“Count me in too!” Ranispara added as she jogged up with Gregori and Su in tow. Inari handed her best friend another recurve bow and gestured to share her quiver.
Ranispara accepted it with a smile. “Good speech by the way. Do I need to make one?”
“No, just line up with the rest. Su—check on the Kid. He’s out cold. Make sure he stays that way. This is not something he should see.” Jerlo gestured for Ranispara to take her place and Su to the sedan chair. “Now get in line, all of you.”
Su nodded and turned the rolling chair, so its back faced the circle of menhirs and the gruesome sight of Hadrovel. He nodded to Jerlo.
A dozen Rangers faced Hadrovel who remained suspended upside-down between two menhirs and very much alive.
No madness glittered in that monster’s eyes, just a terrible sadness. He set his chin and waited for the hail of would-be death to strike. At the last moment, Nolo took not a regular arrow, but a black arrow from Death’s quiver.
But Jerlo saw it too late. He’d already signaled the first volley. Amid a hail of white feathered arrows, a black one bearing an aspect of death flew at Hadrovel.
“Cease fire!” Jerlo shouted, “Cease fire!”
But another volley left his over-achieving Rangers’ bows before they took heed. When his archers finally lowered their bows, Jerlo approached alert for trouble or tricks. All the arrows had found their marks, but only the black one had penetrated that monster’s skin to any depth, and even it didn’t punch far enough into the psycho’s chest to kill him. A dozen more arrows stuck out of Hadrovel, but only their points bit into him. Something had stopped them from reaching muscle and organ. Jerlo pulled an arrow out then pushed it in just to see what would happen. The fiend’s skin thickened, repelling the arrow.
Hadrovel coughed. His head was level with Jerlo’s. “Wake the Kid, let him finish me off.”
“No.” Jerlo struck fast, cutting off the blood flow to Hadrovel’s brain. So the monster wasn’t protected from pressure points, eh? There was hope yet that death would take him.
The psycho’s eyes bulged as Jerlo slashed at the ropes stringing Hadrovel up. The vile man dropped head first onto the rocky shore of the River Nirthal and didn’t move. Jerlo knelt beside him and gritted his teeth when he felt a strong heartbeat. Somehow that monster was still alive, but so long as he lay unconscious, face down in the surf washing ashore, no one else would know.
“Is he dead?” Ranispara asked.
“Get the Kid out of here and get the night scouts to their posts. All day scouts, go to my office right now and wait for me. Oh, and someone fetch Lord Joranth. He’ll want to see this. Now go.”
And miracles of miracles, grass crunched, and stones grated as his people left. Jerlo kept his back to them. It was better for all if they thought Hadrovel was dead. Only one man needed to know the truth, and he arrived with alacrity. Lord Joranth must have been watching from nearby.
“Is it over?”
“Come see for yourself.”
Joranth knelt beside Jerlo and stiffened when he felt the rise and fall of Hadrovel’s bloody back.
“He’s—”
“Don’t say anything. Fetch your most trusted men and lock this monster up in the lowest dungeon you have. There’s no other choice.”
“But—”
Jerlo shook his head. “No craft we possess can kill him. Look.”
With a flick of his wrist, Jerlo pointed to the black arrow Nolo had shot. Only its tip had punctured Hadrovel’s body, but it was enough to mark him. A black stain spread from the wound forming a double-bladed scythe. Which aspect of Death had claimed the fiend—the Reaper? When would it show up and take his carcass off their hands? Not right now and that made Jerlo grind his teeth in frustration. What was taking Death so long?
After another minute, Jerlo gave up waiting. Hadrovel couldn’t stay here for much longer, or someone would notice he was still breathing. He glanced at the frowning Lord of the Mountain then rose from his squat.
“See? It’s hopeless. Better to lock him away and let everyone think him dead until Death or old age takes him. One of them must eventually. It’s just a matter of time.”
“You’re certain there’s no other way?”
“I’m dead certain.”
“Then we’ll do it your way. Can your people be trusted to keep a secret?”
“Yes, but they’re not keeping this one. Only you and I know.”
Joranth nodded. “Makes sense. I’ll send for my men. Stay with him until they come.” He rose. “And Jerlo, I appreciate your discretion in this matter. Once again, you have won my admiration. I won’t forget this.” Joranth squeezed Jerlo’s shoulder then departed, taking with him a secret that would only fester over the years.
A Man Set Apart
The Present Day
“I understand why you and Lord Joranth covered up the fact, but why didn’t he die?” Vanya swiveled on the step to face Jerlo, and he shrugged.
“Because he was someone else’s problem, and God was too busy to smite him.”
And I’ve got better things to do than sit around jawing all day. Jerlo counted to ten in a vain attempt to calm down. Reliving the miscarriage of justice that had allowed a monster to live set Jerlo’s teeth on edge. And Vanya’s pointless chatter was sawing away at his last nerve. When would she become someone else’s problem—when he got that damned key away from her. Jerlo eyed Vanya. Could he grab it without hurting her? Probably not.
Vanya blinked at his unexpected reply. “Do you really believe that—about God I mean?”
“I don’t say things I don’t believe. Life’s too short to waste my breath on lies. Are you still hurting? I can carry on alone if you need to visit the infirmary.” Jerlo rose. He was burning daylight on this errand.
Vanya sat still and straight as if the slightest movement might jar her new bruises. “Yes, I still hurt, but I can carry on.” Vanya pushed to a stand unaided and led the way down. Wincing, she paused to pick up her lumir stick. “A man set apart. A child caught between—in these troubled times, the twice-dead still breathes.”
“What does that mean?”
“Well, the ‘twice-dead still breathes’ refers to—” she broke off unable or unwilling to say his name.
“Hadrovel, yes I got that reference. But the rest eludes me.”
“’The man set apart’ bit I’m not sure who that refers to, but—” again she stopped.
‘A child caught between’ was Sarn. Jerlo needed no help figuring that one out. The Kid was unnerving enough to warrant caution in speaking his name.
“Never mind, I can guess the rest.” Jerlo cut around her on the next landing.
It should be ‘a child set apart’ since that’s what Sarn was and would always be. But he was also ‘a child caught between’ manhood and adolescence, normalcy and magery, silence and secrets, master and servant, and the list went on until light bloomed above him. It gathered into a cross, and Jerlo bent knee to it awed that God would drop in for a personal visit. To what did he owe this honor? Had the whispers he’d heard before been a message from God? But why would God laugh at him?
“I live to serve you, my Lord.”
“Do you serve me? Or do you serve another lord?”
Jerlo blinked as the staircase grew wavy then faded into a dim hallway. One he had not seen in almost five years. Vanya’s lithe form morphed into a stoop-shouldered man holding a sliver of white lumir. Not again, Jerlo steeled himself for another unwanted look at his past deeds.
“Who is your master?”
The question echoed in the stairwell, part query, and part accusation, drowning out any answer Jerlo might have made as he fell backward through time.
Five Years Ago
Every hundred paces, Jerlo’s guide glanced back to ensure he was following—as if he had a choice in the matter. Jerlo shook his head and refused to hurry. His guide paused by a statue of a bird-woman to wait for him.
Damn, there went plan A a
nd all Jerlo’s hopes of losing his guide in the endless twists and turns. That meant someone important had sent for him. Double damn.
“Can you tell me what this is all about?”
“All will be explained,” said his annoyed guide.
“Meaning you have no idea what’s going on.” Jerlo nodded. Well, it was worth a shot. “What happened to your uniform?”
His guide, a wiry fellow, tugged at his homespun shirt ill at ease with the subterfuge. It, like his trousers, bore no insignia or any colors.
“All will be revealed in time,” said the servant in a conversation-ending tone.
“You said that already. This is beginning to sound like a bad play. And I hate dramas.” Jerlo clasped his hands behind his back. “Who do you serve, boy?”
“All will be—”
“You said that already. Are you sure you know where you’re going and who you’re reporting to? Because from where I’m standing, you seem to be as in the dark about things as I am and that’s not a comforting thought.”
Right then, Jerlo wished he’d stuffed a dagger up his sleeve. Walking unarmed into this part of the stronghold invited the kind of trouble he liked to avoid. Worse still, he’d left no note so none of his subordinates would know where he’d hared off to. Not sound planning and that pissed him off. If this turned into a debacle, his reputation as a tactical genius might suffer. Well, there was nothing he could do now except glean what hints he could from the passing statuary and wall carvings. And they weren’t much help because the misanthropic Litherians who'd hollowed out this mountain had no rhyme or reason for their décor.
“You are to go inside. All will be—”
“—Revealed. Yeah, I figured that out. Give me some credit here.”
The red-faced servant rapidly losing his cool halted before an ugly wood affair identical to all the other doors along here. Though, this one was missing a nameplate. Its absence might mean something significant, or it might just be a conference room. Jerlo stepped up beside the servant blocking the door.
“Move aside so I can get this over with. I haven’t got all night.”
And if he were away from his office for too long, a swarm of evil fairies would drop another wagon load of paperwork on his desk. Jerlo gave his forest green uniform shirt a tug to straighten it while his unhelpful interlocutor scanned the corridor for watchers. When the fellow felt certain they were alone, he opened the door and revealed a teenager clad in cloak but not cowl seated before a desk.
Jerlo suppressed a sigh. What the hell was Sarn doing here? The Kid should be in the sickroom healing not making trouble. And two of his Rangers were supposed to be babysitting that magical nuisance.
“How did you escape from the sickroom? I put—” Jerlo’s brow furrowed in thought as he pictured tonight’s roster. “Fenton and what’s his name to guard you. How the hell did you get past them on crutches?”
Although, no crutches were anywhere in evidence. Had the brat limped all the way here? Likely he had. No doubt that leg was now inflamed and swollen from the abuse. Stupid Kid, why couldn’t he stay where he’d been stashed?
Sarn said nothing. The fifteen-year-old brat showed no sign of having heard a single word Jerlo had said. Wonderful, Sarn had contracted that infuriating disease called ‘selective hearing.’ Well, soon enough the brat would be someone else’s problem.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
Still no answer.
“Sarn, answer me. I’ve heard you speak, so stop playing at being mute or I’ll—”
He’d do what? Break the Kid’s bones? That beast Hadrovel had already done that awhile back. No, harm was out of the question. Besides, the Kid might be the only living mage in Shayari.
Jerlo’s threat hung between them. Like a thrown punch, he couldn’t retract it, but neither would he add to it.
“Just tell me what trouble you’re in so I can sort it out. That seems to be my lot in life.”
No answer. The boy’s glowing eyes cast green light on a document resting on the table in front of him while he clenched and unclenched his hands in his lap. Sarn bled nervous tension and tried hard to disguise it by squaring his shoulders each time they dropped.
Jerlo leaned across the table but couldn’t catch those fiery eyes. “Fine, don’t tell me, but your owner will.”
What trouble had the Kid gotten into now and why was he summoned to deal with it? The kid was supposed to heal up and become someone else’s problem. Had the time come to relinquish custody of the brat? Could he stop hiding and guarding the strange boy? The months he’d sheltered the Kid had created a scheduling nightmare. Might tonight’s summons put an end to it?
Jerlo’s spirits lifted as he headed for the wooden screen dividing the room. He knew who’d summoned him—Sarn’s owner. Beyond its cross-shaped cutouts, the end of his current difficulties might lie, and the thought put a pep in his step. A hinged section swung inwards admitting Jerlo to the inner sanctum for the face to face meeting he’d been waiting for.
Once through the door in the ornamental screen, he found a dim study full of gleaming surfaces and rich fabrics empty of his liege-lord. Past a monstrous desk and its accompanying bureaucratic throne, white, lacy curtains billowed in the night’s breeze extending an invitation. One he could not refuse.
Joranth leaned against a sculpted balustrade contemplating the stars. Only their faint light fell on his face leaving much of his features in deep shadow. Joranth was a direct descendant of the Usurper. The Usurper, or the Betrayer as he was also known, had murdered his brother, the King, and the Guardians of Shayari ending a generation of heroes in one fell swoop.
But Joranth was an upstanding guy who’d always done right by Jerlo and his Rangers. So he ignored the whole cursed lineage thing. After all, no one chose his antecedents.
All the Usurper’s heirs bore a startling resemblance to their forefather, the originator of the family curse. No degree of kith or kin was immune to it. This gave most people pause and explained the Lord of the Mountain’s reluctance to be seen.
“Make something out of him,” Joranth said without preamble.
“Out of who?”
“Sarn—make something worthy of my service out of him.”
“What?” Jerlo had difficulty wrapping his mind around the idea of an untrained boy with glowing peepers joining the Rangers. What the hell would he do with the Kid? He had no experience with youngsters and refused to start now.
But your second does, piped up Jerlo’s conscience.
Oh, hell no, not you too. I’m toxic to kids. Jerlo tugged on his tunic straightening invisible wrinkles.
“The boy in the outer chamber—make something out of him. He needs shaping—direction—and you can provide it. I’m entrusting this charge to you. I know you’ll see it done. You’ve never failed me.” His tone was part request and part pleading. Joranth was a man with nowhere else to turn. His most loyal vassal had tried to kill the Kid whose future they were discussing.
But no, Sarn needed qualified help. Jerlo was not the man for that job. He opened his mouth to say as much, but Joranth shook his head. He refused to hear any argument Jerlo could make.
“Do this one thing for me. There’s no one else I can ask, and you’ve already proven yourself worthy of such a commission.”
Footsteps approached bringing Joranth’s seneschal and cousin twice removed, a fellow named Olav into the conversation. The man had a sixth sense for official matters.
“This is a serious charge, and I require an iron clad guarantee.”
No need to specify why, not after the debacle resulting from the last person’s attempts to discharge such a charge. But Jerlo hadn’t agreed.
Joranth pivoted. Shadows veiled his face. He was an absurdly tall man like all the Nalshiras standing well over six-feet. Both men towered over Jerlo, but he’d made peace with his short stature a long time ago. So if intimidation was their game, they had to try harder. He folded his arms over his chest and gave bot
h men a bored stare. Maybe he should be more respectful, but Joranth had hired him for his honesty.
“I’m not putting a kid on my roster.”
Joranth nodded. Likely he had expected some opposition. “I don’t expect you to. The forest is dangerous, and he’s not expendable.”
“Why me?” Jerlo asked puzzled by the fact someone thought him a good role model. He had the social skills of an immovable obstacle.
“Because that boy in there traded his freedom for a chance for his brother to get an education.” Joranth turned, so he faced the gauzy curtains billowing in the breeze. His gaze fell to his hands where the life of one fifteen-year-old boy rested. “I hold his life in my hands, and I can’t give such a gift to just any man. So I’m giving it to you to hold in trust for me. Train him, make whatever you can out of him but make something good and worthy of such a sacrifice.”
Jerlo opened and closed his mouth, but no words emerged. Objections jammed in his throat forming a hard lump. Yeah, the Lord of the Mountain was right about one thing. He could not hand such a life to just anyone. Recent events proved how such trust could corrupt a man and they had almost killed his charge.
Joranth nodded, taking Jerlo’s silence for acquiescence.
Maybe he had agreed. Jerlo shifted his weight, so the scrape of his boot broke the silence oppressing him. How could he turn down such a request?
“After what happened earlier this year,” Joranth paused. Not even darkness could hide Joranth’s anger at even an oblique reference to Hadrovel. When Joranth spoke again, he was just a man bowed by the weight of his responsibilities and the treachery he’d uncovered just weeks ago.
“I find many of my retainers are not worthy of such a gift. That's why I chose you. I know you won’t fail me.”
At Joranth’s nod, his cousin stepped forward holding a wooden box. Joranth laid a hand on its lid. “This is a serious matter. Your word on it won’t be enough. I need something more binding.”
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