by J. T. Wright
Sergeant Cullen did not know where Trent was, and neither did Lady Kirstin, Corporal Francis, Captain Michael, or Lieutenant Nell. When the Duke himself came at Taylor’s urging, Tersa had felt panicked. At first, she thought that fear was from the repercussions coming her way. It was her question that had caused Duke Lewis’s schedule to be interrupted, after all. When the Duke stormed into the room with an air of authority surrounding him like a cloak, Tersa realized it was Trent she was anxious for.
To Tersa, Sergeant Cullen was the strongest man alive. Fairies, fathers, and officers all fell before the Sergeant. Cullen was her example and her wall. When she was afraid, she asked herself what Cullen would do and then acted accordingly. That Tersa was afraid almost all the time was why she threw herself at every situation with belligerence and false bravado.
The anger in the Duke’s eyes and the frown scarring his face caused Tersa’s mask to crack and break. She felt tears welling up in her eyes. The Duke was the only man Tersa had ever seen Sergeant Cullen act respectfully around. For the Duke to look the way he did meant Trent’s absence wasn’t the simple matter it should have been.
Tersa’s only friend was lost, and it had taken her a week to realize it. More than a week! She couldn’t remember the last time she had seen Trent’s stupid… Trent’s honest face. He had been there when she entered the Garden, hadn’t he? She was sure Trent had gone through the white gate of that hateful place first. The thought made her feel even worse.
Trent had gone in, but no one could say whether he had come out! The Garden was filled with Fairies! Tersa shook at the image of Trent at the mercy of those winged horrors while she was complaining about wall-cleaning detail. Boys could be strung up and sliced to pieces as easily as girls could! It would not be fair if that happened to Trent! He never talked back or broke plates. Tersa would bet Trent had never spilled a drop of beer in his whole life. Trent was good! He never…
When a furry white head deposited itself in her lap, Tersa, lost in the memories of a little girl who feared her own family as much as she feared Fairies, wrapped her arms around it and sobbed quietly with her face buried. She didn’t question the support of the canine that had less business in this training hall than she did. She just leaned into it and trembled.
No one paid any mind to Tersa. The most important people in Al’drossford had all gathered, and they all wanted answers. Where was Trent? How long had he been missing? Why hadn’t Cullen noticed his absence? Why hadn’t Kirstin reported that her summons mark had vanished? They were all questions that could not be answered.
Lewis Al’dross rubbed his forehead with one hand and muttered a curse. Besides the Junior Guardsman in the corner, only he, Cullen, and Taylor remained in the training hall. Everyone else had been sent to scour the keep for answers. Tersa was allowed to stay because Cullen had demanded she stay within sight, as if he were afraid whatever had swept Trent away would come back for the girl.
The three men were some of the most powerful Awakened in the kingdom, and they were stumped. A Summons mark, the tattoo that came with a contracted Beast, was not something that faded away without being noticed. But when Trent’s absence was brought to Kirstin’s attention, Lewis’s daughter had looked stunned, until she had been dismissed. Her eyes were far away as she left the room, scratching at the back of her hand.
Summons could be transferred with the contract holder’s consent. Another way of losing a summons was for the Beast’s loyalty rating to drop below zero. When that happened, the contract would be broken. Normally, a Beast who lost its contract would stand in one spot until another formed a pact with it or it died.
This was where things got murky. Trent was unique. A Human Summons, or from what Cullen said, the boy had become Al’rashian. No one could say with any certainty what would happen once he was free. Michael had assumed that because the boy had awareness and intelligence, he would become exactly what he appeared to be: an Awakened with unlimited potential, with the right to pick his own path.
Lewis had not been willing to risk that. Trent was too valuable to assume that he would behave differently from any other summons. The Duke had insisted that Kirstin keep her contract. He had subtly influenced his daughter into recognizing how extraordinary Trent was. Lewis hadn’t recognized any urgency to the matter. A contracted Summons wasn’t an easy thing to lose.
“This is my fault,” Cullen said weakly for the hundredth time. The Sergeant fluctuated between looking angry enough to punch holes through the walls and depressed enough to weep. “I sent Kris away. I should have…"
“Stop blaming yourself, Cullen!” Taylor snapped irritably. “You couldn’t have known! Loyalty Ratings don’t just drop after reaching 25. It takes mishandling for a contract to break. Kirstin’s presence would have made no difference. And there’s more at play here. Why did it take so long for us to realize the boy was missing? What kind of magic could accomplish that?”
“The contract was always strange.” Lewis let his hand fall back to his side. “I saw it when I did the evaluation but put it down to the boy’s unusual nature. We need a Diviner. And something the boy owned, something he has handled."
“Stop calling him ‘the boy!’ The Runt's name is Trent!" Cullen’s knuckles creaked as his hands curled into fists. “And fuck Diviners! We need Agatha!”
The conversation died. Cullen interrupting and cursing at Lewis wasn’t unheard of. It was the Sergeant speaking the name of Taylor’s wife, without tacking on an insult, that caused his oldest friends to peer at him with worried expressions. Cullen was right, of course. What a Diviner could do, a Seer could do better, but Cullen was known for saying the opposite, loudly, to Agatha’s face.
“His name is Trent, Trent Embra, and the matter is more serious than any of you recognize.” The modulated voice that spoke drew the men's eyes over Cullen’s shoulder.
An Al’rashian stood there. With his silver eyes and angular features, the man could be nothing else. Dressed in a black cloak and brown leather armor, a sword belted at his waist, the Al’rashian did not have a particularly imposing appearance. He looked like any number of Al’rashian Riders the three had encountered over the years. The fact that he stood there drumming his fingers against the hilt of his sword and had presumably done so for some time without being noticed indicated the man was no common Rider.
“Who the fuck are you?” Cullen was strangely grateful to the Al’rashian. He needed something to focus the swirl of emotions tearing him apart on. Peacemaker was a thought away, and the Sergeant offered up a prayer to any gods that might be listening, begging that this Al’rashian would give him the chance to use his axe. If Lewis had not been present, Cullen might have already started swinging.
Ranar gravely nodded his head as if Cullen had politely asked for his name. “Introductions, of course. My manners desert me. I am Ranar Wygon, of Clan Wygon.” Ranar swept his cloak behind him and offered a low bow.
“Clan Wygon?” Lewis grabbed hold of Tailor’s shoulder. The Assassin had drawn his knives and was drifting to the side, looking for a vulnerable place to strike. “The Wygons are always welcome in Al’drossford.”
Cullen looked incensed at the Duke’s polite tones, and Taylor quirked an eyebrow as well. Lewis was too focused on Ranar to notice. The Al'dross had waited for centuries for a representative of one of the major clans to arrive. If Ranar was who he said he was…
“Please, do not misunderstand,” Ranar straightened up, “I do not, cannot represent Clan Wygon. I am here as Master of the Dusk Tower, and my concern is for Trent Embra.”
“You could be the Empress of Triordon and I wouldn’t…"
“Shut up Cullen!” Lewis barked tersely. The was no time to explain to the Sergeant who the Master of the Dusk Tower was. Lewis himself barely understood. From what he had read in his family history, if Ranar was telling the truth, Lewis was saving Cullen’s life by interrupting him.
“Thank you. Forgive me, I do not know how you are addressed, Lewis of… Le
wis Al’dross. As the leader of your family, you would be called Elder in Al’rashian terms, but your clan has…” Ranar was at a loss to continue. Implying that a Clan had declined was a serious insult, and the last thing he wanted was to antagonize Lewis.
“You address him as Your Grace, and…” For Taylor, the sneer in his voice was the equivalent of Cullen’s cursing. Neither man was handling being taken by surprise well, and Lewis squeezed the Assassin’s shoulder to warn him.
“Your Grace.” Ranar rolled the words around his mouth and nodded gratefully to Taylor, pretending not to see the knives the man still held. “About Trent Embra, I can tell you he entered this keep along with you, Sergeant. I also came to Al’drossford at that time. You should not be relieved that Trent Embra was here so recently. The fact that he escaped my watch as easily as he did yours should alarm you.”
“You entered at the same time as we did?” Cullen’s eyes lit up as a few ideas clicked together in his head. “Then you had been following us for some time. I have you to thank for the ice snake, yeah?”
“Yes, I…” Ranar’s head rocked backward and he took a half step back as Cullen’s fist landed on his face. Lewis let go of Taylor to grab at Cullen and found the action unnecessary. Cullen and Taylor looked remarkably calmer after Cullen’s punch.
Ranar had only taken a half step back. Taylor sheathed his knives and Cullen crossed his arms over his chest. He had not held back with that blow. A fist that could send a thousand pounds of Greater Ice Serpent flying had barely managed to ruffle Ranar. Hidden behind his elbow, Cullen gently flexed his hand and hoped there were no broken bones.
Ranar cleared his throat. “I deserved that. I needed to speak with Trent alone. I apologize for the Serpent. I asked for a Drake, but when Terah learned what I intended for the Beast, she refused to provide one of her servants.”
Cullen grunted and tried not to look impressed. It wasn’t every day you heard a man claim to have sent a goddess to capture a Beast. If this was true, it was one of the most exceptional feats Cullen had ever heard of. If it were a lie, the Sergeant could learn a thing or two about the art of bragging from this Al’rashian.
“Why did you need to speak with Trent?” Lewis asked, his eyes narrowing.
“We should speak of that alone, Your Grace. There are a great many things we should speak of alone.” Ranar’s fingers began their drumming again. “For now, the boy must be found. I am capable of sensing those with Al’rashian blood, and l tried to do so the second I realized Trent Embra was missing. I found nothing. Either he is too far away, or he has entered a Trial. Let us pray for the latter.”
“Hopefully, the boy has followed the instincts of his Class and is challenging a local Trial, in which case, I will find him the moment he exits.” Ranar took a deep breath and his silver eyes flashed. “It will be more difficult if he has been abducted, but my Bond has his scent and will be able to track the boy, wherever he may be.”
Ranar’s gaze flickered to the corner where Arakai was comforting a small crying redhead. “I imagine if Trent Embra has been taken against his will, his captors will soon regret it.”
“Why is that?” Taylor asked. “He's a Summons; if he forms a pact with whoever lured him away…”
“He was never a Summons,” Ranar spoke quietly but bit off the last word. “He… tell me, Sergeant, you took your trainees to the area near the lake Trial because it is filled with low-leveled Beasts, yes? How did you end up in an Instant Trial? Between the domains of two Trials, you should have been safe from the Wanderers.”
Cullen rolled his neck and took out his pipe. As he lit it, he pretended to consider Ranar’s question. He merely needed to occupy his hands, keeping himself from grabbing hold of the Al’rashian and shaking a straight answer out of the man.
“We’d fought a pack of Howlers right before the Survival Trial appeared.” Cullen exhaled a heavy cloud of smoke towards Ranar. “Blood and death can draw a Wandering Trial. Figured that was what did it.”
“You were wrong,” Ranar said shortly. “Trent Embra brought that Trial to you. Outside of a domain, the violet-eyed attract the Wanderers like honey attracts flies. Until he is trained, Trent shouldn’t be allowed to step a foot away from a permanent Trial, a fact which any that currently travel with him are sure to learn.”
“He didn’t have violet eyes until after…” Cullen argued.
Lewis blurted, “Violet eyes? How did you forget to mention that, Cullen?!”
Cullen was spared from responding to the murderous tone in Lewis’s voice by a knock at the door. Helmand, the Dukes’s adjutant, stuck his head into the room a moment later to announce, “Your Grace, the Duchess and her escort have been spotted. They will be here within the hour.”
Lewis’s hand pressed against his forehead again. He felt a headache developing. Vanessa had been sending regular letters for the past six months. She had sent a message the day before saying she was almost home, but this one was the first to mention that she was traveling with a troop of Immortals and forty or so minor Nobles.
After a day of speculating, Lewis wondered if she had withheld that morsel of information to keep him from worrying, or because springing it on him was more amusing. The presence of all those Nobles, not to mention the Immortals, would curtail his search for Trent. He could not send out the Guard in force without alerting watching eyes that something was going on.
“Master Wygon, if you would work with Cullen and Taylor to find the boy,” Lewis sighed, “I suspect I will be occupied for the foreseeable future.”
**********
Cullen glowered at Ranar’s back as they made their way towards the main gate. Lewis was being too trusting, and Cullen couldn’t understand why. Was it because the man was Al’rashian? Or the fact that Ranar clearly had the power to waltz in, out, and around the Keep, unnoticed at will? Shouldn’t that make the Duke suspicious of the man?
But no, instead of summoning Guardsmen to take Ranar into custody, Lewis walked beside him and offered every courtesy. The Duke had already sent Helmand to arrange guest quarters for the Al'rashian, and seemed more concerned with Ranar’s comfort than the arrival of the Duchess!
That was another thing that stuck in Cullen’s throat. He wanted to be out searching for Trent; he already had an idea for finding the Runt. An idea that did not include Ranar’s help, thank you very much and piss off! But instead of rushing to Agatha or the Guild, Cullen had to go along to greet the visitors from the capital.
If Vanessa Al’dross had been returning the way she had left, unaccompanied, Cullen’s presence would not be needed. Her escort of Immortals changed that. The arrival of the kingdom’s elite troops, rather than the Nobles they protected, required a certain amount of ceremony. Had it been Nobles alone, Michael, as Captain of the Guard, would have sufficed. A hundred soldiers, all over Level 50, meant Cullen would be needed to stiffen the backs of the Keep’s own men and head off trouble should it appear. It would not be fitting for the Duke to reveal his own strength, and in Al’drossford, Taylor was known for his skills with a needle, not a knife. Cullen was the public face of the city’s armed forces.
That was how Lewis put it. Cullen found it all ridiculous! His Guards could handle the men that called themselves Immortals. There was no fight in the king’s men. They were merely Class Holders who had unluckily drawn the king’s attention with their success and fortune, enough to be enslaved rather than killed. Cullen knew that the collar, which all Immortals wore, was no honor.
Cullen might have been collared himself if the enchantments on such a device were not limited. A slave owner had to be of a higher Level than those he entrapped. For centuries, Al’verren kings had stood at the pinnacle of the kingdom, but Lewis’s adventuring days had changed that. The Duke and his retainers might be constrained by the kingdom’s charter, but Lewis and his companions made interference in Al’drossford’s business much too costly for serious consideration.
Corporal Francis fell in beside Cullen as the gr
oup exited the Keep. He wore the ceremonial uniform of the Guard, highly polished black and silver armor, and had his helm tucked beneath one arm.
“What have you found, Frank?” Cullen said out of the side of his mouth. His eyes never left Ranar’s back. He hurled provocations at the Al’rashian with his mind, urging the man to give him a reason to attack. His fist hadn’t gotten the job done, but Cullen had always preferred an axe. Peacemaker would make the point that his bare hands couldn’t, if given the chance.
“I’ve contacted the Watch; they keep their ears to the ground. No one has heard anything about why we’re being blessed with a troop of Immortals or the brats they’re babysitting,” Frank reported quietly. “Can’t understand it myself. The Duchess would have made better time alone."
“Fuck the Immortals! I don’t give a rat's ass about those puffed up sons of bitches! I want you to tell me where the Runt is!” Cullen’s outburst caused a passing servant to drop the bundle he was carrying, and even the Corporal winced. Lewis and Ranar looked over their shoulders. The Duke’s glance was condemning, though oddly, the Al’rashian’s eyes danced with approval.
“No one has seen the kid.” Frank cleared his throat and replied carefully, “I still have men looking, but since the Duke wants things done discreetly, there’s only so much we can do, Sergeant.”
“Call off the search! It’s a waste of time!” Cullen snapped. “Once this farce is over with, I'll find the Runt personally.”
Corporal Francis opened his mouth and then shut it. From all indications, the Keep was about to become too busy for the Sergeant to run off. However, there was no way Frank was going to be the one to mention it.
All the Guards at the gate were wearing their dress uniforms, and an honor guard lined the road. Two hundred men stood beside the road outside the gate, holding ceremonial spears at just the right angle and not moving so much as an inch, as they waited to greet their Lord’s wife. Cullen was distinctly out of place in the everyday breastplate and chainmail of the Guard, with just a short sword hanging from his waist.