Ma had stood and pain began shortly after.
Belendin lay curled on his side in the shed and he refused to cry. No dinner, no bed, no nothing. Not even a blanket. He’d freeze to death out in the shed, sleeping all night in the cold. Ma had locked him in, even told him he had to miss his own pa’s funeral. The welts on his ass stung, but the welts in his heart stung worse. It was his duty so see his pa buried, it was his responsibility, and no Digger never shirked their responsibility. Not without help of the womenfolk, anyways.
Grumbling, Belendin fell into a fitful sleep filled with nightmares of tiny chattering lizards with needle teeth and claws, and of blood spurting from his father’s terrified eyes.
Castle Faldorrah
At the last toll of the midnight bell, a scry stone glowed dimly blue, illuminating the center of the palm holding it. All else remained lost to the dark.
“Update. I have news,” a voice whispered to the stone.
The blue stone trembled and a face appeared within; a man’s face, narrow, pinched and pockmarked with a few dark hairs struggling to hide his shining scalp. “And I have a mission. What is your news?”
“Dubric has suffered a great loss, but to our gain. Kramoris the Wanderer carries stolen property. A Demon Killer dagger and a magical mirror.”
The face in the stone paused, blinking. “You are certain of this?”
“Yes,” the voice in the dark said. “Jelke seized the opportunity when it arose. Both items are no longer under Dubric’s protection.”
The face in the stone blinked again. “The accountant? He has never shown the slightest interest in any activity more dangerous than channeling funds.”
“I’m certain. He admitted his theft to none other than Dubric’s newest pet.”
The face in the stone nodded once. “Jelke has done well and shall be rewarded.”
“There’s more. He told Dubric’s pet of Kramoris.”
The stone darkened for a moment. “If he has fallen weak enough to jeopardize Kramoris, he may fall weak enough to jeopardize us all. That cannot be allowed.”
Fingers clenched around the stone. “I will ensure the secrets remain safe. You have my word. My mission will not fail.” The fingers opened again to reveal the stone. “You mentioned another mission? Have my orders been changed?”
“Your original orders remain but we have received disturbing news. An anointing sword was recently delivered to Faldorrah.”
The voice in the dark hissed and fingers closed around the stone again. “I should have known! Damn it all to blood! The bastard!”
“Do you know who?” the stone asked.
“I believe so. I have my suspicions, at least. One of my room mates has not returned today. It must be him. He too is a pet of Dubric’s.”
“The Son of Hargrove? Are you certain? A Royal has been elevated?”
“No, not certain, but I believe so. He and the commoner pet were summoned to Dubric’s office late this afternoon and he has not been seen since.”
“I shall inform our Lord. This is grave news indeed,” the stone said, then the light within faded.
Utter blackness remained and a well-oiled door creaked in the dark, a mere squeak among gentle sputters and snores. A shadow slipped through like a ghost. A bed shifted and someone settled in, soon adding to the sleeping chorus. Moments later, Malanna’s moon slipped from behind a cloud, sending her soft light into the room. Three boys, all pages, sleaped soundly in their beds. One bed, the closest to the window, stood empty. The night progressed and the moon moved on.
Lars opened his eyes and blinked. The ceiling, now dark, no longer spun above him and he realized he lay in a bedroom, but not his own. The room was dimly lit by a single lamp and Dien, asleep and snoring, sagged in a chair beside the bed with a book in his hands.
Lars sat, holding his head—he expected it to slosh around like a bucket of pig slop—but his head felt fine. In fact, everything felt fine. Downright dandy, in all honesty.
Something far to his left moved in the dark and he turned. Dien’s wife, Sarea, held a finger to her lips. “Shh. It’s only me. How are you feeing?” She walked toward him, yawning, and drew her robe close around her.
“Fine, I think,” Lars said. “What time is it?”
“Sometime after three bell.” Smiling, she reached out and touched his forehead. “Nice and cool,” she said. “I think you can get up, if you want. Take it slow.”
He nodded and turned, pushing aside the blanket and setting his bare feet on the floor. Thank the Goddess he had sleeping trousers on. “What happened?” he asked.
She helped him stand. “You don’t remember?”
Lars was immensely thankful that Sarea was a sturdy woman and not a frail little thing. His knees felt like they had been filled with air and deflated, and he felt ashamed at how much he leaned on her. “I was anointed. Right?”
Behind him, Dien yawned. “You were more than anointed, pup. Took the mark over your heart.” He stood and stretched. “Most take it on a muscle. Helluva jolt, that’s for sure, but you’re the first I’d ever heard of to be knocked completely unconscious. I think you scared the frigging crap outta Otlee, thrashing around like you did.”
“Thrashing?”
Dien grinned and patted Lars on the back. “I wish I could have told you about where to take the mark, but part of it is deciding on your own. I hear when Aswin decided to take it on his head the High Priest almost fainted. I don’t know if Aswin started seeing into people’s minds then or not, but I do know we learned about it not long after.”
Lars stopped and stared at Dien. “So Anointing gives you powers?”
Sarea chuckled and covered her mouth with her hand.
“Hell no, pup,” Dien said. “It accentuates what’s already there. I used to be a sweet angel of innocence, you know, before I had my ass burnt.”
Sarea rolled her eyes. “Ha, ha. Aren’t we funny today.”
Dien shooed her away. “I think Aswin had the power first, but maybe the anointing increased it. There’s no way to know for sure. But I do know that Dubric and I debated where you’d take your mark. Put a wager on it, even.”
Lars drew in a deep breath, then another, and his knees felt tighter, less loose and quivery. “Who won?”
“I did. Dubric thought you’d take it on your back, since you’re such a hard working lad, probably between your shoulders. I told him you’d consider taking it on your forehead, you liking to face things head on like you do, but you’d end up taking it on your chest.” He patted Lars on the back and ushered him toward the door. “Not only are you dedicated, you’re driven. Never mind that now. Let’s get some food in your gut, all right? I have to get you strengthened up before morning.”
Lars pulled on a shirt and followed Dien to the hall, a million questions dancing in his head.
Jelke squinted in the dark and wiped thick, slimy spittle from his face. Heavy footfalls stopped outside his barred door. “Milord Brushgar? Is that you?” he asked, sitting upright in the rancid straw of his cell. “I was protecting the funds, Milord, as I promised to do! Protecting the coffers...”