Chapter XII - Vision

Tancred had always thought King Trystellan Jaeger and his family to be attractive and striking in appearance. The king was a tall man with shoulder-length dark brown hair and brown eyes. Queen Derrica, who possessed fair golden hair and white skin, contrasted his dark features. The twin princesses, Juliette and Mariel, had inherited the dark hair of their father and pale skin of their mother, creating an exotic look for them both. The crown prince, Garrick, looked like his father, but stood perhaps a little taller than the king, which was an impressive feat.

The entire royal family of five had been present for the royal dinner, but only the king and Prince Garrick were in the small chamber reserved for meetings of great importance after the meal concluded. Half a dozen of the king’s closest counselors and Father Gywain were already waiting when Tancred and Jaedon entered the room.

The first fifteen minutes of the meeting were spent discussing Tancred’s latest mission, though Tancred had sent in a report of everything that had happened right after his return four months before. Finally, King Trystellan leaned forward from his position on his throne and said, “To put it bluntly, Lord Hunter, we need your expertise on another spying assignment.”

Tancred nodded, showing no emotion on his face.

Marlon, a chief counselor, stepped forward. His robes were the color of deep red wine and his beard was white and trailed down his chest. “There are rumors that the Wild Men of Rulaan are planning to ally with the Elangsian country.”

Tancred paused, his brow furrowing deeply. What is this? I heard nothing of the sort while I was in Ruma! “Rest assured, lords,” he said, “this supposed plan was not breathed of while I was in the capital city of Elangsia.”

“Perhaps it was not spoken of four months ago, but it is now,” King Trystellan said. “We have heard from a reliable source that this alliance will be consummated quite soon. We can only assume that the two countries wish to march together and make full-fledged war on us.”

Tancred folded his arms across his chest, his mind whirling. Rulaan was a small country north of Elangsia, many miles away from Aerilya. There among the hills and caves lived a people long ago named the Wild Men, though there were women and children abiding there as well. They were not a great nation, and kept generally to themselves. Nevertheless, if their strength were somehow combined with Elangsia’s cunning, it would not bode well for Aerilya.

“We have warred against Elangsia for twelve years,” Prince Garrick added quietly. “And we have withstood their attacks thus far, much by way of you and your men, Lord Hunter. Elangsia alone cannot defeat us, nor could Rulaan single-handedly do so, if they should for some reason wish to march on us in war. But if those same two nations banded together…” the prince’s words trailed off, but his meaning was quite clear.

“What do you want from me?” Tancred finally asked evenly, looking around at the counsel.

Silence reigned for a moment. Rusch, a younger member of the counselors, cleared his throat. “We would ask that you conduct another spying mission into the capital of Elangsia, Ruma. We must know if these rumors about the Wild Men are true. If they are, we can be ready to battle them and not be taken by surprise, as I’m sure they would want. If it is false, then you may return at your earliest convenience and not worry about it again.”

My earliest convenience, hmm? Tancred lips tightened in a very small, cynical smile. Rusch makes my missions sound like pleasure jaunts rather then life-threatening ventures. He looked over at Jaedon, who gazed back calmly.

The choice is yours, his eyes clearly communicated. Tancred felt the support of his mentor and took courage from that.

He glanced back at the panel of advisors; Prince Garrick and King Trystellan; Father Gywain. The priest held his gaze of a long time. Tancred finally tore his eyes away from the priest and looked coolly at the king.

“I will go,” he said simply.

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Zoe urged Brac into a canter, ducking under a branch as her stallion picked up the pace. She bit her lip. I can’t believe that I almost forgot today was the day, she thought. The dreaded dawn of the third day had come; it was time to leave. Aching emptiness gnawed at her insides and she had not even left Braedoch yet. Brac sensed her inner turmoil; she could tell by the way his ears flicked back at her all the time and his nervous snorts. He was so perceptive of her moods.

She had left almost immediately after Duard’s announcement three days ago, confused and growing angrier by the second. Her emotions had exploded out in the wildness of the forest, far from any listening ears. Brac had been the only living creature that observed her rage, fear, and grief as she vented it with abandon. She had spent the miserable days out alone, and woken up that morning with a start. She had yet to pack for her trip…wherever she was going to head.

They entered the glade in front of her home and Brac pulled up quickly. She slid off and trotted him to the stable. There, she unsaddled him and slipped his bridle off. She would have to put all the tack on him again shortly, but she wanted him to be comfortable as she went to pack. She ran for the house, her heart pounding. Did I miss them all? She wondered. Had her siblings departed? Part of her was convinced that they wouldn’t leave without bidding her farewell, but what if they had? She entered the house and almost slammed into Sam. Relief tore through her and she looked at her twin with wide eyes, panting a little.

“You haven’t left yet?” she questioned, trying not to show how worried she had been that he would be gone. She realized what a dumb question it had been after she uttered it. Of course he hasn’t left yet, idiot. He’s standing in front of you!

“I’m still here,” he replied. “Where have you been?”

“In the woods with Brac,” she muttered in response.

“Have you packed yet?” He sounded concerned.

She shook her head.

“C’mon,” he said, taking her arm and heading toward her small cubbyhole of a room. “I’ll help.”

“Thanks,” she murmured. Now that she was there and Sam was with her, she began fearing the inevitable separation. Full realization of what this banishment meant was sinking in more with each passing second. Zoe stopped at the door to her room and picked up a packet that was on the floor. She inhaled and smelled fresh bread. “Daelia,” she breathed.

“Yeah, she made some loaves for all of us.”

Zoe nodded, entered her room and snatched her pack that sat at the foot of her bed. “Where are you heading?” she asked as she folded up a blanket and grabbed some rope, stuffing them both in her pack.

“I think I’ll go to the village first,” Sam said softly. “I need to bid some people goodbye before I finally leave the area.”

She shoved a water flask inside, mentally noting that she’d have to fill it at the first available stream. Suddenly filled with unexpected tenderness, she picked up Daelia’s precious bread, gently laid it inside, and cinched the pack shut. She twisted toward Sam. “I wish this was all turning out different.”

Pain flashed in his eyes. “I know,” he murmured.

She ran a hand through her hair, frustrated. “I hate this! I hate it!” She looked up into Sam’s eyes, which were a light gray with flecks of underlying green. As always, they carried all the understanding in the world. She said desperately, “We will be strong, Sam…we must be strong…but I wish we were not going to be on our own.”

“I don’t want to leave you, Zoe,” Sam’s voice cracked with pain.

She swallowed and turned swiftly away, grabbing her dagger and practice sword that she kept by her cot-like bed. “I don’t want to leave you either, Sam,” she whispered. “Why must it be like this?”

He shrugged half-heartedly. “Duard,” he said merely.

Anger flared and she tightened her lips. “All this stems from his arrogance and cruelty.” She slumped down on her bed and Sam slowly followed suit. She looked over at the small table that sat beside her bed and listlessly glanced at her few remaining possessions.

The first was a simple leather throng that had been formed into a necklace of sorts. On it hung a small, knotted root, worn smooth by her constant rubbing. She used to wear the twisted thing everywhere she went, relishing its familiar touch by her heart as she tramped through the woods or lay on her cot before falling asleep. She had found it when she was young and had explained very gravely to Taerith that its puzzling twists and contortions signified the grand and mysterious nature of Deus. He had smiled quietly at her and told her to keep it close if it reminded her of the Unseen One. However, in later years when she first discovered that Aiden did not believe in Deus—despite his teaching the rest of them to revere and trust Him implicitly—doubt had embedded in her heart concerning the authenticity of the Unseen One’s love. Finally she had taken off the root-necklace. It had sat beside her bed ever since, an uncomfortable reminder of her uncertainty.

The second item was a small, beautiful carving of a galloping horse—Brac—fashioned by Sam for her sixteenth birthday. She picked it up and cupped it in her hand, looking again with admiration at the fine workmanship.

“Do you remember when you carved this?” she asked quietly, feeling his gaze on her.

“For your—our—birthdays.”

“Yes,” she said softly. She slipped it into the leather pouch that she wore at her side and looked over at him. “No matter how far away from each other we are, I will always hold you close to my heart,” she said awkwardly. “I wish I could tell you how much I will miss you in words, but…” her voice trailed off helplessly.

He responded immediately by wrapping her in a hug. He understood. He heard her ineloquent words and knew exactly what she meant, and needed. She closed her eyes against the burning tears and tried to remember the moment so that she could later treasure it. Her twin smelled wonderful, as he always did, like the sun and its warmth. He held her tightly but not uncomfortably, and she could feel his heart beating beside her own.

I love you, Sam. She could think the words but it was so hard saying them when she knew that they would not see each other again. I love you so much.

They pulled apart after a moment and she rose to his feet quickly. “I am going to fetch some jerky from the kitchen,” she mumbled.

He also stood. “I need to go now,” he managed in a low tone. “I will miss you, Twin.”

She managed a tiny smile at the term of endearment. They had referred to each other in that way since they were young and it carried a special kind of feeling to it. “As will I, Twin.”

She returned to her room several minutes later. Sam was gone. She stared at the empty room for a long time, immobilized. “I will miss you, Twin.” His words haunted her. And somehow, she knew they would continue haunting her, forever…

Zoe sat up with a gasp, her eyes flying open and hair tumbling loose around her shoulders. Her chest heaved as she dragged in deep draughts of air, struggling to free herself from the heavy blanket of sorrow that oppressed her. She was inside the small tent she had lived in for the last four months at the Hunter’s camp, and the night air filtering in through the crack of the door flap was warm but not sticky or heavy. Her skin was wet with sweat, and she threw her blanket off her legs with a small moan. She dropped her head into her hands and concentrated on regulated her scattered emotions.

It was just a dream, Zoe, she told herself half-heartedly, but she did not believe her own thoughts. She had dreamed of real events, of the day she had said goodbye to Sam and left Braedoch. Everything had come back in the dream, from the vivid colors of spring in Braedoch to the heart-wrenching feeling when she hugged Sam goodbye. I can almost feel his arms around me still, she thought, a shudder of pain running over her frame. She cupped her palm slowly and imagined holding Sam’s little carving of Brac again. Fresh loss came over her as she realized she could not just pull out the carving and stroke it in remembrance of her twin.

She had not thought about Terrance Grant for some time. The slaver still possessed Sam’s carving. Zoe felt new resolve to regain her precious possession from the man. He is a dog, she thought angrily.

She thought of Grace. The little girl’s image had troubled her keenly since her departure from Ruma. A likeness of her sweet face and cloud of brown curls came to mind again. Marissa’s beautiful countenance followed; next Rebekka’s; then Tryna’s and her husband Gavin’s. I’m failing them every day that I stay here, she thought soberly. They are slaves back in Ruma. They need to be freed.

She had spent her time at the Hunter’s camp wisely, practicing her swordplay, archery, and knife throwing. I am probably as good as I will get without real instruction, she realized. I could take Brac and leave for Ruma without telling anyone. If I leave before the Hunter returns, then I will not even have to deal with him any longer. The last thought was somewhat pleasing. She had not missed Tancred during his absence to Bryndor, Aerilya’s capital.

She had heard of people who had dreams that told them to do certain things. Perhaps the dream about my farewell to Sam was to motivate me to action again, she thought as she lay back down.

She resolutely pushed away the niggling truth that all the stories of people learning things through dreams had mentioned that Deus was the sender of the dreams. It was frustrating to think of Deus and Christus. Deus was not who she had always been told He was. He was never there when she needed him. A sudden surge of anger toward Deus flared up inside her, hot and unruly.

She rolled unto her back and whispered fiercely, “Besides, if You loved me at all, You would not have taken me from my siblings. If Christus paid for my freedom with His blood, as I have been taught since I was a girl, why don’t You care enough to help me bear this pain I am surrounded by?”

Suddenly a pinprick of light appeared at the top of her tent. At first, she thought it was a tiny hole in the tent that she had missed and that the light of the moon was shining through. But the pinprick was growing steadily into a larger sphere, and began extending on the sides and enveloping her. The light was not pale and cold like the moonlight…it was a shimmering blue and carried with it a warmth that permeated her to the core. It smelled of sunshine and summer breezes and salty ocean scents. It tasted of warm bread drenched with butter. Of peace and joy and hope. Before she could move—she vaguely wondered if she could have moved at all—the light had completely wrapped around her and infused her.

Her eyes slowly closed and a sigh escaped her lips. The sigh seemed to expand and echo around her, filled with all the pent up longings, fears, and anger that she had kept suppressed. The light was not just light. It was a Presence of something…Someone. The warm Presence throbbed around her, filling her and the surrounding tent with feeling. Zoe did not know how else to explain it. Just as she felt she would burst apart with all the emotions within her, a whisper echoed through her mind, accompanied by the soft touch of a hand brushing down her cheek.

Peace, Zoe.

Her eyes snapped opened and she stared straight up. The blue light was gone. She slowly reached a hand up and touched her cheek, only to find that it was wet with tears. She was crying. She had not cried for as long as she could remember. But this time, instead of it signifying weakness, she felt as if she were being cleansed. She was calm as the scalding tears ran out the corners of her eyes and down the side of her face, into her hair. A dam had been released inside her, and it began washing away a few of the layers of pain she had shrouded herself with.

Eventually she turned to her side and wiped her face clean with her blanket. She was cold and threw the coverlet over herself once more. She stared at the side of her tent, her eyes unblinking. “Deus?” she tentatively whispered.

The faintest touch of a warm breeze caressed her face and ruffled her hair. It was but for a moment, and then the sensation was gone. Zoe quietly touched her cheek again, her mind whirling with all that had happened.

She did not fall asleep again for a very long time.

Chapter XI - Gywain

TWO YEARS, ONE MONTH

Four months passed, bringing warmer winds and hailing the return of new life to the forest. During those months the trees had turned green once more; ferns, plants, and creeping undergrowth erupted out of the rich dirt all at once in the early spring, making their presence known. Now the damp, sweet-smelling spring days had passed, and early summer had swept in to reign over the land for its few appointed months. The mud from the torrential spring rains had dried to dust, and the heavy, blanketing warmth from the early summer sun had a way of inducing lethargy.

Tancred sat on his golden bay stallion, Chale, and surveyed the camp with satisfaction. Another turn of the seasons weathered successfully, he thought. His expression turned a little grim. I would that I did not have to leave it. Not now. Not so soon after my last assignment.

Chale pranced and Tancred reached down to pat his neck. “Easy, boy,” he murmured. Egan twitched a little in his position on the young man’s shoulders, hissing at the movement of the stallion. The pseudo-dragon and Tancred were waiting for Jaedon, whom they expected to join them shortly.

Tancred had already informed his mother that he would be leaving and spoken with Warrick, one of his most trusted men. Both Shyla and Warrick were quite capable of keeping the camp running and executing missions while he was gone, and if Kristalyn returned while he was absent it would go even smoother. Egan had been to Kris and back several times over the last few months and Tancred had been pleased to discover his sister planned to return from her current undercover mission in the near future. Despite the capability he knew that Kris, Shyla, and Warrick all possessed, he wished that the responsibility did not rest in their hands.

He disliked leaving his men; he preferred leading them on missions and into skirmishes all the time. As of late, however, that had grown very difficult. King Trystellan Jaeger, ruler of Aerilya, was summoning him increasingly more often to send him on spying missions deep into Elangsia. While Tancred understood the need for good spies and he was pleased to serve his country, he did not like the fact that these missions were taking him away from his men, who were his first responsibility. He had hoped that his trip to Ruma—when he had picked up Zoe—would be his last for a very long time. Unfortunately, one of Tancred’s men who was stationed in Bryndor, Aerilya’s capital, had arrived just yesterday and informed him that the king was asking for him again. Tancred knew that the king only sent for the Hunter when he wanted to send him on another mission.

Tancred respected King Trystellan and even went so far as to approve of the way the man was conducting his country in times of war. However, he wished the king would realize that the Hunter’s original purpose was not spying on the enemy. The Hunter was there to protect innocent slaves, attack enemy battalions who ventured too close to the Aerilya border, and fight creatively against Elangsia. Sending him into deep enemy territory twice in less than a year was not something Tancred appreciated coming from the king of Aerilya.

He saw Jaedon begin trotting his horse in Tancred’s direction but the older man stopped once again. Tancred’s expression turned thoughtful as he watched Jaedon bid Zoe farewell. The last couple of months had been strange with the young woman in the camp. She seemed determined not to like him. He understood she still was mistrustful of him but had hoped she would grow weary of the constant wall in-between them. Wishful thinking, he thought with a bit of wry amusement.

She had turned to watch Jaedon ride off and her green eyes met his, flashing brightly even across the distance. He lifted his hand and nodded his head in deference to her, but she turned as if she had not seen him and strode away. He shook his head. Whatever else Zoe might be, she was definitely headstrong.

Egan seemed to sense Tancred’s feelings and lifted his head, peering in Zoe’s direction with eyes narrowed to golden slits. The creature sniffed a little and Tancred smiled. He knew that Egan didn’t like Zoe—that was clear from the small dragon’s persistence in ignoring her when around and always viewing her with distrust. Tancred suspected Egan was jealous of the attention that Zoe garnered from the men. She was a well-liked member of the camp by now, despite her close-lipped approach to relationships, and Egan did not relish losing his previous admirers.

Jaedon’s dun horse clambered up the slight incline and stopped beside Tancred, Egan, and Chale. “Said your farewells?” asked Tancred with raised brows.

Jaedon nodded. “She will be fine without us here,” he commented.

“I never worried about her survival,” Tancred replied as they both turned their horses southeast and trotted out. “She seems to be able to handle herself. She reminds me a little of Kris, actually.”

Egan snorted with obvious derision.

“Hmm,” Jaedon murmured enigmatically, ignoring Egan’s disapproving reaction.

Tancred waited for Jaedon to explain his thoughts but the man did not speak. “What are you thinking of?” Tancred questioned, glancing over at the other man. Egan also appeared to be listening for Jaedon’s answer.

“The reason King Trystellan summoned you” was his only response.

Tancred firmed his chin and faced forward again. “I’m sure it’s another mission,” he stated.

“Yes, but a mission of what kind? You were in Ruma but four months ago, give or take a few days. Where else does he wish to send you? What could have developed over those months that we haven’t already heard of?”

Tancred shook his head. “I don’t know, but I wish I did not always have to be the one investigating it.”

Jaedon looked at him furtively. “You don’t have to be the only spy sent there, Tancred,” he pointed out. “Your mother and Kristalyn are both willing to go—”

“No,” Tancred interrupted firmly. “They will not go there.” He would not risk his only remaining family members, Shyla and Kris, to the most dangerous of all spy missions. He looked over at Jaedon and continued calmly, “They, along with my loyalty to my king and my country, are the ones who keep me going on these missions and donning the personage of Cormac Alstair. It is the only way I can protect them from the greatest danger.”

“I know,” Jaedon said, his expression inscrutable. Tancred wondered what thoughts were going through the man’s head. He knew that he and Jaedon both shared feelings of guilt over Liam Ralyn’s death. Liam had been Shyla’s husband and Tancred’s father. He had been spying in Ruma for King Trystellan when Captain Alquin Ricald had discovered he was a spy. The captain had announced that fact, calling for Liam’s execution. King Brastus had acquiesced. The only “good” that had come from the situation was that Liam had never actually disclosed to the Elangsians that he was the legendary Hunter. King Brastus still did not realize that he had in fact killed his archrival.

In retaliation, Tancred had taken up his father’s name and mission. He had longed to make the king of Elangsia fear the name of the Hunter. He felt reasonably sure he had done so. Still, thoughts of his father’s death returned to haunt him at times.

Jaedon had not been with Liam on the mission to Ruma that had resulted in Liam’s death. Jaedon had stayed behind to help with Tancred run the missions back in Mairbrac, allowing Liam to go with another of the Hunter’s men—Crosten of Mairbrac. Perhaps if Jaedon or I had been there, Father wouldn’t have died, Tancred thought bitterly.

“I have told you time and again, Tancred,” Jaedon said evenly, keeping his eyes on the rough trail they were following, “you did nothing that quickened your father’s death. He lived life dangerously and knew that fact. He embraced it.”

Tancred was surprised at how accurately Jaedon had read his thoughts. Egan purred softly, adding to the older man’s words. The pseudo-dragon’s scales had darkened to a muted red by way of his chameleon-like abilities, and he rubbed his lithe neck against Tancred’s ear gently.

Tancred frowned. “I know, Jaedon.” I know, but I still wish…

He shook his head and Egan curled tighter around his shoulders, flicking his tail a little. It was too late to bring the original Hunter back, but he could still protect his sister and mother as much as possible. So, it’s off to Bryndor and the court of King Trystellan, he thought with a trace of weariness. Again. Perhaps this will be the last time.

He tried to ignore the fact that he always seemed to start his trips to Bryndor with a similar thought.

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Bryndor was best described as sprawling. The large capital covered a large amount of land and there was no wall around its outer skirts as in many other cities. The Cirthian Mountains were positioned far behind it, in the east, and they glowed purple and white as they rose to their majestic heights.

The houses in the Aerilyan capital were fashioned out of sturdy wood with carvings on the corner beams and had thatched roofs. The whole city was brimming with activity: peasants selling wheels of cheese or clay pots and trinkets; nobles riding through on important business, their horses tall and proud; women gossiping at one of the large central wells where they drew up their water. Most the people, even the poor, possessed a good disposition and nearly all smiled up at Tancred, Jaedon, and Egan as the threesome rode past.

The Aerilyan palace, Trildur, was a large white castle. Tancred eyed it as he wove through Bryndor. It was difficult not to look at it, for it was built both with high walls and upon a slight hill, so that it was elevated above the houses on the east side of the city. The crimson and white banners of Aerilya flew proudly from its turrets.

It was the evening of the fourth day since Tancred and Jaedon had begun traveling to Bryndor, and they were both longing for a good bed and hot food. Tancred straightened his shoulders and stretched in the saddle a little, causing Egan to shift and release a hiss-sigh.

They eventually finished passing through the main thoroughfare and emerged on the eastern end of the city. Trildur gleamed in the light of the setting sun like a luminous pearl, casting dusky shadows behind it. They rode to the front gate and Tancred pounded his fist against the thick wood. Chale snorted and shifted his hooves and Egan lifted his head with a small click of annoyance, but both creatures remained in place.

A small door slid open and a man’s face peered out of the gate. “Who are you and what is your business at Trildur?” he questioned gruffly, but not unkindly.

“I am the Hunter of Mairbrac. ” Tancred stated. “My companion and I are here by command of King Trystellan Jaeger, lord of Aerilya. It is an affair of importance concerning the state of the war.”

“One moment,” the man said, and disappeared, closing the face slot. A few moments later there were the sounds of the gate being unlocked and the wooden door swung open. Two metal portcullises opened just past the wooden gate, and Tancred and Jaedon waited for all three to cease moving before heeling their horses into Trildur. The gatekeeper nodded at them respectfully as they passed.

Two men ran out to grab the reins of Chale and Jaedon’s horse. Tancred and Jaedon dismounted and Tancred gave instructions to the stable boy who held Chale steady. “Make sure these horses get an extra portion of oats tonight. They deserve it.”

“Aye, lord,” the boy murmured, his eyes flicking curiously to Egan and than back to Tancred.

Tancred smiled at him before turning away. Egan felt the attention of the boy and offered a dragonish smile to him as they passed, his wings quivering self-importantly.

“Your arrogance will be the death of you one day, Egan,” Tancred murmured to the pseudo-dragon. Egan hissed back, obviously offended, and fell to disgruntled silence. Tancred looked ahead and saw a priest striding toward him, his brown robes swinging and eyes twinkling. A small entourage of servants trailed the priest. They stopped in front of Tancred and the priest stepped forward.

“Hunter Tancred Ralyn,” he said in a cultured voice tinged with amusement, placing his hand over his heart for a moment in a welcoming gesture, “and Jaedon of Mairbrac. It is a pleasure to see you both here at Trildur. The servants have prepared a place for you to stay while you remain.”

“Many thanks, Father Gywain,” Tancred said. He and Jaedon returned the gesture, dipping their heads slightly as they briefly touched their hands to their chests. Egan purred quietly. “It has been long since we have last conversed.”

“Too long,” Jaedon added.

“Indeed,” Gywain acknowledged. “I hope we will have opportunity for discourse amongst your meetings with King Trystellan.”

“Yes,” Tancred nodded, his tone sobering at the mention of the coming conferences.

“But, come,” Gywain said. “I will weary you before we have even begun to talk in earnest. Aldric has informed me that your rooms are ready; perhaps you would like to freshen up a little.”

Tancred grinned again, a trace of impishness entering his gaze; the first bit of boyishness for a long time. “Do we smell so repulsive you suggest a bath so soon after our arrival?”

Gywain’s brows twitched and his eyes seemed to dance all the more merrily. “Perhaps I ought to answer that question at a different time. Follow Aldric. I will give you time to clean yourselves up and then I shall come to talk. The king does not expect you until after the evening meal.”

Tancred nodded sharply at Gywain and he and Jaedon followed Aldric, a tall balding servant, to the right. They passed through a large door with elaborately carved unicorns gracing its panels into the living quarters of the palace-castle. The halls of the place were tastefully furnished and well lit by many iron-wrought lamps that hung from the ceiling. Aldric stopped at a wooden door and opened it with a flourish. “Your quarters, Lord Hunter.”

Tancred entered the room, noting the lavish decorations, large bed, and open balcony with a faint smile. King Trystellan wants me to be happy while I’m here, he thought. He turned to Aldric. “Thank you.”

“I will bring Jaedon of Mairbrac to his quarters at once, if you are fully satisfied with your own room,” Aldric said formally.

“I am satisfied. I will see you when Father Gywain returns, Jaedon.”

Jaedon disappeared with Aldric and Tancred looked around again. Egan purred and clicked to Tancred. “Yes, it is a fine room,” Tancred responded. “I have no doubt the king realizes how much he has been asking of me and the men. This is one of his ways of attempting to make it up to us.”

Egan scampered down Tancred’s arm and, spreading his wings, flew to the huge comfortable looking bed. The pseudo-dragon sighed contentedly and curled into a little ball.

“I’m going to go clean up a bit, Egan,” Tancred said, turning toward the washbasin that stood beside the door. A bucket of steaming water had recently been placed beside it in anticipation of his arrival, and he dumped a portion of it into the basin and lathered some of the soap in his hands. The sliver of soap was a precious commodity and he relished the smooth sensation of it as he cleaned away some of the grime he had accrued while traveling. He glanced back over to the bed where Egan lay and noticed a fresh set of clothing was already waiting for him. Pulling off his travel-worn shirt and trousers, he traded them for the clean garments.

Ten minutes later he was fully clean and clad in attire that befitted a nobleman of Aerilya. He ran a hand through his damp hair, pushing it away from his forehead, and replaced his two ever-present knives: one in his boot and the other tucked away at his belt. He has left his wrist sheath back at his camp in Mairbrac. He doubted he would need the weapons he had with him anyway, but it was always better to be prepared than wind up with a sword through his gut on account of foolish carelessness.

A knock sounded and Tancred strode toward it, opening it swiftly. Father Gywain eyed him up and down and nodded. “A much pleasanter appearance you present now, I must say.”

Tancred smiled ruefully. “Thank you…I think. Please, come in.”

Gywain entered the room and Tancred closed the door. The two of them walked slowly across the length of the chamber, meandering toward the balcony in silence. They exited and stopped at the balcony railing, the balmy summer breeze was ruffling their hair and tugging at their tunics. Tancred turned toward Gywain, leaning his hip against the railing, and waited.

Gywain finally turned toward him, his brown eyes quiet. “You are going to be sent on another mission, Tancred.” His voice was low and lacked the merriment that usually tinged his speech.

“I thought as much. Whenever Trystellan sends for me, he wants me to go spy in Elangsia.”

“Yes. I do not know very much about his purpose in sending you, but it does involve Ruma.”

Tancred sighed heavily. Ruma again. He crossed his arms across his chest and looked out over the city. The sun was almost completely set by now, and torches were lit throughout the capital, lighting the entryway to many homes in the place. Bryndor had not changed very much since the Ralyn family had lived in the area.

He shifted his glance to the north, where the land grew hillier and trees grew in verdant clumps. It was northward that he had grown up, a mere days ride from Bryndor. The Ralyn estate had been a good home. He and Kristalyn had been happy living there. But when he had been close to twelve, the war had begun, and their father had become the Hunter, setting up his base of operations in Mairbrac Forest. Shyla, who refused to be parted from her husband by remaining at their home, came with him, bringing their two children as well. The estate still stood there, to the best of his knowledge, but untended and fallen in disrepair. The servants who once looked after the property had been released from their duties and quickly dispersed to find work or begin a new life elsewhere.

Shaking himself free from his thoughts, he looked back at Gywain. “So, he wants me to go back,” he murmured, speaking of the pending mission from King Trystellan. “I was there four months ago. What can he have discovered that would require me to return?”

Gywain shook his head. “That I do not know.” He looked at Tancred with raised eyebrows. “Tell me about your last mission.”

Tancred hesitated. How can I possibly sum up my last mission? Usually he was able to state in two or three sentences the purpose and result of his spying experiences. The last one had been unusual and the reason stemmed from one person: Zoe. “It was very…different,” he finally said.

“How so?”

“Trystellan sent me there for a three month spell to observe the social, economic, and military status of the Elangsians. Jaedon came with me, as he always does,” Tancred began quietly. “About two weeks after our arrival, we were passing through the slave market. A slaver had just slapped one of the young women across the face. She knocked him to the ground.”

“She knocked him down?” Gywain looked surprised.

Tancred smiled faintly. “If you knew her, you wouldn’t be surprised by that.”

“So, what did you do?”

“I bought her.”

“Why?”

Why indeed? Why did you stop and buy her, Tancred? He knew that there was something that had drawn him to Zoe: perhaps her fiery personality. Perhaps the mystery that shrouded her past. Perhaps the tenacity with which she clung to her convictions, despite the heavy odds against her. Perhaps it was all those things. Tancred was not sure if he could put it into words or not. He did not think he should even try. “I do not know, exactly,” he replied at length.

“Hmm,” Gywain murmured, his voice serious. “Is she very beautiful, Tancred?”

Tancred looked keenly at the priest. “No, not exceptionally,” he replied thoughtfully. “But she is strong, and resolute. Do not fear that I am going to fall in love with her, Father Gywain,” he said, stating what he knew Gywain was thinking. “She needs love in her life…but not of an earthly sort, I think.”

“Deus,” Gywain nodded with understanding. “Yes. He is willing to drench everyone with his love but they need ask for it at some point, too.”

“I think she has not yet asked. She is too stubborn.”

“Sounds like another person I know,” Gywain replied, casting a sidelong glance.

Tancred did not reply.

“You love Deus, that I know,” Gywain said musingly. “But there is a stronghold of bitter hate that you have left to fester in the depth of your soul.”

Tancred hid his wince. Besides his father, Gywain was the only man who could point out Tancred’s shortcomings so swiftly and accurately. Over the last five and a half years since his father had died, Tancred had grown used to evading the scrutiny of a mature spiritual man. Jaedon was a believer in Deus, but he was more apt to direct Tancred’s military life than his spiritual one.

“King Brastus and Captain Ricald are both men in dire need of forgiveness from you. Or, rather, you are in dire need of the cleansing that will come only when you forgive them.”

They do not deserve my forgiveness.

“You did not deserve Christus’s gift of acceptance and forgiveness when He purchased your soul with His blood, either.”

Tancred looked sharply at Gywain, who looked solemnly back. How does he read me so well? wondered Tancred. He was used to being enigmatic to most; not many could see through his closed features.

“Think about these things, Tancred,” Gywain urged quietly. “They are vital truths.”

Tancred nodded slowly and opened his mouth to reply. However, at that moment a knock sounded at the door and a maid opened it, her eyes downcast. Jaedon trailed her.

“M’lord Hunter, Father Gywain,” the girl murmured prettily, flicking her waist-length braid over one shoulder. “King Trystellan Jaeger requests your presences in the dining hall, and afterwards in his private chambers.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t come to talk with you sooner,” Jaedon added, passing the maid and entered the room. Tancred and Gywain walked toward him. “I was busy down at the stables. I made sure our horses were properly stabled.”

Tancred nodded at him in thanks and looked at the maid. “We will follow you to the dining hall,” he told her.

She smiled and said shyly, “This way, m’lord.”