by J. T. Wright
“No, I’ll be fine,” Kirstin replied absently. “We both need to wash and change quickly. I need to secure father’s permission to enter the Dungeon tomorrow, before something comes up and he is called away.”
Lyra nodded and took herself to her own small chamber while Kirstin forced herself to move into her bedroom. There she quickly removed the few pieces of hardened leather that served as her armor and hung it neatly on a rack near the door. Then she stripped and dropped her clothing carelessly on the floor. Sword in hand she made her way to the bath chamber.
Inside, she hung her sword in the pegs near the door and stared longingly at the marble bath. Normally, she made do with the Self-Clean Charm while in the Trial. That Charm only went so far and was not as satisfying as a bath. Now the tub was calling her name, but she didn’t have time to soak and pamper herself. That luxury would remain a dream.
Instead, she moved to a stool set off to the side and sat down. Near the stool was a metal bucket with two runes carved into it. Picking up the bucket, she channeled Mana into the runes and watched as hot water quickly filled the container, appearing from nowhere. Magic was a convenience.
After the bucket was full, Kirstin slowly poured it over her head and shoulders, the water cascading down her torso, easing aching muscles ever so slightly. She had heard there was a more efficient way of washing now, something called a shower, but she wasn’t interested. This method had always worked fine in the Al’dross territory. They were far from the capital and expected to act a little backward.
A nearby stone shelf held various soaps, which Kirstin used to wash herself. Presently Lyra entered the bath chamber wrapped in a towel, and Kirstin allowed her maid to scrub and wash her hair and back, mumbling in contentment as nimble hands and fingers did their work. After rinsing, she traded places with her maid and returned the favor.
This wasn’t entirely proper, but Kirstin had decided that she only needed a single attendant upon becoming an Adventurer, so compromises needed to be made.
Finished with bathing, the two women returned to Kirstin’s bedchamber, where hair was brushed and styled, makeup applied, and clothing chosen. Before too long, Kirsten was buckling her sword around her waist again, studying her reflection in a full-length mirror.
Long blond hair, artfully held in place with silver pins, fell about her shoulders and framed her face. A light red blush highlighted her high cheekbones, and a similar color decorated her lips, but all else was her own pale skin. As a swordswoman, she refused to wear a dress and instead wore loose flowing pants of white that could be mistaken for a skirt if she stood still, and a silk blouse of the lightest blue. Her only jewelry was a necklace of braided silver and gold and a diamond ring on her right hand. The first was a gift from her father and the other from her older brother, both greatly valued because of their simplicity. Only her father and brother knew her tastes well enough to prepare appropriate gifts.
She studied her reflection and wasn’t displeased. She might prefer simpler garb, but she wasn’t uncomfortable, nor would she shame her family. It would do.
Lyra stood behind and to the side. Her brown hair was pulled back, and she wore a simple dress of black and silver, the colors of house Al’dross. She toyed with the idea of mentioning Kirstin’s new Summons to her mistress but held her tongue. Some arrangements must be made, but Kirstin had obviously put the matter aside and reminding her now would only foul her mood. Lyra would have a quiet word with the steward or head of maids to make sure the boy’s needs were met when she had the chance.
Kirstin looked out of her chamber window and took note of the setting sun. “Father should be in his study, and available now. Let’s go.” A quiet word of agreement from the maid and the two left to settle their affairs.
**********
Kirstin was the youngest of five children, three boys and two girls. Amongst those children, she was only close to her nearest brother, Michael. Of all the Duke’s children, only he had chosen a life of military service. Her brother, Aaron, served in the Duke’s Guard, but that was his duty as heir, not his choice. Only Michael sought a military life and had now earned the position of the Captain of the Duke’s guard.
At twenty, only three years older than Kirstin, many thought he had been granted this honor due to his father’s favoritism, but the truth was, Michael had earned every honor accorded to him. He was a Level 15 warrior, Level 15 Mage, and Level 13 Spellsword. With a total Level of 43, there were none among his peers who matched him, and of all his father’s children, he was considered the most likely to reach Level 50 first. The higher one’s Level rose, the slower one’s progression became. 50 was a milestone that many never reached, and while his eldest brother Aaron had reached Level 45, he had taken 30 years to do so.
To reach Level 43, at twenty, spoke well of Michael’s determination, potential, and talent. He took his post seriously and was well respected by all the Duke’s men as a considerate commander and exceptional warrior.
It was this young Captain who was currently on his way to the Keep’s main gate to receive the day’s report and oversee the changing of the guard. Technically, this was the job of his lieutenant, but his lieutenant would report to him afterward, so that he could report to his father. Michael found it more efficient and convenient to cut out the middleman.
He was a little early today. It had been a very light day for the Captain of the Guard. He personally lead a patrol of junior guardsmen on a patrol of the northern highway, which had gone disappointingly smooth. The men had performed well, but there had been no sign of beast or bandit. Michael kept telling himself that it was good not to run into trouble near the city, but the truth was, he was itching to stretch his sword arm. He’d have to check with his father, and if nothing pressing was in the works, maybe he could take a squad for “training” into the Dungeon or the nearby mountains for a week or so.
Michael winced as the word Dungeon crossed his mind. His father hated it when people referred to the Trial that way. “It disrespects the will of the gods,” he was known to say. While not a particularly pious man, the Duke did believe what was proper was proper, and he would not like to hear the slang term from the lips of one of his officers, much less from his son.
“Got to be careful, that brat’s Adventurer nonsense is contagious,” Michael chuckled to himself as he arrived at the gate. He cleared his throat and called out, “Corporal, where’s your Sergeant with my report?”
His words were gruff. He managed not to soften them by winking. A slight lifting of the corner of his mouth was all the humor he allowed himself. Captains should not wink.
The Corporal currently in charge of the gate saluted Michael but did allow himself a full grin as he answered. “You’re early Sir. The Sergeant is out making his rounds one last time before shift change.”
Michael sighed and tucked his thumbs into his sword belt. “Well, that’s all right and proper, and damn annoying too. Why don’t we pass the time by you telling me the gist of what your Sergeant is going to tell me? And pass on any gossip that he wouldn’t tell me while you’re at it.”
The Corporal chuckled. “It’s been a quiet day sir. Think the Sergeant only has numbers and such to pass on. Myself I’m not good at remembering numbers, which is probably why I never get promoted. And gossip...ah, quiet day sir, no gossip either.” He hesitated.
That’s not right, Michael thought to himself, his brow tightening. There’s always gossip. If not about something that happened at the gate or barracks today, then something that happened at the tavern last night. Or to someone’s second cousin the week before. Guardsmen always had gossip.
“What are you hiding from me, Corporal?” Michael tried to keep his tone relaxed, but a hint of an order crept through anyway.
“It’s really not my place to say, Sir,” The Corporal said nervously. Gossip about the gate or guard was just gossip, but gossip about the Duke’s family was an entirely different matter.
“Why don’t you let me be the ju
dge of that?” Not a hint of an order, now the Captain was speaking to his subordinate.
“It’s your sister sir, Lady Kirstin, and...and I swear we haven’t been talking about it, not really, just it’s odd.”
“My sister,” Michael said, surprised, relaxing a bit. “Go ahead and spill it. If it’s about Kirstin the Adventurer, it is gossip, and if it’s about Lady Kirstin, well then, I’ll tell you so, so you know it’s not gossip.”
The Captain may have relaxed, but the Corporal was standing straight at attention. “Ahhh, it’s like this, Sir, the Lady came back from a dungeon crawl near two hours ago, and she was in a bit of a huff. That is to say, Sir,” he hurried to explain, “she wasn’t in the best of moods. Strode right up and reported her return straight away without so much as a hello.”
Michael relaxed even more, this sounded like gossip about the Adventurer Kirstin. “A bad run in the Trial can put a person’s back up, Corporal.”
“Yes sir, it certainly can,” the soldier agreed. “But the Lady reported she was successful in clearing the fifth floor. We were all set to congratulate her, but she just walked in without another word. Walked in, followed by her party, and a boy.”
“A boy, how do you mean?” Michael’s brow started to tighten again.
“Just a boy, Sir, young. I’d be surprised if he was Awakened yet. Only thing that stood out was he was red in the face and gasping like he’d been running for days.” The Corporal cleared his throat. “Didn’t think much of it, Sir. Actually, it’s well-known that the Lady doesn’t keep much in the way of help. I personally figured that the lad might be someone she picked up to act as a Page or runner, and she’d been running him for practice.” The Corporal chuckled weakly.
“Then, not three steps in the gate, she turns on the boy and starts yelling at him to go, go train, or some such, and not to follow her. Then she stormed off and left him there, just left him standing there, and him looking all lost. He stood there for a minute like he didn’t know what to do. The Sergeant was about to go get his story when he suddenly took off running.”
Michael rubbed his chin. “If that’s the whole story, I’m not sure it’s gossip or not, Corporal. Kirstin is free to hire or fire staff as she chooses.”
“I don’t mean the boy left, Sir,” The Corporal said shaking his head. “I mean he started doing laps on the killing field...ah outer ward, and garden that is, Sir.”
The Guard often referred to the area between the first and second walls as the killing fields. Two hundred yards across, it was kept free of any real cover so in case the first wall was breached, the defenders would have plenty of room to sling arrows and spells at any intruder. But it was well known that the Duke preferred to hear it called the outer ward.
“He started running and kept running,” the Corporal continued. “We joked about it at first. But not for long, not after the first hour. The boy isn’t much of a runner. Slow and weak, but he keeps going. Sometimes he collapses and lays on the ground for a bit, then starts crawling until he can get back up to run again. Nothing funny about that, especially once we realized his shoes had fallen apart and his feet were cut up.... we did try to stop him, Sir, but when the Sergeant grabbed a hold of him, the boy started screaming like he was being murdered, begging us to let him follow his master’s orders.”
The Corporal trailed off and Michael didn’t know what to say. “I see. Well where’s the boy now?” he finally asked.
“Still running, Sir, near two hours now, but he’s still running. If you can call it that. Staggering like he’s being chased is more like it. It’s taking him longer and longer to make a full lap.” The Corporal shook his head. “It’s not my place to say it, but I can’t imagine a boy that young doing anything to deserve...not right, Sir.”
“No, it doesn’t sound right,” Michael agreed slowly. “It has to be a misunderstanding. Kirstin isn’t a cruel girl. Who’s your runner, Corporal?”
“Guardsman Tucker has that duty today, Sir.” The Corporal gestured to a Guardsman standing a few feet away.
Tucker was doing his best to seem invisible, just like all the guardsmen on gate duty now. They were glad someone had spoken up about the boy, but they certainly didn’t want to be involved in any report that might seem to criticize the Duke’s youngest daughter.
“Tucker, you find the Lady Kirstin and bring her here. And she’d better be running herself when she comes,” Michael ordered. “Corporal, I need another of your men to accompany me. Where can I find this boy?”
The Corporal pointed to the west. “He passed here twenty minutes ago, Sir, so he should be coming from that way soon enough if he hasn’t collapsed for good already. Carl, you’re on the Captain’s orders.”
Michael set off at a brisk, ground-eating soldier’s pace in the indicated direction, his eyes scanning the distance, with a spear-carrying Guardsman close behind him. He had a bad feeling about this. What could make a child run for two hours when he was unsupervised? Run until his shoes fell apart, run on cut feet, crawl when he couldn’t stand, only to run again when he was able to get his legs back under him.
Hexes and compulsion could make a man do a thing like that, but Kirstin didn’t know much beyond simple spells like Spark, much less the darker crafts like compulsion. There was something wrong here, and Michael meant to find out what it was.
**********
The boy stumbled around a corner and fell. It didn’t hurt as much to fall near the northern gate, the back gate. This end of the outer ward held the stables, smithies, and various other buildings necessary for the smooth operation of the Keep. Buildings that were necessary but best kept out of sight. The ground was mostly hard-packed dirt here, instead of the stone pathways of the gardens on the south end. No, it didn’t hurt nearly as much to fall here.
The boy struggled to keep moving, he had to stand or at least crawl. The real pain would come if he stopped moving too long. As much as the cuts on his hands and feet stung, as badly as the bruises on his arms and legs ached, they were nothing compared to the punishment that came when he stopped “training”.
At some point a few laps ago, a uniformed man had stopped him from running and questioned him. The boy was unable to answer the questions at first, and, as the seconds passed, the punishment had grown harsher until he was screaming and begging to be allowed to keep running. That had been bad but not the worst.
The boy stumbled to his feet and limped forward. His legs barely supported him, and he was terrified of the moment when they would give out altogether. Would he die of the pain when he was unable to push on, or would he simply be tortured forever, without the release of death?
He wasn’t truly aware of his path anymore, moving forward was more panicked animal instinct now. When he ran into an obstacle that had never been there before and tumbled back to the ground, he almost couldn’t believe it had happened.
Blurry eyes sought to find what had caused his fall and found another uniformed man standing over him. This one was younger than the last, with blond hair, and piercing blue eyes that called to mind the boy’s master. A shocked expression filled the man’s handsome face.
“Boy, can you hear me? Answer me!”
The words registered with the boy, but he couldn’t answer. He had to run! He awkwardly turned over and got to his hands and knees, crawling forward. When the man knelt beside him and put a hand up to stop him, the boy flinched.
“Nooo.... Pl…please.... must run,” the boy begged, and the man removed his hand immediately as if burned. “Thank you... must... run.” The boy moved forward mindlessly.
Michael kept kneeling on the ground as he watched the boy in disbelief. The boy was filthy, covered in grime and animal waste, probably from falling near the stables. Cuts on his hands and feet would probably still be bleeding if they weren’t so caked in filth. The boy’s skin was red and dry from exhaustion and sun burn. His pleas to continue were barely audible; Michael doubted he had enough moisture left to coat his mouth and throat.
<
br /> “Guardsman,” Michael addressed Carl in a soft but angry voice, “I want my sister and a healer here now! I wanted her here an hour ago, and I want a gods-be-damned explanation for this. Go!”
Carl saluted briskly and sprinted away. The Captain had a temper, one he normally kept under wraps. Carl had seen rage on his face just now. Seen and understood it. That boy was near death, and the Guardsman would see a healer and the Lady here if he had to carry them forcibly.
As the Guardsman sprinted away, Michael stayed by the boy. He was furious, but he had one answer. When he had reached out and stopped the boy, a mark had lit up on the back of the boy’s right hand. A Summons mark! That mark was always visible on the summoner’s hand, but the Summons mark only showed up on the contracted beast when the creature was being punished. It was impossible to know what kind of pain a punished Summons endured, but Michael had never seen a Summons able to withstand it.
He had known a noble with an Ontreazion Lizard Summons once. That lizard was able to take a spear thrust without whimpering in the slightest. But when its master activated the mark to punish it for being slow to block the thrust, it had screamed as if it was being dismembered.
It was impossible for this boy to be a Summons, and yet that mark was the proof that he was. Michael didn’t know what had happened, but he knew this boy was contracted to his sister. And he knew that to force a Summons to this point and then punish it, was an evil action.
Michael watched helplessly, his hands clenching and unclenching in fury as the boy stumbled and fell, crawled and stood, stumbled and fell, again and again. The boy was an impossible existence, a unique creature. Michael would have at least heard rumors if a human Summons had ever appeared before. How could anyone treat such a treasure this way? What would this boy be capable of if he was properly trained?
The boy was obviously low-leveled, weak, and slow. Any of the Guard under Michael’s command could run for hours without rest, but how many of them could have done it at Level 3? Or 9 even? Perhaps the pain prodded the boy on, but there was determination there as well; determination to escape the pain, to successfully carry out his master’s order, even at the cost of his life.
