*
Gaius Sartor and Count Joachim walked across the former grounds of Garrolus Kreeth, inspecting closely the work of destruction that had been necessary to scour as much of the area as possible free of the necromancer’s evil taint.
Gaius’s gaze was devoid of expression as he surveyed the surrounding landscape. He knew how he appeared to most observers. Strong emotional displays were always frowned upon within his family, yet today he felt the blankness of his face was a necessary thing, for no emotion could possibly show that would match the ugliness of what surrounded him. At the center of the ruined ground lay a burnt hole, as if a festering cyst had worked its way from the bowls of hell to the surface and burst, disgorging the charred remains of Kreeth’s manor.
Around them, large piles of wood and dead shrubs smoldered like volcanic vents where everything—everything—that had grown within the circumference of the man’s magical influence had been ripped up, cut down, and then raked or dragged into great pyres. In places fires still burned, and gave to the surrounding land the appearance of cursed ground.
No. There was no need for expression. The desolation around him expressed what he felt.
Reading his mind, Joachim broke the silence. “We found more of the man’s things in the forest, but they couldn’t survive once they got more than three quarters of a mile out. Kine told me that this was done over many years by addling layer upon layer of spellwork across the estate.”
“You really think nothing else made it out?” Gaius asked, his voice grim and uncertain.
“We’re almost certain that no more tralls run free. My troops are working around the clock in rotating shifts clearing the caves and tunnels of anything remaining.”
Gaius raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure that’s wise. After all the boys told us about what lies on this end of the network, how can you even think of sending men down there?”
“They’re not going as far as that,” Joachim reassured him. “The tunnel leading to the pit is being sealed off. From this end we’ve filled in the entrance with rocks and concrete. This entire hill will be walled off and guarded by a company of heavily armed troops. I’ve asked the Abbot to help as well.”
“Oh. That’s all?”
Joachim grunted. “For now.”
“It won’t be enough if what we think is coming arrives before we’re ready.”
“For now all we have are rumors from the east,” Joachim said, scowling. Along with many isolated events that add up.”
Now it was Gaius’s turn to frown. “We do have one other thing,” he reminded him.
“Oh?”
“My son and the other two boys.”
Joachim’s voice softened. “I know it’s hard.”
“Andromeda cries herself to sleep at night sometimes,” Gaius told him. “For all of the boys; for our children; for Madeline and her cousin; for the dead and their loved ones. More than anything—and this is the hardest of all—she cries because of the darkness bearing down on us and what it will bring.”
Joachim’s jaw worked as if he were chewing something he could not swallow. “Until Brent and Karen return, we have what’s in front of us. I’ll need you to watch things from this end while I go to Pallodine. My men know I’ve placed you in charge.”
Gaius closed his eyes. “That’s not a responsibility I want,” he said quietly. My businesses are . . . ” he was going to say all I care to manage, but Joachim cut him off.
“They’re going to have to rest in the hands of the rest of the Sartor family. You have a duty to do this.” The Count’s voice became hard as he finished his last sentence.
Gaius knew something like this was coming. “It’s been a long time since our last campaign.”
“You’ll remember how to do it,” Joachim said flatly.
“Fine,” was the only thing Gaius could say.
“Look,” Joachim said, turning to his childhood friend, “I know when you came back you wanted to get away from the fighting, and you have. If I could trust anyone else to do this in my place I would have spared you, but Pallodine has become a nest of scorpions. I can’t go there and have to watch my back here at the same time. If I don’t do this, we will have too many unwanted eyes focused here, and you and I know those boys need more time.”
“If things go bad . . .” Gaius began, and his voice hardened now, “I will protect them at all costs.”
“You know what to do. Things are ready with the Vandin.”
Gaius nodded his head.
Joachim’s voice was still resolute on what had to be done to prepare for the future. “I have a blade master coming from Caledon to work with the boys, and before the year is out, we will have more teachers arriving to work with them.”
“They’ll need it if they are to survive,” Gaius said.
They walked back to their horses, and on the ride back to Joachim’s estate the count looked bothered. Soon enough, he addressed his concern. “How are the boys?”
Gaius felt a pang of anxiety at this question. “As far as I can tell, they’re trying to make their way back to a new state of normalcy. On the outside, they’re mending. Inside? I feel my son growing farther and farther away from me with each month that passes.”
Joachim thought about this for a while. So much of the future depended on these three boys, and Gaius knew that Joachim wondered whether or not they should have taken more of a direct hand in preparing them for the struggles ahead.
Yet there were many unwanted eyes watching, sometimes covetous, sometimes hostile, often both, not just from Pallodine, but as recent events demonstrated, from Kalavere as well. What had kept the boys safe for so long had been the anonymity of their upbringing. Brent Maldies and Carl Hapwell had both sacrificed good careers as officers to return home and raise their children in in the Valleys. But their protective cover had begun unraveling the day Davin fought the thieves in Kalavere and healed a young girl. Only a few knew what the boys were, but their involvement in the situation with Kreeth and Count Eason now put them in a light that would inevitably draw curiosity from enemies.
“For now I think they deserve a rest,” Gaius said. “They can still be boys a little longer.”
Joachim smiled a little at that. “Remember when we were that young?”
Gaius chuckled. “We were more full of dreams than brains.”
Joachim shook his head. “If I remember, you were the brains of our little group. Brent and Carl were the dreamers.”
“Look at us now,” Gaius grumbled.
“Duty,” Joachim sighed.
Gaius nodded his head. “Responsibility.”
“Life,” they both said at the same time. Both grew silent, however, as memories filled them. Gaius knew that many of those memories were painful. If life could be likened to a painting, then loss framed it so that even the best of moments in retrospect always took on a bittersweet pigments from the heart’s palate. “Those last three campaigns changed everything for us,” Gaius said. “So much death and horror. I wanted to come back, though Brent and Carl would have kept on going.”
Joachim’s smile vanished, and his face became as grizzled and hard as ever. “We all knew our duties waited,” he said. Perhaps it was thoughts of their own youths that made him say, “I know you are worried about your son, but he has a good head on his shoulders. He and Davin are smarter than we were, that’s for sure.”
Gaius made a sound in the affirmative.
“And then there’s Maldies . . .” Joachim said. His voice trailed off, leaving many things hanging in the air.
“He’s always been a rebel,” Gaius said.
“Some colts need to be broken,” Joachim pointed out.
“And some just bre
ak,” Gaius’s double entendre was obvious.
Joachim grimaced. “We just have to hope he doesn’t fall apart.”
“Then we will have to let him rest for a while,” Gaius said. He quoted a famous philosopher. “Joy is a fleeting thing and innocence dies with experience.”
Joachim nodded. “For just a short while, they can hold onto what they have left.” The two of them took the rest of the ride in silence, worrying about the future and privately mourning the past.