Part 2: The Sorry Cities

  I have arrived to Runnings. Your present is most appreciated. I needed this to fix the weapons. The plan is proceeding as anticipated.

  Dylon did not make for a talkative companion. His complexion was pale, his eyes empty windows. He sat still in the saddle, broken only by the occasional shudder. Not once did his lips move. Caistlin did not pry his thoughts, which rippled like water disturbed by wind. He knew what he would find. Dylon was his to the bone.

  Redport rose in the distance as their horses stomped down the dirt road. Gales roared against them, and ahead, rain swallowed the details. The grey curtain would soon cross them, but Kaladhen was in no rush. He still had to consider his next steps, and shoved down a doubtful thought that he acted too rashly in breaking Dylon. It was done, and there would be no undoing. He would live with it and move forward.

  Dylon could get him to Jehan, he knew that for certain. The question would then be how to maneuver Jehan as Caistlin needed. Jehan, of all those in the inner circle of the Flowers, wore his emotions on his sleeve. He was the youngest of them, and had been desperate for recognition and power, which his grand-uncle Baudouin had often chastised him for. Kaladhen found his knuckles whitened from how tight he clenched them. His teeth ground against themselves, and his face was weary from the strain. Jehan was a pawn in the end, but that would not save him from retribution. Jehan helped Judge betray Kaladhen, kept Judge’s secret, and had served Judge ever since. But, Kaladhen knew being beneath Judge’s boot would be of little appeal to Jehan. He would be craving more power. He served on the Noble’s Council as the Dragon’s Arbiter. He was Arrietty’s eyes in their domain, just as Centurion was the eyes within her domain. While an important role in theory, in practice it was near useless, and Kaladhen doubted Jehan would be happy there. What could he offer Jehan?

  “s-suh-sir” Dylon said suddenly, each syllable a strain. Caistlin looked up at him, shocked to hear him speak. Without a command, he wouldn’t have expected Dylon to speak on his own volition for weeks, if not longer. Caistlin would have to watch him closely, his will was stronger than anticipated.

  “What?” He demanded. Best make sure the elf understood their relationship. Until his revenge was complete, Dylon was his tool. After that, perhaps mercy may be found.

  Dylon swallowed, his head still stared down at the horse’s scruff, entirely uninterested in moving. “Wh-what will be m-my task in Redport?”

  The rain finally reached them, and it had no mercy. It sluiced over them and Kaladhen felt it patter and sting his coat. Luckily, his was made from the material used in Ghost, which kept him warm and repelled much of the water. Dylon was not so lucky. His coat would be resistant against light rains, but on the coast, so near to the curse of Ghost, the storms could be the thing of nightmares. Caistlin whipped the reins, and had their horses go from trot to a canter. Best not have his tool catch ill before its use.

  Shouting over rain and wind, Caistlin responded, “Simple. You are to take us to Jehan. There you will begin by apologiz–”

  His vision flashed, and Kaladhen felt his ears ring. Memory and reality wavered as one. He was beginning to loathe these memories of his.

  Apology.

  Apologize.

  He just needed to apologize.

  Kaladhen swallowed, as he looked at the disfigured kid–Judge was his name, an important thing to remember. Behind him, he saw Arrietty give him a smile of encouragement, white teeth flashing. “I am sorry for being rude to you, and for calling you names. I am a meanie, but I want to be better.”

  Judge wasn’t staring at him, Kaladhen could see he was looking beyond, his attention focused on Arrietty. It appeared her smile was for him too, and not for Kaladhen alone. Judge sighed. “You are forgiven, I suppose.” He leaned in closer, so that his breath was hot against Kaladhen’s ear. “Count yourself lucky Arrietty wishes to befriend you.” He swept back, his cloak fluttering behind the quick movement. Kaladhen could see little behind Judge’s gaze. His face was hard to read beneath the disfigurements, yet Kaladhen understood enough to know that while he had the apology, it would serve only the surface. If he wanted this kid to really be his friend, he would need to earn back the trust he squandered for his rudeness. His face still stung from his father’s reprimand, and his command to make friends rang just as loudly.

  He would make these two his best of friends, no matter what it took. He had to make Sir Antony proud.

  “So…” Kaladhen said, looking at the two of them. “Are you in town for the Yuulvon ball?”

  “YES!” Arrietty said, twirling and looking upwards through the heights of the library and to the stained glass ceiling.

  “Hm,” Judge grunted.

  “That means yes from him,” Arrietty said, leaning against him and pulling at his cheeks. “No need to look so dour, I’ll make sure to find a quiet corner for you. Since I’ll have Kaladhen with me, I won’t force you to socialize.”

  Kaladhen smiled, as Judge seemed to regard him with less antipathy. “Are you not a fan of crowds?”

  Judge grinned, his skin pulling tight against his mouth, showing gums and teeth. “Crowds aren’t a fan of me.”

  That would make sense. From what Sir Antony had made Kaladhen read, appearances served an important role in Nobility. You had a duty to the position the High Father blessed you with, and it had to be maintained. He looked at Judge, trying to decipher if he would prefer sympathy, humor, or ignoring. “It must be annoying to have people make a judgement on you solely from appearance.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Judge growled, glaring at him, “it never happens.”

  Right, perhaps that had been the wrong thing to say. Unless?... “I imagine it serves you well to scare off annoying pricks like myself. Sorry Arrietty’s keeping me around.”

  A small smile tugged at Judge’s lips. Kaladhen was getting through, if only by a little. “Keep people away from me at the Morterran cursed ball, and perhaps I’ll like you a little more.”

  Kaladhen saluted. “Of course, Sir Judge, it shall be my honor.”

  Arrietty clapped with her fingers, beaming. “Look at you two, already getting along!”

  Judge rolled his eyes. Kaladhen smiled. “Do you know anyone else who will be there?” Kaladhen asked her.

  “Of course! Everyone is going to be there. Lylian Nosferatu Montello, Fontaine Zephyr Zeal, Benedikt Thorson Groloth…” She kept listing more and more names, many Kaladhen vaguely recognized. She started with kids around their ages, and continued with older and older people, many of whom were some of the most powerful people in all of Artaghan. He felt dizzy at the list, at her ability to summon it to mind so quickly, and at the scale of influence he was dealing with. How was he, a mere merchant’s son, ever to stand out in a crowd such as that?

  …Centurion–You alright Kaladhen?” Arrietty asked, and he felt her hand on his shoulder. He pulled away at the touch, and could almost feel it linger there, spreading over his clothes. She chewed at her lip, and stared at him, and it made him feel uncomfortable, as if she was trying to pry open a locked door. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m attending the Yu–”

  “But why?”

  “My-my father, Sir Antony, wishes to introduce me and find a tutor. He intends to have me become a mage!”

  Judge barked out a laugh, hoarse and from deep in his throat. Spittle was thrown from his lips as they failed to close in time. “Forget that dream,” he said. “Even amongst the Nobility earning a Gift is rare. You have no chance at such a thing.”

  Kaladhen glanced down at his feet. Judge was right. He was sure the purpose of everyone here was for exactly that. How could he ever hope to compete?

  “Don’t be mean Judge,” Arrietty said, putting her hands on her hips, and pursing her lips. “It’s not nice!”

  Judge rolled his eyes. “Sometimes the truth hurts. That ship was dashed upon the rocks the moment it left the harbor. Best to pick up the pieces and hope to float back to land unscathed.” He looked at Kaladhen, and there was something hidden in his expression. Maybe empathy, or some other unsaid thing, Kaladhen couldn’t tell before Judge leaned up, his gaze towards the distant ceiling. “We are the cursed many, refused the blessing of the heavens for the power of the few.”

  “Well, I think it is a lovely dream. We can go after our dreams together. I will be Dragon, and you will be a Sophomancer!”

  “Shh!” Judge said, glaring at Arrietty. “What have I said about saying such things in public?”

  Arrietty looked down at her feet. “Sorry. I just wanted to cheer him up.”

  “You’ve done well, I feel much better,” Kaladhen lied, smiling at her. “I doubt we want to spend all day cooped up in here,” Kaladhen lied again, but he doubted Arrietty was the type to want to read all day, especially when the sun was shining.

  “That’s right, I can go introduce you to people before the ball tomorrow!” Arrietty said, jumping up and down. She grabbed Judge’s arm, and Kaladhen saw the brief moment of concern as he was dragged to his feet. “Let’s go, there should be plenty of people around the Trenlien Fountain!” Arrietty ran, and Judge stumbled behind her, and his face read annoyed to Kaladhen. Kaladhen leapt after them, and gave a brief nod of sympathy to Judge, as he fell into place beside Arrietty as they went into the outdoors. The sky had gone a darker gray, and a sprinkle of rain fell. Kaladhen could feel its coolness in his hair, on his skin, wiping away some of the dirt and scrapes he had left on him.

  They went off into the rain, to meet with potential allies.

  And to meet potential enemies.

  In the rain.

  Rain.

  The rain pelted Caistlin, globs large enough to make out with the eye as they fell. Dylon actually glanced at Caistlin, though he looked away the instant attention was turned back towards him. Not again, don’t hurt, not again, the thoughts were strong enough to pierce through the barrier Kaladhen had built.

  Morterran cursed memories. He wished he had an inkling how to stop them. He had tried every remedy he could discover. But alas, none helped. From the little he could find, Kaladhen had learned them to be a side-effect of Sophomancy, often as a result of trauma when the brain tried to delete memories against one’s will. His fall and betrayal had broken something in him, and left him scarred in many ways. There was no healing for him, no recovery. There would be only revenge. After that, he was not sure.

  Arrietty…

  How much had she known?

  Kaladhen banished the thought, and firmly locked it away in the deepest recesses of his mind.

  He knew it would break free, it was a doubt intrinsic to him now. A haunt that would never leave. He cleared his throat. “I got lost in my thoughts,” he said aloud, and sent a brief spark through his connection to Dylon to instantly draw his attention back. He saw the elf stiffen and return all thought to Kaladhen.

  “You will apologize to Jehan, and explain you failed. From there, I shall take over.”

  “Yes, sir.” Am I to be thrown away so soon?

  Kaladhen shook his head. “Oh no,” he said, loud enough for Dylon to know he had heard that thought. “You will not know peace for many months, Dylon. “Right now, we merely arrange the pieces on the board.”

  Dylon shuddered again, as he was left soaked and shivering. Thunder cracked overhead. They soon neared the opened gates to Redport, where guards cowered under the canopy of the open portcullis. Caistlin saw them move to intercept them, but with a brief thought sent to Dylon, the noble stumbled to draw his personal banner from his side pouch. It sopped down, rain cascading from it, but still recognizable enough for the men to stand aside and let them pass without question.

  Redport seemed devoid of life. Caistlin wasn’t surprised. With the rain coming down, and with the riot the other day, it would make for a dangerous time to be on the streets. Soldiers and guards patrolled the roads, and Kaladhen saw Wyvern Guards amongst their number. Jehan was making a statement by having them still be visible. More violence would not be tolerated, unless perpetrated by them. It would work to keep open animosity from bubbling over. However, in the long term, Kaladhen knew it would engender hatred and apathy, and inevitably would boil into something far worse. Luckily, he should be gone from this city long before that would make an issue.

  Dylon led the way, and they went towards Iron Hill, and into the very heart of corruption in Redport. Redport was not an important city, not in the ways its leaders wanted it to be. It was a stop on the route to somewhere more important, and even then, the final destination of prisoners did not bring many influential people to Redport. They were a sewer system. Thus, their governmental buildings had the veneer of magnificence, but Kaladhen had seen places far more beautiful, the result of thousands of hours of work and crafted by the very masters of their fields. There were, however, numerous spots on the buildings to allow for assassins and snipers to have hidden vantages. Kaladhen kept his mind open, seeking for the thoughts of murder and violence.

  A few sparks tickled his mind, but they were not strong enough to draw attention. Moments of anger between people, or repressed hatred towards those in power. In other words, everyday life. Dylon did not hesitate as he brought them into the Winged Den of Redport, the highest seat of office in the city. He was recognized and was not stopped as his footsteps echoed loud and empty through the halls, up the stairs, and onto the top floor of the building. There were hundreds of voices around Kaladhen, loud enough to become a buzz in the mind he did well in ignoring. But, amongst them all, two voices spoke louder than the rest. They were well protected, and Kaladhen only faintly recognized them. Voices changed over time. Without familiarity, eventually a Sophomancer could lose influence over the minds they knew. One must by Jehan, but who was the other? Finally, they came to a door, which Dylon hesitated by for just a moment.

  Not again, can’t be tossed aside, not again.

  Dylon threw open the door and strode in, Caistlin could see the anxiety beading on his forehead. He followed behind, and froze.

  Jehan was in the room, looking annoyed and abashed, turned away and staring out the window.

  Behind Jehan, and mere feet away from Kaladhen, stood the Orc of Thespious, the man who had betrayed him, the very soul he sought to meet soon. Judge glanced over his back to them, his eyes falling on Dylon, as his lips curled into the visage of disdain.

  “Well, well, well, whom do we have here?” Judge said.

  Kaladhen almost stumbled back, and found his heart racing. Judge could not be here, the time hadn’t come yet. His informants said Judge was still in The Sunken City. Why was he here?

  Kaladhen blinked, and the room swam.

  “Well, well, well, who is this Arrietty?” asked the girl, who was probably a few years older than Kaladhen was himself. He shook his head, trying to clear confusion from his mind. Where was he?

  “This is Kaladhen, uh…” Arrietty glanced at him. “What was your family name?”

  “Family name?” the girl said, face squeezed back in disgust. “Is he not of the Houses?”

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  “Nope! Kaladhen, this is Lylian Nosferatu Montello! Her dad is–”

  “Vitruvius Montello, High Lord of his House, and High Lord of Scales,” Kaladhen said, nodding his head to her. He would not make the same mistakes as earlier in the day. “My Lady, I am Kaladhen Antony III, my father owns Banquo Trade, and I am pleased to have your acquaintance,” he kneeled, bowing his head, and saw she offered her hand to him, which he kissed. As he returned to standing, he saw her smirking, glee in her eyes. She enjoyed the little display, but from the way she seemed to read him, she was no more fond of him than before.

  “I see, at least you know proper manners, unlike some people I know,” Lylian said.

  Arrietty either didn’t notice or didn’t care. “His father,” and Kaladhen could not help but notice how her tongue lingered on father, as if it tasted bad, “wants him to become a noble. I am his friend now and trying to help him!”

  Lylian tittered, a hand raised over her mouth. The apparent humor did not reach any higher in her though, as she continued to look over the three of them. “Oh naive little flower. He is no friend of yours. He is using you.”

  “He is not!”

  “He is too,” Lylian said, “Orc, you are no fool despite your looks. Tell her.”

  Judge said nothing.

  “Fine, let me prove it,” Lylian scoffed, as she glared at Kaladhen. He felt a flare of anger at her words. Arrietty had been nice to him, and while they had just met, he wanted to be her friend, not just use her. Lylian leaned forward, so that she was mere inches from him, a wicked smile on her face, as she grabbed the collar of his shirt.

  Arrietty growled, and moved to stop Lylian, but Judge pulled her back. Silently, Kaladhen thanked him. “Whatever help they have promised to give, I will give you tenfold. You wish to be a mage, to be a noble?” She spat. “Then I can acquire you a tutor. My father is close friends with Lord Centurion Cicero himself. Abandon these fools, and I will give you everything you desire.” She let him go, and crossed her arms, staring at him with discerning eyes.

  Kaladhen hated himself, but for a brief moment, he faltered and considered her offer. Centurion Caesar Cicero was the greatest Sophomancer who had ever lived–save for perhaps the Black Shepherd if the stories were true–and if he were to be Kaladhen’s tutor, there would be no easier path to magehood. He bit at his cheeks, as he hesitated. Then, he saw Arrietty in the corner of his vision, saw her hopeful look, not a shred of doubt in her eyes, as she was entirely intent on Lylian.

  She had helped him today when he thought he had lost everything, and he did not know why. He owed it to her to be friends.

  “I’m good. Arrietty can help me find friends and get a tutor!” He saw the immediate look of shock on her face. “But really, thanks for the offer. If you want to still be friends though, I won’t say–”

  Lylian slapped him. It was hard enough to sting and turn him aside, but not as bad as his father had hit him. “The audacity!” She exclaimed, turning away and striding out of sight.

  Judge still held Arrietty back. Kaladhen smiled at two of them, and after a moment, Arrietty calmed and smiled at him. “Sorry about that! I hoped she would be a little nicer since I knew she likes to get money and I thought your dad was rich.”

  “No need to apologize,” Kaladhen said, rubbing his cheek. She was out of line for hitting him, even with her relative position compared to him. He could make trouble for her, but decided against it. She would have many allies, and perhaps in the future, he would want her as a friend. “Perhaps your next introduction will be a little more mild tempered though.”

  Arrietty laughed, and led him away to another group.

  Judge limped next to him, as Arrietty pulled ahead in her haste to make more friends for him. “How close?”

  “Hm,” Kaladhen said, before realizing what he meant. “I considered it.”

  “Honest.”

  Kaladhen nodded. “I try to be, Sir Antony always says it is easier to be honest than to remember a web of lies.”

  “Hmph,” Judge grunted.

  “Kaladhen! Come here!” Arrietty called. Another group of nobles, clad in bright clothing and with self-serious expressions stared at him.

  “Into the fire I go,” Kaladhen said.

  Caistlin blinked, shaking his head, and Agrenommen Arch slowly faded from his mind’s eye and replacing it was a sight far worse. Judge was not five feet away, leaning over a table, as he stared in Kaladhen’s direction, though all his focus rested on Dylon. The elf looked terrified, his mind was racing to the point of near panic. Focus. Apologize. Do not fail. More detailed commands might lead to better results, but those trained in resisting Sophomancy may pick up on it if Kaladhen overused it here. He would not risk discovery. Not when opportunity fell into his palms.

  Today, Lady Luck either smiled on him, or cursed him. Or perhaps, it was mere chance, and it was only he who could decide the turning of history.

  Dylon stepped fully into the room, and came to the desk, standing opposite of Judge. Jehan had taken to the back of the room, and lounged across a couch, one leg resting atop the cushion while a look of eager anticipation built in his gaze. He was easy to read, he must have been facing chastisement of his own, and looked forward to the misery of another. Caistlin, it seemed, had been forgotten for the moment, which Kaladhen was more than content with.

  “Well,” Judge began, leaned atop the desk, a single finger tapping the top of the furniture. “So you have returned, and yet, my eyes do not see the glow of an Illumimancer. Care to enlighten me on your last few days?”

  “I…” Dylon gulped, and his head bowed. “I failed Judge. I killed the Unicorn after something startled it from its trap.”

  Judge said nothing, staring intently at Dylon, obviously trying to break the elf with anticipation. Dylon did a surprisingly strong job of withstanding the pressure, and Caistlin once more reminded himself not to underestimate him. Finally, Judge straightened, and clasped his hands behind his back. He looked just the same as Kaladhen remembered him, if not even more self-assured. On him, scars and deformities made a fashion statement, and contributed to a look of absolute authority. “Honesty buys you some leniency, Dylon,” Judge said, turning around. He took a few steps forward, stopping in front of the window, its curtains closed. As he opened them, he continued, “You disappoint me however. House Itterarkh is crucial to my plans, we need their complete support to bolster Arrietty’s…”

  Kaladhen heard nothing more for a moment, his heart fluttering at the mention of her name.

  “…you not being an Illumimancer and creating a new Line for us, that complicates matters.”

  “I–” Dylon began, and Caistlin stepped forward, cutting him off. No need to delay the inevitable or allow Dylon the chance to screw up.

  “If I may, Lord Chamberlain.”

  Jehan looked startled, he had completely forgotten Caistlin’s presence, and Kaladhen saw Jehan’s hand go to his belted sword. Judge on the other hand, merely turned to look at him, a benign look of curiosity poking through his stern mask.

  “One of Dylon’s mercenaries, I presume? Have you a name?”

  “Caistlin, my lord.”

  Judge raised an eyebrow. “Odd choice for your name, Caistlin.”

  Kaladhen did not show any signs of stress. He had chosen the name on purpose, and did not doubt Judge was aware of the history behind it. But Kaladhen was far from the only one who had used the name, nor would he be the last. “I think not, if you pardon me my lord. I chose it after my own brother betrayed me for a pouch of gold scales. Better that name than Pious or Mathan, or something standard.”

  “Of course,” Judge said, looking unperturbed. “Well then, Caistlin, why do you interrupt my conversation?”

  Caistlin stepped further into the dragon’s den, and stood right beside Dylon, forcing him to move aside and give him space at the desk. “I don’t know the full extent of your planning, but I am no new blood to this business, and I have picked up clues to what is happening in my work.” Kaladhen saw the glance to Dylon, the look of consideration back at him, the judging if he were a threat or not. “I know you need House Itterarkh on your side. I can provide that to you.”

  The corner of Judge’s mouth quirked. “How?”

  “The Unicorn passed on its Gift before it was slain. We had another with us, an elven girl I found to be our bait. While the Unicorn was dying, it ferried her away, and I am certain it gave her its Gift.”

  “What a failure!” Jehan said, still on his couch, smirking at Dylon. “Can’t even get a Gift handed to you on a sil–”

  “Enough Jehan, or shall I send you away?” Judge snapped.

  “Would you be so kind?” Jehan snapped back. “I loathe hearing the tale of idiots.”

  Judge glanced at Caistlin. “Forgive my protegee’s rudeness. He isn’t trained to be around people yet.”

  Jehan rolled his eyes, standing to his feet. “Are you really letting this nothing in on the plans. And where are your other two mercenaries? Lose them too?”

  Something really was off between the two. Even at his worst, Jehan would never have an outburst like that in front of a stranger, and potential spy. How might he use this later?

  Answer, Kaladhen sent to Dylon.

  “We lost a horse to goblins. I sent them away, for they would slow us down,” Dylon said. “They had done what I needed them for.”

  Jehan looked annoyed, “We don’t need Dylon, let alone another throwaway for your plans. Send them away Judge.”

  “I will never be angered at a challenge, Jehan, but I will anger at idiocy. Have patience, and listen for once, and you might find a boon given to you.” Judge crossed the room and leaned over the desk. “Tell me, Caistlin, how this girl with a Gift can be turned into a strong alliance with House Itterarkh.”

  Caistlin smiled. Judge was behaving exactly as he would have hoped. “I know where she will be going, I observed her closely before her choosing and during our mission to acquire the Unicorn. I know her desires and her passions, and I know how to manipulate her. Give me the resources, and I can make her another puppet of yours. And, with enough time, turn Lydia into a puppet as well, for our elf is her niece. Or, if it proves easier, her head can be a Gift to House Itterarkh to prevent a new Line.” It would not come to that.

  He hoped, and felt his soul tremble at the thought.

  Judge seemed intrigued. “Interesting. And you can train her to be my puppet? Teach her the ways of nobility? How does a mercenary such as your self presume to understand our ways”

  “I beg your pardon my lord, but I did not always look like this. Before, I was a sworn soldier to The Nosferatu Line of House Montello. I failed in their protection, and after Her Lady Dragon ascended to the Throne, all of us who survived were punished by Hessian Montello, and banished from the service. I have spent my days working with the nobility. I understand them enough to train her.”

  Judge glanced at Dylon, then Jehan. “Well, it appears you should consider yourself lucky Dylon. Your failure need not be the final fault. Go with Caistlin and assist him in this endeavor.”

  “My liege–” Caistlin began.

  “You worry of Dylon and this girl being unable to work together?” Judge asked, and Kaladhen fell silent. He needed to remember not to underestimate Judge’s ability to put situations together either.

  “Yes, my lord. There were some–”

  “Gwynfor will need to learn to work with people she hates if she is to be an asset to myself. Dylon’s presence will prove whether her head buys us an alliance or if her survival will.”

  Kaladhen narrowed his eyes. He hadn’t used Gwynfor’s name, why did Judge know it? Perhaps he kept closer tabs on Lydia then Kaladhen would have guessed. Or, more likely, he met with Lydia. “Of course my lord, I shall make sure they will work together.”

  “Excellent then. Today has been unexpected, but most fortuitous.” Judge stepped to the window, looking out over it. A single command, quick and strong enough to break through Judge’s defense, and Kaladhen could have him flung from the window, and left broken on the ground below. It would be too simple a death, too easy an out, were it even to work. Judge cocked his head to look at Caistlin, the dappled light of the storm outside laid heavy shadows over him. Thunder bellowed. “Tell me another thing Caistlin. Why?”

  Such a simple word, why was. Three single letters, and yet, it was the hardest of questions to answer. Kaladhen could dodge the question, feign ignorance to what Judge asked. But, as Judge said to Dylon, honesty buys leniency. “I seek vengeance, my lord. I dedicated my life to another, and found myself ruined for it.” A half-truth, but one more than believable.

  Judge seemed to ponder that for a long moment. He took a half-step forward, but stopped himself. Jehan was watching him, curious eyes boring into Caistlin’s back. Their minds were closed to Kaladhen, only the faintest whispers could be gleaned without delving and revealing himself. “Vitruvius is beyond your revenge I fear, and Hessian is a nobody at this point. Line Nosferatu is ruined already. Why seek vengeance against those who have nothing?”

  “I am patient, my lord,” Kaladhen said. “Pardon the metaphor, but nobility are like goblins my lord. They are hard to get rid of, and if you let even a few survive, they have a tendency to come back. Even weakened foes may return stronger. Besides, I believe Lady Luck has arranged the pieces as they should be.”

  Judge laughed, and for a brief moment, Kaladhen felt his vision swim to better days, where the flowers sat and enjoyed one another’s company. The crack of thunder, the splicing of lightning breaking the sky brought him back. “A man after my own heart.” Judge moved, taking a seat at the desk. “Not a man of faith, are you?”

  “If the high father is real, I have long since been abandoned.”

  Judge held out a hand, and Kaladhen eyed it. “Orcs can never be king my friend, but they can bring blight upon those who deserve it. I shall give you the resources to bend Gwynfor to my will. Prove yourself useful here, and perhaps there may be greater opportunities for you.”

  Kaladhen took the hand of his enemy, and made a deal with a devil.

  *

  The next few hours seemed a blur. Arrietty took Kaladhen around the gardens, and they met with a myriad of people, most their own age, some a few years older, and two senior nobles. It was exhausting, and brutal work, a smile dawned his features the entire time, even as he endured sly insults, and backhanded compliments. All the while, Arrietty never seemed to waver, taking him to more and more people. Yet, none seemed willing to befriend Kaladhen. He was beneath their notice, even accompanied by Arrietty Feylai Magnolia.

  Eventually, the three of them sat alone on a bench in the garden, the sun sinking beneath the end of the world. Judge was quiet, Arrietty contemplative, and Kaladhen held his face in his hands. How had he failed so miserably? Arrietty and Judge were a start, but no one else even gave him the light of day. Had he made a mistake siding with Arrietty over Lylian? He shook his head. No, Lylian was toying with him, she would have never followed through.

  Right?”

  Kaladhen stood up. “I have to go find my father, and report on my progress.”

  Arrietty followed suit, standing up. She put a hand onto his shoulder, and it felt warm despite the chilly air. “You won’t let him bully you, right?”

  “He wasn’t bullying me, he was making me stronger.”

  Judge scoffed.

  “Even still, you warn him that if I see you hurt tomorrow, I will have words with him, got that meanie!”

  Kaladhen smiled. “I’ll tell him…And thanks. For today I mean.” He cleared his throat, and bent his head to Judge. “Sorry again, I was wrong and rude.”

  Judge bowed his as well. “You are forgiven for the moment. Maybe you can be of use,” but he was smiling as he said it. It was hard not to be unnerved by his broken features, but Kaladhen thought he could see the intention behind it.

  “Will I see you tomorrow?”

  “You better!” Arrietty said. “Otherwise Judge will leave me alone at the ball.”

  “I’m sure you’d make more friends there.”

  Arrietty shook her head. “Maybe, but all of them are so pompous and rude. See you tomorrow!”

  Kaladhen watched her go, Judge slinking after her, though he paused for a moment, and gave a quick nod to Kaladhen, before disappearing into the city. Closing his eyes, Kaladhen sighed, and flinched at a phantom worry, as he stood up and went to find his father.

  It was not difficult to find Sir Antony, though it took some time. In the fourth tavern, Kaladhen saw his father, slumped over a table, several glasses scattered around him, and a bit of drool leaking from his agape mouth. His eyes were cloudy. The tavern was atop the arch, but barely, yet there were still all manner of rich and prosperous customers around, and many shot looks filled with annoyance, or pity, or disgust, or all manner of emotions at his father. Cheeks burning, Kaladhen approached him. As he drew nearer, he felt the fire of his father’s gaze on him, as he burped, foul liquor on his breath, and lurched forward. A single finger jabbed out at him. “You’re…hic…shtupid for sho…hic,” his father fell back against the table, and knocked a glass off the table.

  Kaladhen watched it fall, as if everything slowed around it. His father was already drunk, already angry, and that would only serve to provoke him further. And people already were watching them, judging them.

  He closed his eyes, waiting for the inevitable.

  “...hic…watch it, you–”

  Kaladhen opened his eyes, as he heard his father growl. He found himself looking at Sir Antony, who had his mouth open in shock.

  Kaladhen blinked. A man stood in front of him, leaned forward and holding onto the glass an inch from the ground.The man looked to barely have reached adulthood, with a face made to make girls swoon. He wore peach-fuzz around his chin and his eyes were bright blue. Most importantly, his hair was silver as silver could be.

  “My apologies, didn’t mean to be in your way.” The man smiled at Kaladhen, and gave him a wink. Had he heard Kaladhen’s worry? He set the glass back on the table “Have you a need of a room to rest off your drink Sir?” the man asked, helping Sir Antony to his feet.

  Kaladhen had rarely seen his father at a loss for words, but here, his mouth worked but no sounds came out.

  “I will take that as a yes.” The man turned, and stared towards the bar. “Henry! A room for this one, put it on my tab.” Kaladhen saw a rotund looking man with red cheeks and a dirty apron wave a hand in acknowledgement as he continued working on a line of drinks. “Kaladhen, help me with him,” the man said, and Kaladhen stiffened at the use of his name. He ran to help anyways, grabbing his father by the shoulder, and helping the Sophomancer drag him to the stairs. “I didn’t look into your mind. I heard it from your father, drunks get pretty loud in thought,” the man said, putting his whole back into dragging Sir Antony up the stairs. Sir Antony seemed to have collapsed into a stupor, and probably for the best, in Kaladhen’s estimation.

  “Oh,” Kaladhen said. “Why?” he immediately felt stupid for questioning a noble, most would not appreciate that. Arrietty must have lowered his guard.

  Luckily the Sophomancer seemed talkative. “I try to avoid spying on people, whenever it is not necessary.”

  That seemed an odd response. What other purpose was there for Sophomancy, aside from prophecy and few had the talent? House Cicero were the spies, the manipulators, the schemers. It was their purpose amongst the Houses. “I see,” Kaladhen said. They arrived at the landing, and his new companion opened the nearest door. Together, they dragged in his father, and threw him onto the bed. The man collapsed onto a nearby chair, and instantly relaxed.

  Kaladhen waited, unsure what to do or say. This was far from how he pictured his encounter with his father. “I–”

  “I think I have a general estimation of your situation from your father.”

  “You were spying on him?”

  The man smiled. “Is it spying to heed the words of a man shouting in the public square? Your father entered into the stronghold of Sophomancy and has wrote a target onto his back and titled it LOOK AT ME in bold letters.”

  Kaladhen shrugged, and sat onto the bed, by his father. “I guess you didn’t spy.”

  “I did, I just did not have to be a good spy to do so. How do you feel about your father?”

  “He’s a great man,” Kaladhen said, instantly. “He is training me to be his successor and to become a mage for House Cicero.”

  The man nodded. “I see. Ah, lest I forget, I think proper introductions are in order. I am called Hadian Brutus Cicero.”

  Kaladhen did not recognize the name, though he knew line Brutus was amongst the least of all lines in House Cicero. “I am Kaladhen Antony III,” he responded in kind.

  Hadian leaned back in the chair, reclining his legs over one of its arms. “Will you be my pupil Kaladhen?”

  It felt as if the wind had been stolen from his lungs. He blinked furiously, trying to process the sudden turn. “I…uh…”

  “I am not one for hesitation.”

  “May I ask one question,” Kaladhen said, trying to buy a moment for thought. This was too sudden, he wasn’t prepared, he needed–

  “You may, but just one, then you must give your answer.”

  “Oh.” That was not enough time, he needed–

  “I am waiting.” Hadian turned back in the chair, leaning forward hands beneath his chin.

  “Why?”

  “You need a mentor, and I came here in want of a pupil. Works for both of us. So, what is your answer?”

  There was more to this, Kaladhen could tell. Hadian was not being entirely forthright. He thought he could hear the ticking of a clock strike in his mind. He saw Hadian begin to speak, starting to stand. He saw his opportunity slipping away.

  “Yes!” He said.

  Hadian smiled. “Excellent. I will see you bright and early tomorrow at the bench where you and miss Arrietty became friends.” He stood up. How had he known about that? Hadian was leaving the room. All this was happening too fast. Had Kaladhen really just apprenticed himself to a man he did not know without a second to consider?

  Hadian, out in the hall said, “And make sure to inform your father that if I find you bruised or otherwise injured on the morrow, he will have to deal with my wrath.”

  Kaladhen was left in silence, save for the sputtered snoring of his father.

  He had agreed without a second to consider. But even now, he knew it was the right choice. He would make Sir Antony proud, he would become a mage. And, perhaps, a thought all his own considered, he would sight on the Dragon’s Throne.