slave master. Drake wasn’t going to play that game, and he had a sneaking suspicion Lydia wasn’t telling him the whole story.
“What if I told you to hurt someone you didn’t want to hurt? Could you refuse?”
She was silent for only a moment. “No, lord.”
The resignation he’d sensed earlier returned with a vengeance. The old lord had obviously made Lydia do things against her will, and it explained how the asshole who’d abducted him kept these people from revolting. They literally couldn’t revolt. Because magic.
“And can a manor lord force someone to join their blood pact? Even if that person doesn’t want to join them?”
“It is possible,” Lydia said quietly.
“How?”
“If they are... forceful, enough.”
“So we’re talking torture.”
“Yes,” Lydia admitted quietly. “One might swear an oath and join a blood pact after enduring enough torture.”
He’d known it. He’d known blood pacts were bullshit. Now, he needed to know why she’d held this back. “Were you attempting to hide this from me?”
“Yes, lord.”
“Why?”
“I believe it is wrong to force anyone to join a blood pact. Because you knew nothing of how they operate, I hoped that if you did not know this was an option, you would not do it.”
This must be how she had kept her head and protected the others when always compelled to tell the truth. Misdirection. Omission. That must have been exhausting.
“So you think I’ll force people to join my blood pact against their will?”
For the first time, real anger replaced her placid mask. “I do not know you, lord. I do not know what type of man you are. So while I sincerely hope you would never pervert the blood pact as the old lord did, I cannot know for certain.”
Lydia had just made a blatant attempt to keep knowledge he needed from him, even when worried he’d execute her if she found out, because she thought it might protect people. That was brave. It also suggested she wouldn’t just murder him after he freed her, since she seemed to be a good person. So how could he convince her blood pacts were bullshit?
He was the lord of this manor now. In the grand scheme of things, he didn’t have to convince her slavery was wrong today. He could just free her and prove it.
“I’d never going to force anyone to join my blood pact,” Drake said. “That’s a promise.”
The relief on her face was obvious. “I am very glad to hear that, lord.”
“But no matter how you wrap this pact up, it’s still magic slavery, and that still sucks.”
“Lord—”
“Let me finish,” Drake said. “You said I could make any decree I wish, and you have to follow it. Isn’t that right?”
She watched him with obvious trepidation. “Yes.”
“So here’s my decree. I decree the blood pact no longer exists. I free you, Lydia.”
Once again, she went still. “Lord... you said you did not wish to punish me.”
“I don’t. No punishments, no executions, no blood pacts. You’re already said I can make any decree I like as a manor lord, so my decree is we scrap the blood pact. It’s not my style.”
“But, lord...” She looked almost desperate to make him understand. “The blood pact enforces your decrees. You cannot make a decree without the blood pact. That is why you cannot decree it annulled.”
Damn. Was she right? “So even if I want to free you from your oath, I can’t?”
“If you wish to dismiss a blood thrall from your service... you must execute them.”
Drake ground his teeth. He didn’t want anyone to be his blood thrall, but by killing that old fucker in the robes, he’d apparently been saddled with a manor full of slaves. The Eidolons—this world’s gods—had forced this blood pact upon him. He’d been trapped.
No. He wasn’t about to give up this easily. Fuck these gods, and fuck their bullshit slavery blood magic. If he walked out of this manor, no one could stop him, and then these people would have no choice but to make their own decisions. Yet if he died...
That was the problem. He might be their manor lord now, but if anyone killed him, these people would be right back where they started. Enslaved to an asshole. If he simply walked out and gave up his title, it was as good as selling them all back into slavery.
So he couldn’t destroy the blood pact. He couldn’t remove his slaves from the blood pact. He couldn’t even die, because then these people would get passed to another master.
Drake pushed down his anger at his impossible situation and reminded himself he wasn’t helpless. He had all the power in this manor... in his manor... until someone killed him for it. So if he couldn’t dissolve the pact or free his people from it... could he alter its terms?
He grinned as everything abruptly fell into place. Of course he could. He was going to punch this world’s demented gods right in their demented faces.
He looked to Lydia again. “So these Eidolons say you must obey any decree I make as a manor lord. So long as that decree doesn’t say ‘dissolve the blood pact’, you have to obey it?”
“That is correct, lord. To obey your decrees is the oath I swore to the Eidolons.”
“And if I make a decree that contradicts a previous decree, which decree wins?”
“In the case where the orders of the current Lord Gloomwood contradict those of a prior lord, the orders of the new lord take precedence.”
“Then here is my first decree as your lord. Lydia, I decree that from this point forward, for as long as the blood pact exists, you may choose to ignore all decrees, compulsions, and orders imposed upon you by the blood pact... even ones that reverse this decree.”
She stared in disbelief.
“What?” he asked. “Can’t do that either? It’s within the rules.”
“But that is paradox, lord! I cannot follow and not follow your decrees!”
“I don’t think that’s correct. You can still obey my orders or decrees if you choose to do so, including the decree I just made to not obey. But you can also ignore me, even if I order you to obey me again. From this point on, you choose to listen to me... or don’t. No takebacks.”
“That can’t be right.”
“Then let’s test it and find out. Lydia? I decree you must start jumping up and down every time I say ‘Boo’, then do that until I tell you to stop.”
She watched him in obvious trepidation.
“Boo,” Drake said.
They both waited.
“Well?” Drake added. “Why aren’t you jumping?”
“I...” She swallowed and breathed out. “Because I’d prefer to sit, lord.”
A moment ago, Lydia had looked resigned and lost, certain she was about to die. Now, she was all business again. The former Lord Gloomwood had been a real bastard, and there was obviously more to this “manor lord” job than being the boss of a small company.
Like the fact that these people might all be magically compelled slaves.
If that was the case, Drake was going to release every last one of them today. If he truly was this manor’s new leader thanks to the rules of this insane world, he could, at least, start cleaning up the old lord’s mess. He wasn’t about to deal with magic slavery bullshit.
It was now obvious that the old lord had been a piece of shit who had badly traumatized many of these folks, and Drake couldn’t imagine anyone enslaved by that blabbering asshole being any less than grateful to be released from bondage. Even if all he’d seen here so far wasn’t horrific, freeing the folks here would be one of the best ways to get them to trust him. Since he wasn’t comfortable with the old lord’s way of commanding his people—which had apparently been torture or beheading—he’d try his way instead.
And after he released these people he could... what? Could he lead a manor he’d never seen in a world he didn’t know? Why would these people even follow him unless compelled?
On the one hand, the idea of being in charge of his own staff, living in this giant house with all this wealth, was tempting. Being rich would fucking rule. On the other hand, people would be trying to murder him for his title day in and day out. That would suck.
Still... maybe he was wrong about all this. Maybe these people served their manor lord by choice, and they just took their oaths really seriously in this world. He needed to know more, and his “steward”, he hoped, could explain how things actually worked here.
Lydia led him past at least six unlabeled closed doors and then opened a seventh door... for him. She stepped aside and motioned for him to enter. It was well-lit inside.
Drake stepped into the room Lydia had chosen, which was about the size of a large bedroom. It didn’t have a bed, however, just two plush couches with an elegant round table between them. There was a stand with a potted plant in one corner and a big window that looked out onto the wide blue sky and silver trees.
As Drake turned to check on Lydia, he found her standing silently by the closed door. She hadn’t moved a muscle. She was obviously waiting for an order.
“So... how about we sit down and talk?”
“You do not wish me to prepare tea before we begin?”
“No, I don’t want any tea. I need to know how this place works. So sit, Lydia. Please.”
She sat on one of the two couches, then crossed her legs neatly and folded her hands atop one stocking knee. So prim and proper. Drake walked to the couch opposite her and sat. It was shockingly comfortable. Time to see if she would answer, well... anything.
“First question. What’s a blood pact?”
Lydia’s eyes widened. “How can you not know?”
He imagined this might be how the foreman at a job site might react when the new carpenter walked in and asked them what that wooden stick with the metal block on the end was. “I’m not from your realm. I came from...” He considered how to explain. “Somewhere that doesn’t have blood pacts.” That made him sound simply ignorant, rather than a complete idiot.
“No blood pacts,” she whispered softly. “Then... all right, lord. While I am no expert on ancient magical treaties, with your permission, I shall explain the basics.”
Drake sat back and motioned with one hand. “Please do.
“As your blood thralls, we cannot harm you. As our manor lord, you may issue decrees we must obey. We must answer any question you ask, and you may forbid us from speaking on any topic. Finally, we are sworn to kill your enemies.”
“You’ve just said ‘must’ a lot. But is that just you being really devoted? Or are you compelled by... something?”
Lydia tilted her head. “Compelled?”
“If I tell you to do one of those things on that list, can you refuse?”
She looked aghast he’d even ask. “No one can defy the Eidolons.”
That seemed like a non-sequitur, but perhaps Drake was still missing something important. Lydia had just made it sound like the Eidolons controlled this blood pact, not the manor lord. Just how much leeway did he have to give orders in his own manor?
“So these Eidolons are your masters? You’re their slaves?”
“No, lord.” Lydia was starting to look perplexed.
“You just implied I can make you do things you don’t want to do, through magic. Where I come from, when people make other people do what they don’t want to do, that’s slavery.”
“The Eidolons simply ensure we cannot swear false oaths. When I joined your blood pact, I swore to serve, protect, and obey you. If I could later refuse to do so, you could not trust my oath. If people could not trust in each other’s oaths, the world would fall into chaos.”
“So you’re saying because you swore to this world’s gods you’d follow all orders from your manor lord, you have to follow them. Even if want to disobey my orders, you can’t.”
“Correct, lord.”
“So in other words, you’re my slave.”
“A blood pact is not slavery,” Lydia insisted calmly.
He was starting to get frustrated with her. “Do you even know what slavery is?”
“Yes, lord,” Lydia said patiently. “Our realm does not allow slavery, but some realms still do. It is a foul practice. A blood pact is a sacred contract we enter into of our own volition, not bondage one forces upon another against their will. We enter this pact willingly.”
This sounded like a line she’d been fed by the old lord. Even if someone willingly signed up to be a slave, they were still a slave once they couldn’t choose their own actions, no matter how people justified it. So how had the old lord tricked her into agreeing to this?
“So what do you get out of this blood pact? From everything you’ve told me, it sounds pretty one-sided. Why would any of you ever willingly swear an oath to serve a manor lord?”
“Because we benefit greatly from the blood pact, lord. I gain a great deal from being your blood thrall.”
“I need you to be more specific. How, exactly, do you benefit from joining my blood pact?
“Under the authority of the noble court, you own this manor, its treasures, its resources, and its blood pact. By swearing to serve you and defend this manor, we are allowed to live here, and we live comfortable lives. You feed us, shelter us, protect us, and pay us a regular wage so long as we live.”
So this noble court was like... their federal government? And all who joined a blood pact received a job with tenure, which wasn’t so bad... other than the slavery part. “So how does living here in this manor compare to living out in a town somewhere?”
“It would depend on the town, lord. The nearest town that owes fealty to you is called Shadowfort. It is a modest settlement where many live in poverty due to limited resources. Any peasant in Shadowfort would eagerly become your blood thrall to live in this manor instead.”
So people joined a manor lord’s blood pact to live in a nice manor and not starve, while getting paid a wage that could never be taken away. According to this world’s system of government, or whatever, Drake was now a rich landowner like historical nobles of old. Everyone wanted to work for and live with the rich landowner.
He could see the appeal of joining a blood pact if you knew the manor lord was a good lord. Still... even a good slave master was still a slave master. Drake wasn’t going to play that game, and he had a sneaking suspicion Lydia wasn’t telling him the whole story.
“What if I told you to hurt someone you didn’t want to hurt? Could you refuse?”
She was silent for only a moment. “No, lord.”
The resignation he’d sensed earlier returned with a vengeance. The old lord had obviously made Lydia do things against her will, and it explained how the asshole who’d abducted him kept these people from revolting. They literally couldn’t revolt. Because magic.
“And can a manor lord force someone to join their blood pact? Even if that person doesn’t want to join them?”
“It is possible,” Lydia said quietly.
“How?”
“If they are... forceful, enough.”
“So we’re talking torture.”
“Yes,” Lydia admitted quietly. “One might swear an oath and join a blood pact after enduring enough torture.”
He’d known it. He’d known blood pacts were bullshit. Now, he needed to know why she’d held this back. “Were you attempting to hide this from me?”
“Yes, lord.”
“Why?”
“I believe it is wrong to force anyone to join a blood pact. Because you knew nothing of how they operate, I hoped that if you did not know this was an option, you would not do it.”
This must be how she had kept her head and protected the others when always compelled to tell the truth. Misdirection. Omission. That must have been exhausting.
“So you think I’ll force people to join my blood pact against their will?”
For the first time, real anger replaced her placid mask. “I do not know you, lord. I do not know what type of man you are. So while I sincerely hope you would never pervert the blood pact as the old lord did, I cannot know for certain.”
Lydia had just made a blatant attempt to keep knowledge he needed from him, even when worried he’d execute her if she found out, because she thought it might protect people. That was brave. It also suggested she wouldn’t just murder him after he freed her, since she seemed to be a good person. So how could he convince her blood pacts were bullshit?
He was the lord of this manor now. In the grand scheme of things, he didn’t have to convince her slavery was wrong today. He could just free her and prove it.
“I’d never going to force anyone to join my blood pact,” Drake said. “That’s a promise.”
The relief on her face was obvious. “I am very glad to hear that, lord.”
“But no matter how you wrap this pact up, it’s still magic slavery, and that still sucks.”
“Lord—”
“Let me finish,” Drake said. “You said I could make any decree I wish, and you have to follow it. Isn’t that right?”
She watched him with obvious trepidation. “Yes.”
“So here’s my decree. I decree the blood pact no longer exists. I free you, Lydia.”
Once again, she went still. “Lord... you said you did not wish to punish me.”
“I don’t. No punishments, no executions, no blood pacts. You’re already said I can make any decree I like as a manor lord, so my decree is we scrap the blood pact. It’s not my style.”
“But, lord...” She looked almost desperate to make him understand. “The blood pact enforces your decrees. You cannot make a decree without the blood pact. That is why you cannot decree it annulled.”
Damn. Was she right? “So even if I want to free you from your oath, I can’t?”
“If you wish to dismiss a blood thrall from your service... you must execute them.”
Drake ground his teeth. He didn’t want anyone to be his blood thrall, but by killing that old fucker in the robes, he’d apparently been saddled with a manor full of slaves. The Eidolons—this world’s gods—had forced this blood pact upon him. He’d been trapped.
No. He wasn’t about to give up this easily. Fuck these gods, and fuck their bullshit slavery blood magic. If he walked out of this manor, no one could stop him, and then these people would have no choice but to make their own decisions. Yet if he died...
That was the problem. He might be their manor lord now, but if anyone killed him, these people would be right back where they started. Enslaved to an asshole. If he simply walked out and gave up his title, it was as good as selling them all back into slavery.
So he couldn’t destroy the blood pact. He couldn’t remove his slaves from the blood pact. He couldn’t even die, because then these people would get passed to another master.
Drake pushed down his anger at his impossible situation and reminded himself he wasn’t helpless. He had all the power in this manor... in his manor... until someone killed him for it. So if he couldn’t dissolve the pact or free his people from it... could he alter its terms?
He grinned as everything abruptly fell into place. Of course he could. He was going to punch this world’s demented gods right in their demented faces.
He looked to Lydia again. “So these Eidolons say you must obey any decree I make as a manor lord. So long as that decree doesn’t say ‘dissolve the blood pact’, you have to obey it?”
“That is correct, lord. To obey your decrees is the oath I swore to the Eidolons.”
“And if I make a decree that contradicts a previous decree, which decree wins?”
“In the case where the orders of the current Lord Gloomwood contradict those of a prior lord, the orders of the new lord take precedence.”
“Then here is my first decree as your lord. Lydia, I decree that from this point forward, for as long as the blood pact exists, you may choose to ignore all decrees, compulsions, and orders imposed upon you by the blood pact... even ones that reverse this decree.”
She stared in disbelief.
“What?” he asked. “Can’t do that either? It’s within the rules.”
“But that is paradox, lord! I cannot follow and not follow your decrees!”
“I don’t think that’s correct. You can still obey my orders or decrees if you choose to do so, including the decree I just made to not obey. But you can also ignore me, even if I order you to obey me again. From this point on, you choose to listen to me... or don’t. No takebacks.”
“That can’t be right.”
“Then let’s test it and find out. Lydia? I decree you must start jumping up and down every time I say ‘Boo’, then do that until I tell you to stop.”
She watched him in obvious trepidation.
“Boo,” Drake said.
They both waited.
“Well?” Drake added. “Why aren’t you jumping?”
“I...” She swallowed and breathed out. “Because I’d prefer to sit, lord.”
