The old man turned away, the first time Fred saw the man turn from a challenging stare. "Old memories become dreams for most people, sweet reminders of what was."
"And yours?" the lord asked.
Ned lifted his staff and ran an old, withered hand over the wood. "Mine are nightmares. You know a part of the cruelties I've seen. None of that has gone away, and the dreams loose it upon my mind."
"You're a haunted man, but I wonder if this boy doesn't shed some light on your soul," Lord Tramadore replied.
The old man glanced up at his old friend. "Perhaps, if I find him to be worthy of the staff."
"Can I see it? For old times' sake?" the lord requested.
Ned nodded and leaned forward; he pulled forth the broken stick and handed it to his old friend. Lord Tramadore ran his hand over the worn leather, and stopped at the broken parts. "And this still works? Even with this break?"
Ned shrugged. "It was always cracked. He made it that way so no one would steal it. It broke the night-well, that night, but the boy was able to use it."
"I see." Lord Tramadore returned the weapon. "And you will take this boy with you if you can?"
Ned sighed. "If Pat will allow it, I will. He has potential, even if he doesn't have his soul."
"The soul of-"
"What are you doing there!"
At the cry Fred swung around and saw a guard standing at the other end of the entrance hall. The man hurried forward and Fred stumbled toward the stairs. He didn't make it more than a foot before the doors to the study swung open and whacked him in the ass. The boy tumbled forward and landed in a heap at the bottom of the stairs. Ned and Tramadore stepped out of the study and their eyes fell on Fred as the poor boy was roughly pulled to his feet by the guard.
Lord Tramadore smiled at the boy and waved off the guard. "Release him. He's no harm to anyone, my good man."
"Very well, sir." The guard retreated to perform his rounds, leaving the three alone.
Fred shrank from the stairs of the two imperious men. "I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean-"
"Of course you did," Lord Tramadore interrupted him. "It's just a matter of how much you heard and understood."
The boy shook his head. "Very little, my lord, I promise."
Lord Tramadore rubbed his chin and looked to his quiet compatriot. Ned leaned heavily on his staff and his blue eyes bore into the boy; the lord couldn't tell whether Ned was amused or angry, but that was always the way with the old man. "I believe that, but perhaps we should finish this conversation in the study. With our resident eavesdropper inside we're sure to have a safe conversation."
CHAPTER 13
Lord Tramadore herded Fred into the room and Ned followed. The boy feared the old man's silence; he hated to have his disapproval, and even worse his anger. Fred flinched when the doors shut behind him with an ominous thud, and he was led over to a chair at the desk. Ned took the seat closest to him, and Lord Tramadore opposite them both behind the desk. Fred sank down in his chair and wished he could disappear into the seat.
Lord Tramadore leaned forward and gave the boy a careful glance. "How much of the conversation did you hear?"
"E-everything," Fred admitted. He noticed Ned wince.
The lord's eyes dodged over to Ned, and back to the boy. "And what did you understand?"
Fred shrugged; he was too frightened to recall much of what was said. "I heard you talking about taking Pat somewhere, and somebody following, and-and stuff about me and that broken stick."
Ned pulled out the stick and held it in front of the boy. Fred shook his head; he didn't want it. "Take it," Ned ordered him.
The boy cringed at the deep, commanding voice, and raised his arm. His fingers hesitated over the leather for he feared this was some sort of punishment, and he glanced up into Ned's face. The old man stared straight at him; he didn't even blink. Fred took a deep breath and gabbed the stick; he was relieved when he felt nothing save for the old leather.
Lord Tramadore was disappointed nothing had happened, but he continued on with his questions. "Do you remember enough to repeat it to anyone?" he asked the boy.
Fred shook his head. "No, my lord." Right then he could hardly remember his own name.
"And you will keep what little you remember to yourself, and not divulge it to anyone else?" the lord questioned.
"Yes, my lord." Fred would have agreed to anything had it gotten him out of there faster.
Lord Tramadore turned to Ned, who still stared at the boy. "Do you consider him a danger to you?"
Ned glanced over to Fred, who stared uneasily back. Then the old man slowly shook his head. "I would trust him with my life, what's left of it."
"Then what will you do with him? From your account he has talent," Tramadore asked him.
The old man leaned back and pulled at his beard. "Fred." The boy looked to him. "I wish to take you with me on my journey. I can't promise you the way will be as easy as it is now, what with Tramadore's hospitality at our disposal, but I feel you may be of great use where I am going. That is, with a little training."
Fred frowned. "That depends. Where are you going?" the young man asked Ned.
"To Galaron, the capital of our kingdom. After that, I cannot say because I do not know." Ned gave that mischievous smile and glanced between his staff and the boy. "You would see a great many sights, wondrous and terrifying."
"You make it sound as though its an adventure for the lighthearted when it isn't," Lord Tramadore scolded him.
"I would-I would rather stay here, if you please," Fred spoke up. The smile dropped off Ned's face, and Tramadore raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps I can be apprenticed to someone. There are a great many shops here. Maybe one of them needs a boy."
Fred expected the old man to object, but Ned only stood up. "The hour is late. We should discuss this when we have our wits about us." Ned stretched out to set his hand on Fred's shoulder, but the boy dodged his hand and stepped out of his reach. The old man's arm dropped to his side and he nodded; his voice was soft, but understanding. "Very well then. Let's be off."
The pair walked up to their rooms and found Pat standing out in the hall. She was fully dressed, including armor, and alert; her voice held a tone of urgency. "Did you find what it was?" she asked them.
"Find what?" Ned questioned.
Pat leaned back and frowned. "Didn't you hear the noise?" she countered.
The men stared at each other; they hadn't heard anything. Ned looked back to the girl. "Was it perhaps the sound of a guard yelling?"
Pat straightened up. "Definitely not," she replied. She glanced at Fred, who sheepishly turned away. The girl turned to Ned. "What have you two been doing?"
Ned shook his head. "That's a tale for another time. What noise did you hear that worried you enough to put your armor on?"
"I heard a door creak," she told them. The two boys blinked; that wasn't the eerie noise they expected. Pat rolled her eyes. "It was a muffled creak, like someone put their hands on the hinges, and it cut off very quickly."
Ned and Fred glanced past her at their doors; they were both shut. The boy paled when he remembered one very important pointed. His voice shook when he spoke. "My door creaks," he informed his companions.
Ned and Pat looked at him, then at Fred's door; there wasn't anything unusual about it. The old man straightened himself and grasped his staff. "Well, we'll have a look in there, shall we?"
With the youngsters behind him, Ned marched over to the door and tried the handle. It was unlocked, and when he pushed it open the hinges creaked. "That's the noise I heard," Pat whispered to them.
Ned's head disappeared inside, and the two waited breathlessly. He pulled back and pulled at his beard. "Something not quite right in there..." he murmured. The old man glanced over to Fred, and raised a brow. "Care to take a look?"
"Me?" Fred squeaked out.
"Yes, you. It's your room, after all," Ned pointed out.
Fred shot him a dirty look, and nodded at the man's
staff. "But you've got a staff."
"So do you," Ned countered. He glanced down and Fred followed his gaze; Fred realized he still held the broken stick.
Fred paled, and Pat looked between the two of them. "What is wrong with you two? You both look like you've seen a ghost."
Neither replied; Ned watched Fred and waited for a reply. The boy wrestled with dual emotions; one to flee and the other with the knowledge that he held a kick-ass weapon in his hands. Fred tightly gripped the stick and glared at the room. He took a deep breath, and stepped inside. The room was dark but for the window that looked down on the fields. A soft, cool breeze blew in and rustled the flimsy draperies atop his four-post bed. Fred squinted and clutched the stick as he looked over every inch of the room. His eyes settled on the corner beyond his bed; something stirred there that wasn't controlled by the wind.
Fred stiffened and raised a shaking hand as his companions came up behind him. As they followed his pointing, a shadow stood up behind the bed and a cloak fell away to reveal a man dressed in dark clothes. Ned pushed in front of the youngsters and held out his staff; the stick glowed and revealed the murderous man known as Deadly Sins.
"Good evening," the assassin greeted them. His voice was deep and suave; Pat wondered how someone with such a voice could be a killer-for-hire.
Ned nodded at the man. "Good evening, dear sir. What brings you back into the pleasure of our company?"
The hooded figure turned those dark eyes on Fred, who slunk behind Ned and looked over the man's shoulder. "That boy is a problem for me. I solve all my problems." The man swiftly pulled his miniature crossbow from his cloak and pointed it at Ned's shoulder. "Now step aside, castor. I've only come for the boy."
"My weary old bones ignore such orders. Even I can't get them to move when they've made up their mind to stand still," Ned replied. He lifted his staff higher and the room brightened; the assassin stepped back further into the shadows. "But if you would be kind enough to set your weapon down, we may talk this over."
The assassin crouched down and pushed off the floor, propelling himself toward them. Ned swung his staff down at the man's head, but the assassin was too fast; he jumped aside and backhanded the staff. The assassin's hand sizzled when it connected with the wood, but the staff flew out of Ned's hand and the light vanished. Pat unsheathed her weapon and dodged around Ned. Their foe pushed on Ned's side and the old man stumbled into her. They fell to the floor in a mess of thrashing arms and legs.
The assassin raised his weapon and aimed it at Fred's chest. Their enemy pressed the trigger and a deadly dart flew from the weapon. The boy held up his arms to shield himself, and with them came the broken stick. The stick transformed into its alter ego staff and the room was illuminated by its brilliant light. The poison dart hit the pulsing heat from the staff and disintegrated only inches from Fred's chest.
The assassin jumped back from the heat and lifted his arm over his eyes. "So that's how you did it. Good to know." The man reached into his cloak and pulled out another dart; this one was different. The color was a shimmering gray, and atop the point was a small, faintly-glowing crystal. He armed his weapon and pointed it at Fred.
The boy had had enough; he hadn't survived so many other attempts on his life just to be shot in his own bedroom by some guy with a handkerchief over his mouth. Fred lowered his arms and slammed the bottom of his staff on the floor. The air vibrated with tremors and a thin beam of light swept out of his staff and across the floor. It barreled into the assassin, and carried him across the stones and out the window. His hands clawed at the frame, but he fell backwards into the abyss of the night. The last they saw of him was his cloak slipping over the sill.
Fred stood frozen for a few moments, and then he fell to his knees. He grabbed the staff with both hands, and leaned on it while his heart thumped madly in his chest. Behind him Pat pulled on Ned's arm and hefted him onto his feet. "Please tell me you weren't trying to protect me," she half-joked to the old man.
"No, my promise to protect you still stands," he replied. His eyes fell on Fred, who still sat there shocked by what he'd done. "But I failed to protect him."
Pat followed Ned's gaze and her lips pursed together. She walked over and knelt in front of him. Fred faced forward and his eyes stared unblinking right through her. She put her hand on his shoulder and gently shook him; Fred lifted his gaze to her, but she didn't see any recognition in his face. "Are you all right?" she whispered.
His voice was deeper, and echoed through the room. "Who are you?" he asked her.
Pat started back. "It's me, Pat. Remember?" He continued to stare at her as though she was a stranger; she shook him harder. "Come on, Fred! Remember me!"
At the mention of his name Fred blinked and winced. He clutched at his head and slumped over; Pat caught him before he fell to the floor. The staff in his hand reverted to its useless form, and Ned shuffled over to them. He leaned down and frowned. "Do you remember who you are?" he asked the boy.
Fred squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his teeth. He shook his head, and afterward nodded. "Fred," he choked out. "My name's Fred."
Ned smiled, but it was full of sorrow. "Let's get him onto the bed."
The pair pulled Fred to the bed and hefted him atop the covers. The boy closed his eyes and was asleep in a moment; the stick remained clutched in his hand. Pat sat down next to him and frowned. She didn't turn away when she asked her question. "What's wrong with him?"
"He's exhausted from the effort. He used a very powerful spell to knock the assassin back," Ned replied.
By this time they heard commotion in the castle, and footsteps ran down the hall outside the entrance. They heard the doors to their other rooms open until Fred's bedroom door flung open. Lord Tramadore rushed inside with a contingency of guards behind him. "There you three are," he breathed, relieved at finding them well. He noticed the boy on the bed, and Ned turned and glanced over the guards.
Lord Tramadore took the hint and waved them off. "Calm the other guests. Tell them it was merely the old castor practicing spells," he instructed his guards. They left and Tramadore approached the bed. His lips pursed together and he cast an accusing look at Ned. "What happened?"
"We had a guest, the assassin from earlier," Ned replied. He nodded at the boy. "He was after the boy, and Fred knocked him out the window. The effort took most of his strength."
Tramadore furrowed his brow. "After the boy? What for?"
"For his ability to see through his cloak. Fred appears to have an innate gift of seeing through sorcery," Ned revealed to them. "This perhaps better explains his inability to use pay-dirt."
Pat's eyes widened and she glanced over her shoulder at the old man. "That's why you wished for Fred to go into the room first! He would see the trap before any of us!"
Ned nodded. "Precisely."
"So the assassin waited in this room for the boy?" Tramadore guessed.
Ned set his hand on Tramadore's shoulder. "I'm afraid so, old friend. Your castle defenses have been breached, but there's no cause for alarm. Most other assassins are not so skilled as this one, and the fellow has learned his lesson against dealing with this castor."
"So what now?" Tramadore asked them. "What will you three do?"
"Our chances against our foes are decreasing," Ned commented. He turned his eyes on Pat; her hand lay atop the boy's. "Has this convinced you that he needs to come with us?"
Pat stood up and continued to stare at the boy. He looked peaceful sleeping there. "This has only convinced me that we've brought trouble to this boy. He deserves a normal life, and-" she turned to Tramadore, "-I ask that you use your influence to give him an apprenticeship somewhere in your fine city."
Tramadore glanced over to Ned, who turned away, and he returned his gaze to Pat; the lord nodded. "Very well. I will use all my resources to make his life comfortable."
"Thank you," Pat replied. She stood up and covered Fred with blankets. "May I ask another favor of you, Lord Tramadore?"
"Anything, my dear," he answered.
"Please put a guard on this boy. He needs protecting for this night, at least."
Lord Tramadore bowed his head. "It shall be done," he promised.
"I will stay with him until they are in place, so there's no need for you two to remain," Pat pointed out.
The men bowed their heads and left her. Guards were quickly procured and sent into the room. Ned paused in the hall outside his own door, and turned to his old friend. He had a sad smile on his face. "It seems I am getting too old for these sorts of things."
"That's the way of the world, old friend. We must make way for the young," Lord Tramadore replied.
Ned closed his eyes and nodded. "Yes, and we must hope they have the strength to fix the troubles we have caused."
CHAPTER 14
The next morning broke bright and clear. The shadow of the attempted assassination was swept away by the dazzling sun, and the festivities continued in the merry town. Inside the castle Fred groaned and turned over. A beam of sunlight shot into his eyes and they creaked open. He saw a figure close by the window, and the memory of the previous night came back to him. He sat up and his hand missed the edge of the bed; he tumbled to the floor and knocked his head hard on the harder stones.
"Damn it!" he cursed. Fred sat back on his legs and clutched at his head. He remembered he wasn't alone and his head snapped up; a guard stood near him with a suppressed smirk on his face.
"Did you need help, sir?" the guard asked him.
"What? Oh, no, I'm fine. I meant to do that, it's my morning stretches." Fred stood and looked around; his companions weren't in sight, but the door was open. He glanced back to the guard. "Could you tell me-"
"-where your friends are?" a voice finished. Fred swirled around and he saw Captain Spalding in the doorway. "They are down in the dining hall eating their breakfast. Would you like me to accompany you?"
Fred frowned and narrowed his eyes. "Why would you need to do that? This place isn't that big."
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