Emeron Jaist walked down the halls of Dagoth castle, field plate armor shining in the torches hanging along sconces on the stone walls. The commander of the Honor Guard was flanked on either side by two of his subordinates. Jael Foxlund, the youngest member of the guard, kept in close pace to his right, hands folded behind his back, face clean shaven from just that morning. Anifall Darinshire walked to Emeron's left. He was an old northlander who carried his thick accent and battle scars proudly upon him, being the oldest member of the guard to have served the kingdom. Many said he was still the most dangerous. Servants bowed as the three men walked by. Emeron would nod to each of the men or women in turn, Anifall not even that. Jael, still being enthralled with the notion of being in the guard, would pause to make a quick, courtly bow to the maids, then hurry to keep up with Emeron.
The trio stopped only at a large wooden door on their right, nearing a stairwell that would lead to the back halls behind Dagoth's throne chamber. The captain of the guard rapped on the door with a mailed fist and waited in silence for an answer. A woman's voice bid them to enter and Emeron pushed the door open, looking back at Anifall and Jael even as he went inside.
"Stand your post," he told them.
"Aye," Anifall muttered, taking to one side of the door and folding his arms out before him, stony face set in an unreadable mask. Jael followed the older man's lead, standing to the opposite side and watching the hall to ensure their commander's privacy. He was a might curious about the nature of what was to be said inside but he knew that if Emeron could tell them, he would. If not, then he would be sent on another errand. He only hoped that it was not going to lead him into fetching more of the castle's retainers.
Emeron Jaist closed the door behind him, standing right at the entrance as the woman inside gave him a considering look. She was Omalda Tonse, the second royal advisor. She had a noble bearing about her, with her heavy skirts and blush making her skin seem to glow a shade of light red. She looked beautiful in the fire light of the hearth near the back of the room. She had just finished pouring a glass of tea, offering one of the crystal glasses to Emeron.
"No thank you, lady. I would like to know the reason for this summons."
"In a hurry, guard commander? I remember a time when you were not in such a hurry to leave my presence." She took the tea up and glided over to him until she was only feet away, her dark colored eyes scanning his face. It was a mask, unreadable.
"That was a long time ago, lady. As much as I would like to reminisce with you, I have more important tasks to see to; as I'm sure you do as well."
Omalda's look became sour at his words and she turned from him, making her way back to the stand where the pitcher sat. Emeron remained straight faced, hands at his sides.
"Yes, it was a long time ago, wasn't it? Forgive me. There are other reasons for this visit. I have word from the king. He is pleased with your swift action in the taking of Cromley Tower. Once again you have proven why you are in command of the Honor Guard."
"Please, lady, spare me the paltry compliments. Is that all I am here for? To hear how my lord is pleased with my actions? If it were any different, I'm sure that he would have let me know by now."
"What is wrong, Emeron? Where is your humor?" Omalda asked, concern creeping into her voice. Emeron became stock still and rigid, realizing that he let himself slip in the company of someone that ranked higher than he. Clearing his throat, he offered an apology to her.
"It is alright, commander," she told him with a laugh. Taking a seat on a cushioned bench she offered to him as well she said, "Is there something that happened in Cromley Tower?"
"A young woman visiting the tower, a guest of the Baron Cromley was killed in the siege upon the tower. She was no soldier, and carried no weapons on her. I believe that it was one of the soldiers under my command that killed her, though none have taken responsibility for the action."
"I am sorry to hear it, commander. You always did have a bleeding heart."
"Lady, as much as this conversation entertains me..."
"Of course, commander," she cut him off, her tone growing a bit chill. "There is news other than that. I was ordered by his majesty to seek new recruits for his ambitions, and the kingdoms. The month allowance that he has granted me is almost done, and I believe I might have the men that he desires for his army."
"What are his majesty’s wishes?" Emeron questioned, "And why did he not tell them to me in council?"
"The king is quite busy with his advisors these days, commander. Only his chief advisor, Urien, knows fully what the king plans of. All I am told is what I need to know at present. You should know that better than any, should you not?"
"There is no need to be coy with me, lady. Where is this newly reinforced army to march upon?" Emeron didn't really have to ask the question. He could fathom the answer himself. Southcross had fallen to siege. Only one kingdom remained to bar the might of Dagoth from sailing safely to the island of Dynasty.
"You are to make ready to lead the full might of Dagoth north, past the Crossing and Bordertown. King Steelbreeze commands that you are to lead his forces against the Eagle and Avalon."
"Omalda! The Eagle holds the ageless at bay! If we attack them, then those savages in the North Mountains will storm the land! There will be no safe refuge for any person in the northern villages!"
"Do you care to argue point with his majesty on this matter? Mind you, commander, what happened to advisor Raza when he overstepped his bounds. That was in the name of Dagoth."
"I know where my loyalties lie, lady Tonse. Do not doubt that for a moment," he spat out bitterly. The thought of striking Avalon appalled him. The four decade war against the heathens would be all for naught if Darius sent troops into Avalon's southern flanks. It was a coward's maneuver. Calming himself, he looked Omalda straight in the face.
"As my king commands, so do I obey. Where are these fresh forces that you have set about recruiting?"
"I have had military stations set up in the villages of Felcon, Casteel and Aball. Each captain reports that their army has swelled with a thousand more men at each village. Perhaps even more than that. The smithies in all of the neighboring villages have been given order to forge weapons and armor for his majesties ambition."
"How are these smiths being compensated?"
"By keeping their business, commander. Does that bother you? Perhaps I should report to his majesty that you begin to question his orders. I do not think that would please him after your sterling performance at Cromley Tower."
"You spoke of humor, Omalda. Where is yours?" he said with a smile that had to be coaxed to his face. Omalda smiled back politely, but the playfulness that she offered when he first entered the room was no longer there.
"There are orders for you as well, guard commander. The king decrees that you take the Honor Guard, eight of the men in all, and ride north far ahead of the main army. You will have a fortnight's head start. There you will find the whereabouts of the bastard children that continue to elude him. Find them and slay them, commander." Omalda gauged his reaction, smiling with satisfaction when he didn't waver at the order. "The children have defenders, according to our spies. A priest from their village travels with them named Damien Alohm. A drudic of unknown origin also accompanies them. There is a warrior too, reported to be skilled with a blade. He is known as Cameron Reol."
"Cameron...Reol?" Emeron stated, working the name in his mouth. Omalda arched an eyebrow at him as she poured herself a second glass of tea.
"A man you know, commander?"
"Perhaps, lady. I will know for sure when I cross paths with him. Please inform his majesty that I will select eight men to accompany me and trek for the Crossing today if that pleases him."
"It will, Commander Jaist. You are dismissed." Emeron spun stiffly on his heel after sweeping a bow to her, leaving as quietly as he entered the room. After he closed the door he looked first at Anifall, then at Jael. Both men fell in at their respective sides, trailing Emeron as he stalked away from the advisor's chambers.
"You didn't bed her this time, did you?" Anifall asked him after a time and Emeron smirked.
"No, Anifall. But I might as well have. We have been given orders to travel north, two weeks ahead of an advance force that is going to siege the castle of Avalon." Jael gasped at the notion and Anifall pursed his lips, tightening a scar that ran the length of his cheek.
"What might be north that we are going there?" Anifall ventured. Emeron stayed silent as they passed a host of servants that were cleaning the main hall of the castle's first floor. When they were safely out of earshot he continued.
"I am to take seven of the Honor Guard and search for the king's heirs. When we find them we are to kill them. I assume that they will be charged for treason against the kingdom. There is a complication."
"Oh?" Anifall fairly laughed, "Do tell."
"A man named Cameron Reol travels with them. He is a swordsman."
Anifall became sullen, bowing his head in thought, but Jael only raised his eyebrows, quirking his mouth as he formed a question.
"Pardon for my ignorance, sir. But what does this man mean to us? There is no one more skilled with a blade then one of his majesties Honor Guard." Anifall laughed again, covering his mouth with one grizzled hand.
"I might know this man. Do not enter battle with such a confidence, Jael. He is good with a sword."
"Well he should be," Anifall declared to them both, "I taught the man."
"Wait!" Jael said, shock creeping into his voice, "Are you telling me that Cameron Reol was one of the Honor Guard at one time?"
"Catches on fast, that boy does," Anifall mused, patting the youth on the back.
"He was. But he became insubordinate, and was discharged from his majesty’s service shortly after King Mikal died from the black fever. He was a skilled a man as any I've known. If this is him, then taking eight of the guard is a wise choice after all." Emeron turned to look back at Jael, "Jael, you are to locate Dag Alwood. You and he will gather the rest of the guard. We leave by noon today for the Crossing. Understood?"
"Yes sir!" Jael Foxlund swiped a salute to his commander and ran off for the Honor Guard’s quarters in the east end of the castle.
"A pity that it might end this way," Anifall told Emeron as they continued their walk, "A real damn shame."
"You cannot know, my old friend," Emeron replied, "what a shame it is."
Omalda Tonse paced the length of her room, hands behind her back. She felt that giving the king's orders were becoming more and more difficult as the orders became more erratic. She knew that Emeron would do what must be done as he always had. That was just how he was. A part of her missed him, having him close to her. But it had been three years since they were lovers, and time tended to heal the heart. Duty had been his clarion call even then. His unswerving dedication to king and country. She wished that she possessed even half of the inner strength that seemed to flow from Emeron in everything he did.
A knock at her door stirred her. "Enter," she called out, and was mildly surprised when Urien Baska entered. The elderly advisor closed the door tightly behind him. He was dressed in a heavy brown robe with plain sandals on his feet. He appeared haggard, like he hadn't slept the night previous. The old man nodded a greeting to her and she returned it.
"Has his majesty been making war plans far into the night again? Or has he had another dream, one of his premonitions, as he calls them?"
"He has two of the council at his side during all hours, save for brief periods of time when he desires to be alone in his bedchamber. He says that it is to pray to the One for guidance in what he does, but I do not think that the One God is listening to him."
"Be wary what you say, Urien. The king has ways of finding out those that speak ill of him."
Urien crossed the room, pouring himself a cup of tea without bothering to ask, drinking it down in one drought. He placed the cup back to the table before swiping a hand over his mouth. "I am old, Omalda. I am sorry for the burden that Darius has given you. I feared that it would be too much for you, but you seem to have done well for yourself. The king is pleased with you. When I pass you can be sure that he will have you as the chief advisor, at his right hand."
"What is this, Urien?" Omalda demanded, "You are acting very peculiar today. First you look gaunt, like sleep was some beast that you were hunting rather than allowing it to come to you, now you speak freely of things. You always seemed reserved. Is there something you know that should be shared?"
"There is something I know. I know that as an advisor I have failed in my duties. I am to give the king my best advice on all matters concerning the welfare of the kingdom. In this I have failed him. I tell him what he wishes to hear. Nothing more. Fear has brought me to this, but today I fear no more. As I told you, I am old, growing older still. If his majesty has me locked away in the dungeon for giving him honest council, then so be it."
"Urien, recall what became of Raza? Do you really want to share that fate?"
"I have thought this through, Omalda," Urien made his way back to the door, his steps measured like a man walking knowingly to the guillotine, "The king will hear from me that this is wrong. The kingdom of Avalon has been an ally to Dagoth ever since the Krestin bloodline was in power here. I cannot allow this to continue without voicing my thoughts."
Omalda laughed at him, sitting back on the cushioned chair at the side of the room. She watched Urien exit without a word, shutting the door slowly. Her smile became bitter after he left. That fool! She thought he would have more sense than any, but it seemed that age had at last taken its toll on him. By the rise of the sun tomorrow she would be chief advisor. The right hand of Dagoth. The thought appealed to her, and she quickly forgot about the fate of Urien Baska.
Urien gasped and doubled over, clutching his chest as he fought to hold his life's blood inside him. The elderly advisor struck the floor with a nondescript thump and lay there, gagging on his own blood until it was soaking the carpet he lay on and he moved no more.
Darius Steelbreeze sheathed the pearl handled dagger he had at his waist, standing over the old man without even the slightest pity in his eyes. Only dark ambition burned inside him, consuming anything else that tried to enter. He would have his glory, and the throne of Dynasty, even if he had to tread over a mountain of death to obtain it. The One had chosen him, and he would not waver in that holy faith. Umbriel would be united under his guidance. The three would become one, and he would have his men fight all that opposed him. He would not tolerate any that had proclaimed loyalty to him become spineless cowards when he was so close to achieving what he had been working for all his life. The king of Dagoth sat back in his reading chair, the book that he had been reading before Urien found him was still open to its page, spine up on the stand beside him.
"Your council is appreciated, Urien, but wholly unnecessary. Avalon became my enemy the moment Rimerez Eaglesbane proclaimed that I would never sit on the High Throne. You choose to side with the enemy so I have delivered you a traitor's punishment. Guards!"
Two soldiers entered the room, stopping short inside the sitting room when they saw Urien's crumpled body laying there, blood soaking into the carpet all around him. Darius looked up at them casually, lowering his book to meet their gazes.
"This man is a traitor to the kingdom. Remove him from my sight. And fetch new carpeting from my floor. I do not wish to have it reek of blood in my sitting room. Now!"
"Yes sir!" one of the guards saluted him before they stooped to pick the body up and drag it from the room. A short time later they returned to roll the bloodied carpeting up. A maid scrubbed the stone floor with a hot water bucket before the guards unfurled a new carpet at the king's feet. Darius never bothered to stop reading his book the entire time.
The funeral for the lord Creed Soames was only two days after his death at the hands of the Silent Brotherhood. It was raining that day, a steady drizzle that coated the land with a damp blanket. The Hall of Wisdoms opened its doors to the citizens, allowing any and all to pay their respects to the noble man. It turned out that a good many people were affected by Creed's death. Among the many people bowing in silent prayer in the room of gathering was Damien, Kirstin, Kamil and Cameron. Kirstin felt a terrible guilt for not having the courage to fend off Creed's attackers when she had the chance to. Despite Damien's warning that she, too, would have met her death in that place, she carried the guilt with her like a shroud for those two days.
San Deviol, all but recovered, had given the sermon for Lord Soames, declaring how the city would be the worse for losing him, and that he had gone to a greater place than this, where the concept of death was now beyond him. All of the mourners gathered in mass prayer at noon, the only sound for a long time was the drizzle that fell from grey covered skies.
Damien shared words with the elderly priest after the funeral, when Lord Soames' family and personal guard hauled the casket into the pouring rain. Creed would be buried in his ancestral cemetery on the northern side of Bastual. San ensured Damien that he had done all he could for Creed.
"Death cannot be undone, father Alohm. Resurrection is a power that is beyond mortal man."
"I know, father Deviol, but I seemed so helpless. Kirstin is taking this rather hard as well."
"She has a strong heart. She will be fine. As will you, Damien. Be careful, and be sure that you know the face of your enemy, father. It is easy to deceive the ignorant."
"I understand, father Deviol. May the One guide you in all that you do."
"And to you, father. Take care."
Cameron lead them out of the city on the horses that Creed had given them, hoods pulled over their heads to ward off the rainfall. The highway lay out before them, a swath of exposed earth that stretched as far as the eye could see to the west. Broad sloping plains with waist high grass dominated the area, with a bristling wall of green on the horizon, indicating a forest in the distance. Travel was made swiftly, Cameron allowing camp to be set after the sun had completely vanished from the sky. The rain seemed to follow them for several days, soaking the land until large puddles seemed to fill the road fully. The long trenched ditches along the sides of the highway ran freely with water, sweeping any loose debris back toward Bastual.
The gold the Lord Soames had promised them went toward buying rationing for their travels and thicker clothes for a winter that wasn't far off. In three days they were in the deep of the forest, lines of evergreens surrounding them on all sides. The forest floor was flat with little foliage to obscure vision, making travel easier. On the fifth day of travel Kamil had taken ill, getting a fever and a rasping cough that caused him to double over when a fit seized him. Damien took to caring for him as they went, but didn't call upon the power of the One to heal him. At camp on the fifth night Kamil questioned the priest why he didn't heal him.
"Kamil," Damien began in a patient tone, "I have been watching you regress for a long time now and I believe that you have brought this illness upon yourself. You never seem to find enough sleep, and these walks you take every once in a while cannot help matters. I will make sure that you recover, but I don't think it's necessary to misuse the One's gift on a simple sickness. Sleep, and eat all of your meal instead of discarding half of it all of the time and you will recover."
"Sleep and eat? That's all you can tell me?" Kamil stood up from where he was sitting near the priest and planted himself across the camp fire, unrolling his bed roll and laying down, back to the fire.
Cameron came back from the highway and rounded the camp, sitting on a fallen tree at the edge of the fire's light. "Go to sleep, father," he said to Damien, "I'll take the first watch tonight."
"I am worried about Kamil, Cameron. There is something wrong with him."
"He's ill, father."
"Something more than that, my friend. Much more, I fear. We must keep an eye on him."
Early that morning they came to a crossing in the road where the highway split to the south. There was a sign post stuck in the muddy ditch. Engraved in the wood marked that Avalon was west while the city of Gorun was to the south. Scrawled over the sign for Gorun were the words "Keep away, the Black Fever has passed through here."
Grimacing, Cameron snapped the reins of his horse and continued west. At the pace they were heading it would only be another eight or so days until they found themselves in Shiemin. Kirstin continued her practice with Cameron for a time every night, with Kamil joining in when he found the strength to. Damien was content with his prayers and the Testament, reading to himself the passages that he liked best. Two more days of ceaseless travel brought them just south of highlands, rising hills and tall trees that dotted the land like enormous spears. A road snaked along to the north, winding its way along slanting rocks and gigantic boulders. Beyond the forest and north another two days one would find the kingdom of Avalon, shining home of the Eagle and possibly the mightiest army on Umbriel. Another fork in the highway lead them west farther still, which they took.
On the morning of the ninth day Kirstin awoke to a gentle snowfall filling the trees with white. The ground was a layer of powder, blotting out the green, riding on the winds that blew in from the north. She sat up, pushing her bedroll back and stretching out. Damien turned from the campfire and held up a piece of bread.
"When did it start snowing, father?"
"After midnight, I think. It hasn't been snowing very hard. We will still make good time today, I think."
"With Cameron pushing us the way he does, I don't doubt it. I was right about him. He never seems to run out of energy!" Damien laughed at her and went about throwing his saddle over his horse.
"Best get ready, Kirstin. Another long day awaits us."
The coach containing Benmont Grimnight entered the village of Willow Brook on the tenth day that they were travelling the highway. Verion always wished to walk in the wilderness when they travelled throughout the day, but always found them when the coach master decreed that it was time to break for camp. Sometimes he was even waiting for them at a potential camping sight. Ferrin enjoyed time with the centiant when they made their way into the forest. Verion mentioned that he was showing Ferrin the paths of the forest or some such, but Benmont didn't understand or care much, so long as the little thief was someone else's problem for a time.
Willow Brook was a fairly small village, certainly smaller than the village of Banthas where he was raised. But the snow fall had seemed to invigorate the people. Men were donned with heavy clothes and carried bows in hand, quivers with arrows dotting out slung over their shoulders. Even the young or very old were sporting hunting tools. Benmont paused to ask Diela if she knew what was going on as they entered a Shoppe to stock their food rations and Diela laughed prettily at him.
"The first good snowfall means that it is time for the Grand Hunt."
"I've never heard of it," Benmont admitted.
"I wouldn't think so, being from so far to the south. The Grand Hunt is a tradition in many of the villages around here. Hunters from across the land take up their bows in the hope of felling the white stag."
"White stag?" Benmont asked, "A deer that is albino?"
"Something like that, master Grimnight," she said as she took his hand and entered the Shoppe. There were at least a dozen people inside, buying water skins and food for their expeditions, as well as fur clothes to fend off the coming cold. "That reminds me," Diela toned as she scooped up several of the fur cloaks that were hanging from one of the walls in the Shoppe, "You will freeze if you go north without protection. I will get these for you."
"Thank you."
"No argument this time?" Diela asked, mocking surprise, "Are you not feeling well?"
"Has anyone ever felled this white stag?" Benmont queried, trying to change the subject.
"I believe so. It was about twelve years ago, though."
"How many white stags can there be?" Benmont growled.
"You miss the point of the holiday, master Grimnight."
Benmont moved away from her as she spoke with the keep across the counter, examining some rolled up maps that were tucked into a small barrel at the corner of the room. He was almost entertaining the thought of purchasing one when he felt a slight tug at his side. His coin purse was being taken.
"Ferrin...!" he barked out, spinning to catch the scrawny youth, but he wasn't there. Instead there was a boy of no more than ten running toward the door, his pouch in one hand. "Thief!" Benmont roared as he took after the boy. The long haired youth gave a quick look back as he left the Shoppe, eyes bulging as his giant pursuer came closing in with each stride. The boy broke left, trying to run down the alley that cut between the traveler’s Shoppe and the barbers but ran straight into a thin limbed, almost mousy looking man that caught hold of his shirt and held him fast. The youth slipped free of the wool shirt but as soon as it was off of him the gangly young man had hold of his arm.
"Let me go!" the boy squealed.
"Boy!" Benmont towered behind him, making the youth cower under his shadow, "Give that back to me. Now." He knew it was only a few coppers and perhaps a silver piece in there but it didn't matter. The rage was in him and it was all he could do not to throttle the child where he stood. Ferrin ripped the pouch free of the boy's hand and tossed it to him. Benmont glared at both of them in turn.
"Leave it to a thief to catch a thief."
"Please sir, allow the boy to come home with me. I am his guardian. I will compensate you if that is what you desire, but I ask that you not harm him," a man spoke from behind Benmont and he turned to face a man nearly as tall as himself with a thick moustache and cropped hair. The man was old enough to be his father, but still looked to be in prime shape. The sword that he carried at his side made him to be a warrior of some kind.
"Is that thief your son?" Benmont asked, jabbing a finger back at the youth that Ferrin apprehended. The boy quivered against Ferrin.
"His parents are dead, stranger. I told you I am his guardian. Please, let him go."
"Dead?" Benmont said quietly, "How did they die?"
"If you release Jehsias to me, I might be inclined to tell you."
Benmont glanced back at Ferrin, "Let him go." The youth ran past Benmont, wrapping thin arms around the older man and burying his face into his chest. The man patted the youth on the head and whispered to him while peasants that walked by gave pitying stares. Do they know what became of the boy's parents, Benmont wondered? Is that what life would have been like for me had I stayed in Banthas? Under the weight of all that pity one could not expect to grow.
"Tell me, what became of his parents."
"Come to my home, all of you. I will tell you the story if that is what you wish. But not here on the street. There are too many ears for my liking." Benmont and Ferrin followed him, Diela doing likewise after she told the coach master to stay with the horses. The centiant stopped Benmont, putting a hand on his shoulder.
"I will wait north of here for you. The smell of eagerness to kill in this village appalls me." He scowled at the peasants as they moved by him and many scattered, fearing that the dark skinned stranger might become violent.
"I understand, Verion. I will see you shortly." A short walk brought them to a stone house on the eastern side of the village, two stories with a host of windows surrounding the walls. The man let them in, closing the door behind him and setting his blade down against the wall near the door. Jehsias ran into the back room and could be heard clomping up a stair case. It was punctuated by a door somewhere above slamming shut. The man sighed and bid them to sit at the kitchen table.
"My name is Adam; I was a soldier in the Eagle's army for almost twenty years. I served my time along the Canvese Mountains, hunting and killing the Ageless on my king's command. I came to Willow Brook for peace. But it wasn't to be found here." He offered them ale, which Benmont accepted but Ferrin and Diela declined, Ferrin wrinkling his nose at the merest smell of it.
"I am Benmont. This is the lady Diela Shar of the house of Shar in Diez. And that is Ferrin. He and I are travelers."
"From the golden city you hail then?" Adam questioned.
"We do."
"I suppose I should tell you the story, if that is what you wish to hear." Benmont leaned closer on the table, ignoring the ale mug before him. "It began three years ago, when Jehsias was only seven years old. It was first snow fall, and the Grand Hunt was commencing. Jehsias' father was one of the hunters, and a fine one at that. He was also a close friend. He had been for many years." Adam took a seat across the table from them, making himself comfortable before he continued.
"It was to be Jehsias' first year on the hunt, and his father was beaming with pride. You see, he had a sister, she being thirteen at the time, but she had no intention of partaking in the hunt. Leaving their home on the outskirts of Willow Brook they travelled into the deep of the forest, searching for the white stag. All day they hunted, and even into the night some. When they returned, without the stag, it was to a house that was smoldering from a fire that raged there hours ago. They were too deep into the wilderness to have seen the flames. It seems that a raiding party of demorn attacked the house while father and son were away. Much of their goods were taken, and both Jehsias’ mother and sister were slain in their raid. Many families on the border of the village were killed that day."
"That's terrible," Diela whispered, clutching a hand over her heart. Ferrin simply shook his head.
"What happened after? You said that both of his parents were killed."
"Jehsias' father went mad after that, his mind filled with thoughts of vengeance. He had all but forgotten his son, who still very much needed a father. I had only then come to Willow Brook. When he told me what had happened, I was shocked to say the least. He charged me with watching over his son. He was venturing for the demorn that killed his family. Being a competent tracker, I didn't doubt that he would find them in time. I told him not to go, I pleaded with him, telling him that Jehsias needed him. He wouldn't hear of it. He left that winter, three years ago, telling me that he would return when vengeance was his. He has not come back. I can only assume that he never found the vengeance that he sought."
"But you do not know," Benmont said.
"Know?" Adam asked.
"If his father truly is dead. Why didn't you search for him?"
"I was given care of a seven year old boy that was nearly suicidal with grief; I could not take after my friend. I did what I could. I only pray that it turns out to be enough."
"I am so sorry," Diela offered, but Adam shook his head.
"Do not be sorry. The boy has had sorry and then some from the people of Willow Brook. To them, he is always going to be the boy that lost his family to the demorn. Nothing more. I do not think he needs any more pity."
"I lost my mother to an assassin’s attack," Benmont said plainly. Diela gasped at him. Ferrin whipped his head around to look at him with wide eyes. "They came to my house to kill me but they killed her instead. Sometimes I wish I would have died with her."
"You never told me," Diela said, placing a hand over Benmont's, "How come you didn't tell me?"
"It's not something I care to speak of."
"I understand," Adam said, rising from his chair. "You and Jehsias are kindred spirits. I think he will do better knowing that there are others who suffer the pains he has had to suffer."
Benmont left Adam's house, making haste for Diela's coach. They left the village of Willow Brook, Verion falling in with them. The mood that day was bleak, everyone in the coach keeping to themselves as they travelled the highway north. Another night passed and by noon of the next day, under a clear sky, the coach entered the city of Shiemin. Diela bid the coach to stop at the nearest Inn that they crossed and Benmont and Ferrin leapt out. He gathered that this would be the easiest place to begin searching for their companions. The big man entered the door and it took him a moment to recognize the dark haired priest that was speaking with the Inn keep as he handed over several silvers.
"Father!" Benmont shouted, making Damien start and the Inn keep yelp with surprise. Damien looked over and smiled broadly, heaving a sigh of relief. Ferrin ran past Benmont and threw his arms around the priest, hanging from him like a child would from its mother.
Damien pushed the excited youth to arm's reach and signed, I am happy to see you as well, Ferrin.
You don't know the half of it, father, Ferrin signed back as quickly as he could. Damien was hard pressed to keep up with what he was saying, Being stuck on a ship with that lummox and being seasick which isn't pretty, then he develops a girl craze and...
"Ferrin!" Damien shouted, laughing out loud, "There will be time enough to catch up over dinner tonight!"
"Dinner?" Benmont repeated, "Lead on, father."
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