A Child of Forever

Prologue

His mouth was dry. It had been many long hours since they had given him his bowl of water, and he was beyond thirsty. Weakness had crept into his body, muscle not wanting to move. He found that it was impossible to quench your thirst on your own spit; this was a realization hard to come to.

The room was dark, it being some time since the sun had set. Scant moonlight illuminated the bricks, his bed, the straw scattered all about that had been laid there to keep bare feet from breaking open and bleeding as a result of the rough stone floor. A rat shifted restlessly in the corner, as if it was waiting for some food, waiting for a meal to be delivered, so that it could clean up any bits carelessly dropped to the floor. It was scrawny. No food had been dropped on this floor in weeks. Indeed, he had at times considered eating the rats. He needed every bit they gave him.

Looking up, he saw the bars. How he hated them, those shackles of steel meant to keep him. It wasn’t long ago, he thought, that those bars would have shattered at the second I thought them gone. But now…he reached out, attempting with utmost concentration what had come naturally, without effort, to him before. He could not be disappointed at the lack of results. It was to be expected.

“We know your tricks,Ta’lad’en.” That was what the first guard had told him. Breyon was his name. He liked the poor guardsman, despite the man’s cold attitude. The guard belied a warm heart, and he believed that if the circumstances had been different, the two of them could have been friends. It was not to be. He smiled then, at Breyon, a smile that said he knew this was only duty.

They burned his skin shortly after that. Took a hot iron and branded his wrists with the mark of the li’chay. It cut him short of his wealth of power, and all but a few of the men in history who it had been performed on had shortly thereafter aged at an impossibly rapid rate, becoming frail and withered before dying, usually within a couple of years, for to brand one so…it was like tearing the man’s soul in two, throwing asunder everything he had always known as reality. It took an agonizing toll on both body and mind, leaving one in horrible pain as they decayed to nothing. It was a terrible thing to do to a man, and was reserved for those occasions when it was deemed absolutely necessary. It hadn’t always been so, but as the punishment became more used, something even more sickening came to light. As it would turn out, the vast majority that suffered this fate as a result of being marked…those were the lucky ones. For the few rare cases that surfaced, there were other results, and none so easy. Horrible mutations; Random, violently aggressive instincts; His own personal horror came from a story of one who had been branded so. It would seem that something had gone terribly backwards, for instead of the mark blocking the path to his energy, as it is intended, instead he found he could not stop himself from drawing on it, though he could not use it. Unfortunately, the body wasn’t able to tolerate such power constantly welling in it with such force, and once it reached a certain point, several of his bones would just snap like twigs. It was never enough to kill him, but enough that he was in utter agony most days, and he didn’t die for twenty-six years. By then, death must have felt as the sweetest mercy, if long overdue.

However you looked at it, there was no denying that the li’chay was a horrible construct, torturous and sadistic, and for the most part, permanent. It was said that the only way it could be reversed was by carving out the skin the brand inhabited, deep enough to remove all of the burned tissue. As he thought about this, he realized the problem with that was twofold; first, he had no blade, or anything that he could accomplish this with. And, second, cutting that deep, the bleeding was horrible, and would be fatal unless an adept, accomplished surgeon or some powerful healer was available. Both were rare to come across.

“Sitting there dreaming of ways to get out of here, Ta’lad’en?” Breyon again, with that pseudo-title. He thought that maybe it was part of why he liked the man. Criminal, scoundrel, thief…murderer; the list of names the castle guards flippantly tossed his way was never-ending. Indeed, it would seem that most of them just branded whatever you were supposed to have done onto you; to them, that was who you were, and nothing more, and gods, did they seem to hate you for that. But Breyon had never started a conversation with him without tacking Ta’lad’en onto the sentence. It was from the Spectral Tongue and had no real translation, but was used to respectfully address a powerful sorcerer who was somehow something else, as well. Someone who could fight, charm, and do many unspoken things as well as casting spells; that was a Ta’lad’en, and he had been one of the best.

Breyon’s greeting was the highlight of his days here, and he was always glad to hear it. The other guards were callous, Sergona being the worst. He was the watchmaster, and of the sort that became arrogant because of the power it gave him over others. Always throwing insults at the prisoners, he loved to taunt them by raking the ring of keys he kept on his belt against the cell bars. He would bait them, asking why they didn’t just reach out and take them from him. Every key needed to open any door or drawer in the prison was on that ring; they could escape simply by taking it and killing him. One had actually taken it some weeks ago, and Sergona had five guards in the corridor before the poor man could get the door to his cell open. The resulting beating was not pleasant. Though the others couldn't see him, the screams as they had echoed down the corridor said all that needed to be said; had they kept it up but a little longer, they would have surely killed him. Since then, none had tried.

He didn’t respond for a moment, then, “I wouldn’t even dream of dreaming such things, Breyon.” He would have laughed, but all of his previous humor had left him in the weeks spent in a cell. “I have no spells, and no desire to meet a handful of swords in my back thirty hands down the corridor in front of the likes of Sergona’s smile as I bleed to death before him…though I could always fix that perpetual grin on his face beforehand.”

Despite how grim he had become since his arrest and branding, a short smile crossed his face at that. Why hadn’t he thought of this before? It was grand in how simple it was. A shame none before him had thought of it, but, truth be told, many of them had probably never known of its existence. Ter’sion; one of the spells of The Feeding Kind. Rare to hear of it, but rarer still to find those that knew those outside their ranks who could master it. He could use the Ter’sion! He had to fight to keep a smile off of his face.

“Are you alright?” Breyon’s voice snapped him back into reality. The other part of his reasons for liking the man was in that; Breyon, albeit a guard in the castle prison, keeping watch over some of the most horrible criminals in the land, was an observant and compassionate man. He always made sure that his charges were well, and as such, would never harm a soul, guilty or otherwise.

“Yes, I’m fine. Inasmuch as one can be in here. I think I’ll go to bed.” He had to do something to hide the mood that had come over him; were he to keep talking, his newfound hope would inevitably win over, and the guards would begin to suspect his coming actions.

“Goodnight, then.” Breyon tuned and left at that. The castle prisoners likely escaped in their dreams each night, and him being a kind man, he had no wish of keeping them from that; it did no harm, after all.

I need to decide when. He was covering himself with the tattered, off-white blanket furnished to him, the color being from overuse and too few washes. His pleasant mood surged to the surface at that thought. But that is a simple matter. I will decide, and once I do, they will pay. Breyon will be fine, and a few others, but Sergona, and the rest of them…oh, how they will pay.

Part One
Severance

Convinced myself, I seek not to convince. - Edgar Allen Poe


1
A Beginning

As the sun rose over the horizon to the east, its first light gracing the mountains beyond the walls and guard towers of the castle Taleni, a new day began in the city that stretched out for miles beyond the north gates. It was early spring in Teshai. The air was crisp, cool but not cold. The mountains were still capped with snow, the weather not quite warm enough to melt the signs of winter off of those places of high altitude. Most of the landscape was starting to show new growth. Grass covered the open ground, short but green, and even a few chrysanthemums and lilies had begun to bloom. Songbirds trilled and trees were sprouting fresh leaves; life was returning to the land.
The city square was bustling with activity. Men from the outlying farms approached the town market, bringing their goods – milk and eggs collected earlier that morning, before the first hint of dawn had touched the night sky – to sell to the throng of citizens that would soon be making their way through the streets, taking care of their business and tending their daily chores. In the square already were merchants and peddlers setting up shop. In the center of this bustle stood a large fountain, the center made up of three beautiful maids, one kneeling, with a smiling face. Each of them wore maiden’s dresses, and each was holding a vessel of some sort, tilted forward with water issuing from each spout. Surrounding this site were most of the already present merchants, unpacking their wagons of all manner of merchandise. Pots, vases, and jugs, were laid out on an intricately woven rug under one tent; delicious seasoned meats hung from thick horsehair ropes on a cart next to this, as its owner chased away a stray dog that looked like it hadn’t been fed in months. In yet another cart, belonging to a rather jolly and rosy-cheeked man with a great, bushy mustache that covered most of his face, dozens of toys and knickknacks were displayed on as many individual shelves, meticulously crafted and brightly painted so as to catch the eye of passing children. Some of these merchants came from all over the world, just passing through the town on their travels, selling their wares just as they did at every town they came across. Some of them were from neighboring towns and some only walked less than a couple of miles to the square every day from their outlying homes. This was perhaps the greatest strength of the market in the town of Taleni – the castle drew people from all over the lands, and as such, you were always assured a multitude of choices at the market in the square.

It was a fine Talene spring morning, the hills surrounding the back and sides of the castle showing signs of new life, green grass and various wildflowers, blue and red and pink blossoms standing out as dots against the landscape. Some of the mountain caps in the distance still had a light cover of snow on them, but that seemed to be shrinking every day.

Azrael Toban was running through the square, dodging through the small crowd that was already forming around the merchant carts, breathing heavily and smiling wide despite it. With a turn of his head, he called “You’ll never catch me!” with a laugh as he nearly knocked a purse out of an elderly woman’s hand. Turning his attention back to the street before him, he saw a small girl standing with a smile on her face just in time to avoid running into her completely. He lost his balance in the process, however, and fell back, catching himself on his elbows as he hit the ground.

The girl was about seven years old, almost a full year younger than Azrael himself, though she had an air of being much smarter than her age suggested, and certainly smarter than he himself was. Her hair, though it only came down to her shoulders, shone in the morning light, curly and golden blonde, coming to a stop just short of her shoulders. A striking emerald dress hung from her shoulders, with gilded accents across the torso. Her blue eyes lit up at the surprised look on his face, and she covered her mouth just long enough to stifle the giggle that escaped her lips.

“And just what makes you think that?” She was wagging a finger at him, smiling. “You mustn’t go underestimating me just because I’m a girl, you know.”

“You got lucky, is all. The lady with the purse distracted me.” The woman in question was now glaring at Azrael with a look that said exactly what she thought should be done with children who were allowed to run around the city unsupervised. His cheeks flushed at that look, and seeing this, the woman spoke.

“Who is your father, child? You are not an orphan, though you run the streets like one – the red in your face tells me that much. Your father, whoever he is, will not be-”

“His father will take care of him as he sees fit, and you would do well to keep that in mind, servant.” The voice came from just over her shoulder with such a commanding tone that the woman stopped in mid sentence and did not speak another word. Azrael leaned to his side to get a glimpse of the person, and saw his father Khalton standing there, arms crossed against his chest and a rather irritated look on his face. His jaw looked hard, brown hair so dark that it was nearly black hanging down to well below his shoulders, straight as an arrow. His nose had undeniably been broken more than once, but despite the worn and rugged features of his face, it had an undeniably kind look to it.
The servant woman had turned to look at him as well, and began a profuse apology almost immediately.

“I am sorry, sir hunter; I did not know that your boy had grown so much this past year. I haven’t seen the lad in quite some time, if you’ll recall, and-”

Khalton cut her off again. “Quite alright, Edythe. You didn’t know. Let’s go, Azrael.” The look on his father’s face left no tolerance for a protest, and Azrael scrambled to his feet.
They were halfway across the square before his father’s face softened and he spoke. “I wouldn’t look so worried if were you, son. I know that young boys such as you have a tendency to go running about causing trouble; it’s only natural at your age to have a lot of energy. Edythe has always been a grump when it comes to children, though.” He leaned close, and his voice dropped to a whisper. A smirk crossed his lips, making him look much younger than his age. “Personally, I think that’s because she was never a child herself. However, she always buys meat, so I must maintain a certain level of civility when I deal with her. You’re not in trouble, son. I would like to know what that was all about, though…”

“Stupid girl. I was just looking around, and I tripped over a spot in the cobblestones, and she was watching. She started giggling, talking about boys are so clumsy,” he wrinkled his nose up. “I got embarrassed, and I turned away, but she started following me, and…stupid girl.”

His father smiled at that. “That, my boy, was Erianne Chotieré. I know her mother.” A pause followed that sentence, and Khalton’s expression changed. “Listen,” he said, with a look more knowing than amused, like his previous expression, “A word of advice: I would learn how to deal with her if I were you, son. Women, regardless of their age, seem to be almost impossible to sway once they have made up their mind to do something, and Erianne is already showing as strong a will as I have ever seen. Besides, she is the daughter of Sashaime Chotieré, one of the wealthiest women in this land or any of the lands, for that matter. You could do much worse for a friend than that.” His tone remained the same, but his face took on an almost dreamy look as he continued talking. “Also, Sashaime is one of the most beautiful women I have ever known, and kind as well; If Erianne grows up to be half the woman her mother is, the day may very well come when you would give anything for some favorable attention from her.”

Thinking about that for a minute, Azrael decided that he could not see that day coming along soon, or even ever, as far as he was concerned. Like all boys his age, he not only didn’t like girls, but he had also developed an impression that there was something wrong with them, though he couldn’t figure out exactly what that something was. He thought that if he never had to get close enough to one of them to investigate that further, it would be just fine with him.

Back at the merchant cart, Azrael’s father thanked the stable hand he had asked to watch his goods, and slipped a few coins into the man’s palm for his trouble. The man bowed to Khalton, then to Azrael, then turned and walked across the square.

The rest of the day passed rather uneventfully, with Azrael running around, playing with other boys that happened through the square with their fathers. He had a game of tug-of-war with the same stray dog that his father had chased away not a few hours earlier. He even ran around the fountain a while, looking at the different coins tossed into its waters and the light they reflected in all directions, though the events of that morning kept him from straying too far from his father’s sight. As the afternoon sun was approaching the horizon, he climbed up into the back of his father’s cart and took a nap that lasted until the cart had been packed up, and his father was ready to head home for the night.

* * *

The home that Khalton Toban had built just outside of the city was plain, to say the very least. Not a single feature of its’ construction would give the slightest hint that it had been lived in for years, much less currently inhabited by a boy and his father. They lived alone, the two of them. Azrael’s mother, Aedwynne, had left them shortly after his birth without an explanation or even so much as a goodbye. Khalton had gone out one morning to the city with his cart as he always had done. When he returned that evening, most of the furniture and belongings in the house were gone, and Yerbon, their closest neighbor, was watching over Azrael. The only explanation offered by the old man was that Azrael’s mother had brought the boy to his home not long after daylight, claiming something important had come up. She asked him to take care of Azrael, and to please bring him back to their home just before dusk. The man, a neighbor that Khalton was acquainted with, but didn’t really know, was kind of upset because the woman had offered to pay him. A good man, Khalton gave the sitter two coppers before taking his sleeping son from the man’s arms.

The way she had left weighed on his father more than he let on, Azrael knew; that much was evident in the fact that his father had never shown an interest in giving the care to their home that he gave everything else. He knew that his father no longer had reason to concern himself with making sure the place looked good. It wasn’t so bad, though; even though a look around the house did not offer much for the eyes to see, they had always had the roof over their heads to keep out the rain, if not much else. A single large room with a stove, table, and two chairs were the only furnishings. Two doors leading to two bedrooms were the only other features that stood out. Yes, he thought, it was a simple place, but for the two of them it seemed to do quite well.
Azrael stood against the wall opposite the stove, breathing on the window and drawing pictures in the resulting fog when his father came in carrying an armload of wood for the stove. Azrael immediately stopped what he was doing to help his father with the rest of the nightly duties.

Later that evening, after the fire had been started and supper cooked, as they sat opposite each other at the table with their meal in front of them, Khalton suddenly spoke.

“You know, I was thinking that since you seemed to enjoy being in the city today, there really is no need for me to pay someone to come out and watch you any more than I have to. I thought that from now on, you might just come with me on the days I take the cart in to sell.”

Azrael’s eyes lit up almost instantly. The people that his father paid to take care of him during the days were always changing, and though most of them got along with him quite well, there were a few that he absolutely hated. Tomorrow for instance, brought a gentleman at least a decade older than his father, who seemed to have a complete disdain for children, and boys in particular. Azrael had never discovered why Adri seemed to hate him, but then, he had never thought too much about it and simply figured him to be plain mean. This man’s idea of taking care of him meant that he would be forced to do little other than sit in his chair, not doing anything at all that ‘could possibly cause him to hurt himself’. The man could possibly just be the overly cautious type, but Azrael believed that is was caution against having to do any actual work for the sum his father paid the man more than anything else.

His father saw the eager look in his eyes. “Of course, Erianne wasgiving you quite a bit of trouble this morning, and I don’t want to make you do anything that would be too much for you to handle…maybe it’s best that you just stay home.”

Azrael knew he was being teased, but he saw an opportunity to avoid some of the longest, most boring days he had known in his short life, and wasn’t about to let it go.

“Father, Erianne doesn’t bother me that much. She’s just a girl, anyway, and I can handle myself against a girl. I want to go with you tomorrow, father, so can I? Please? I promise I won’t get into any trouble like I did this morning! Please, dad?” He started to say more, but his father knew that Azrael was aware of his little game, and cut him off before he could speak. “Well, I think that you underestimate her, but it might be a good thing for her to put you in your place a few more times. You just might learn a valuable lesson from being outsmarted, even if it is by ‘just a girl’. Very well, I shall call on Adri early tomorrow and let him know that he need not make the trip.” With that, Khalton stopped speaking. Azrael knew that there would be no more conversation tonight. His father did not talk much, and had always taught him that if you didn’t have something important to say, it was best to keep your mouth shut. Kept you out of trouble, he said.

After they were through with their supper, Khalton cleared the plates from the table and went outside to scrape them off. Azrael knew that he should be getting to bed, as his father certainly would be. He waited for Khalton to come back inside, told him goodnight even though he knew there would be no response, and went to his bedroom, closing the door behind him.

It was an effort to calm himself enough to drift off into sleep. His mind was full of excitement at the prospect of being back in the city square the next day, the idea of exploring a little more of the surrounding area filling his mind with wonder. Eventually though, he fell into a happy, comfortable state of sleep; not surprisingly, he had dreams of being back in the square, with Erianne, though this time,he was the one doing the chasing. Azrael slept with a smile on his face that night, perhaps for the last time in his life.

2
A Baron for Azrael

He awoke with a surprisingly uncharacteristic amount of enthusiasm when his father leaned into his bedroom and called out his name the next morning. In a rush, he got himself dressed and hurried out to the main room of the house. Grabbing a couple of pieces of bread and as many sausages as his pockets would hold, he rushed out the front door to join his father by the cart. That was when he noticed the difference in the sky. The sun hadn’t risen, of course – it never did until his father was already in the city square and open for business. However, Azrael was smart enough to see that it wouldn’t be up for several hours yet. Khalton, seeing the puzzled look on his son’s face, knew the question that was sure to follow.

“I didn’t get the chance to go to Adri’s and tell him not to bother, so we will have to make the trip before we go into the city. Now, don’t get that sour look on your face, I’m not going to let him talk me into leaving you behind.” Azrael’s face resumed its previously bright expression upon hearing that. Khalton pulled the hood of his cloak up, grabbed the reins hanging from his horse’s bridle, and lead the animal off, with Azrael happily walking beside.

The journey to the old man’s house was a rather uneventful one. Adri did not live in the city either. Whether it was attributed to a liking of peace and quiet or just plain intolerance for other people, Azrael did not know. Truthfully, in all the days that the man had spent watching him, he had never spoken much, and Azrael’s attempts at making conversation were usually dismissed quickly when they were responded to at all. He’s just an old grump, Azrael said to himself. Never happy himself, so he thinks that he has to make me miserable.

In what seemed to be no time at all, they were approaching Adri’s quiet little house. Like their own home, there was nothing to suggest a human presence or even a presence at all. It seemed that the only thing radically different from their home was that this place was in an even worse state of repair. With several small holes scattered across the roof and the glass in all but one of the windows cracked or missing entirely, it truly looked desolate. Azrael found himself thankful for his own home, if only because he didn’t have to worry about his bed getting soaked by rainwater.

His father walked up the stairs of the remorseful-looking little place, and pulling his hood back, raised an arm to knock on the door.

“Well, well, well! Wasn’t expecting to see you here this morning.” Khalton almost jumped, snapping his head to the left, toward the sound of the voice. Adri was approaching from around the corner of the house with a wide smile on his face. He was a weathered-looking man, with a long, thin nose, and eyes that always seemed to have a rather wild, mischievous look in them. Salt and pepper stubble grew from cheek to cheek; Azrael had never seen the man look clean-shaven a day in his life. Despite a bad limp, he walked quickly; the old man had spryness to him uncharacteristic of his age. Azrael had discovered this to be true the first and only time he had tried to outmaneuver him. That particular match ended with Adri standing over Azrael with one foot on the boy’s back, pinning him to the spot for hours until Khalton returned to Adri’s proud, smiling face. It was not something Azrael would ever forget, because it was the only time he had seen Adri look happy.

The rough old man clapped Khalton on the back as he shook his hand. “I was just about to head over. What’s the matter, I’m not arriving as early as you’d like anymore?”

“Not the case at all, my friend. I was just coming by to tell you that you need not worry about watching Azrael today.” As he explained the situation further, Adri took on a very displeased look, and while it did not seem to affect his father at all, Azrael knew he’d not seen that expression on the old man’s face in his recollection.

“I see.” Adri spoke slowly, his voice in a smooth, unemotional tone. “Khalton, could I ask you to come inside for a moment?” Khalton told him it would have to be brief, but then turned and opened the door. Azrael turned and ran toward the house only to run into Adri’s arm at the base of the steps.

“You will stay out here, boy. You’ll be fine by yourself for a moment, and some things are not meant for the ears of children.”

Azrael shot a hateful glare at the man, but didn’t say anything. Fine,he thought. I’ll stay here. It’s just as well that your front window has no glass in it. A mischievous smile crossed his face as he turned away and walked crouching toward the closest window. By the time he was close enough to hear, the conversation had already started.

“…What’s gotten into your head, but I don’t like it.” Adri’s voice was full of not anger, but concern.

“You worry too much, Adri,” Khalton snapped back. “I just don’t see what the purpose is of you being so cautious all the time. It will be fine. We can’t continue like this much longer…I will not live on my knees.”

“I would hardly call it being on your knees, but that aside, you are still alive. If this is how you feel, it’s a wonder that you are.” Adri sounded as though he was on the verge of a breakdown, his voice cracking as he finished that sentence. “Be glad that there is more good than evil in the world now, for if there wasn’t, you might not be for long.”

“So, you’re a reader now, too, are you? I can only imagine what other secrets you’ve been keeping, old friend.” That barb hit the mark, and it was a long, quiet moment before Adri responded.

“Your implications are not appreciated. If this is what you plan to do, I know that my opinion won’t stop you; you don’t have to insult me alongside it.”

“Of course it’s what I plan to do, and none of your feigned offense at my words will help you convince me otherwise.”

“Then I hope against hope that you know what you’re doing.”

“I do. My mind is set, Adri. Now, I must really be going. As much as I enjoy these arguments, I have work to do.”

Adri did not speak another word, nor did he follow Khalton as he walked toward the door. Azrael knew the conversation to be over, and darted back toward the small gray mare hitched to the cart. He turned to face the house as the front door opened, and his father walked out to join him.

He knew there was no use in trying to ask his father what they had spoken of, and also realized that Khalton probably knew he was at the window the entire time. As he took hold of the mare’s reins, he did not so much as acknowledge his son’s presence. Well, this will be a long, boring walk to town, Azrael thought. He knew that as was usual, his father would not speak to him this morning.

* * *

A few hours after they arrived in the city, the day was seemingly moving along well for Khalton. He had sold over a dozen cuts of meat, to as many people, and not one had haggled with him for price. On the contrary, one of those customers had not only paid asking price, but the man had paid with a gold pound, and was insistent that Khalton keep the change. Azrael’s father was astonished – he hadn’t so much as seen a coin of anything better than copper in at least two months time, and even then it was not in his possession. Gold was hard to come by anymore, as were larger coin denominations like pounds, and gold pounds were all the more rare because of that. Khalton thanked the man several times while wrapping the thick cut of venison, though he was told that the gratitude was unnecessary. Maybe in your eyes, Khalton thought. You’ve just fed Azrael and me for a month with that. It was looking to be a good day for the hunter.

Azrael, on the other hand, was having a rather strange day, despite his father’s good mood. He had taken to exploring the square once more, and though most of the merchants and their wares remained the same, there were a few missing from the day before, as well as a few that hadn’t been there before at all. It was to be expected – a lot of merchants traveled from town to town, across entire nations, and none of those ever stayed in one city for more than a few days. One of them, though, Azrael did remember. The jolly-looking man with the great mustache was standing in front of his cart of toys again this morning, looking just as pleasant as he had the previous day. In the others, Azrael noticed no difference, though his mind was somewhere else this morning. The merchants and their business were not what was causing his confusion.

Erianne had not pestered him at all today, at least not in any way he had known her to do so before. He had seen her several times this morning, every time walking with two other girls that he recognized, though he did not know them by name. Every time he had seen her, she had not been rude or chased him as she had the day before. Instead, the others with her had stared at him as the group of them passed, giggling and whispering into each other’s ears. Erianne had sometimes whispered back to one or both of them. Whether she took place in their hushed talk or not, Azrael was sure that each time she had been blushing deeply, though he didn’t know why. Once, one of them had whispered something to her that caused her face to turn a deeper crimson than he ever thought it was possible for a person’s face to be. He had no idea what it could have been, of course, but he wasn’t sure he would want to know even if he could. Still, he could not help but think about it, and it seemed like every time he managed to focus his attention on another subject, they would pass by him again. This continued throughout the morning, and by early afternoon Azrael had taken to sitting at his father’s cart, hoping that they wouldn’t bother him too much more before the day’s end.

The girls, however, were far from concerned about appearing overly obvious, at least to Azrael. They continued with their private entertainment, and the third time they had passed in the first hour, Khalton finally inquired about the situation.

“What’s the matter with those three? Don’t they have anything better to do?” He said with a smile.

“I don’t know, father. I thought I knew how it would be today-”

“But that is not how it was,” Khalton interjected. “Women never are, it seems. Honestly, if the day comes when you can understand why they act the way they do, I wish you would tell me.”

“That confuses me just thinking about it, father.” Azrael groaned, rubbing his forehead.

Khalton, seeing an opportunity to bait his son, decided he’d play with him a bit.

“Well, from my knowledge of them, and I don’t know much, I’d dare say that…never mind.” He had that mischievous look on his face again. He was toying with his son. As always, Azrael picked up on it.

“No, come on, dad. Tell me what you were going to say. It’s making me nuts trying to figure it out.”

“She likes you, son. I thought that it would have been obvious. One day it will be…trust me.”

Azrael made a face of disgust. He didn’t really want any girl liking him, but he thought that if he had to choose one, Erianne would definitely not be her.

“Oh, I wish that you wouldn’t do that, boy.” Said Khalton, laughing. “It’ll scare off the customers. Besides, the day will also come when you will think differently of girls than you do now. You don’t see it now, but it will happen.” Khalton hesitated, and then added “And it will cause enough frustration as to make you wonder why you ever liked them to begin with.”

That made no sense whatsoever to Azrael, and just as he was starting to begin his usual protest to the opposite, a man approached the cart and spoke.

“Sir hunter, is this your son?”

The man might have been in his late twenties, but his face looked like a teenager’s, and several dimples appeared in his cheeks as he smiled. His hair was a dark brown, cut at shoulder length and neatly arranged to frame his face. His clothes, though not as elegant or expensive-looking as a lord’s or a baron’s, were of significantly better quality then a common peasant’s. Lengths of velvet striped along his arms, and the front of his tunic had a white wolf embroidered across the chest, sharply contrasting the dark gray of the rest of his clothes. Probably a jester, or a minstrel, Azrael thought. A fool either way, but those are the only people around here that would look like that and not be ashamed to be in public.

“Arimon, back again? I swear, I will not allow you to pay this time.” With a quick glance down at his son, he addressed the man’s question. “Yes, this is Azrael. You wouldn’t have gotten the chance to meet him if he wasn’t running from a girl.” Khalton’s smile was as broad as it had ever been.

“Ah, a charmer, and so young, too…” Arimon noticed the look Azrael shot him at that. “Don’t be so offended, young one; it’s a good thing, believe it or not. It will get you out of trouble, and more importantly," He flashed a grin, "It will get you into it, as well.”

A long pause followed, and the look on Azrael's face indicated that he wasn't pleased with what he was hearing, but the man seemed determined to continue with his jesting. “Why, sir hunter, I believe I’ve offended your son! I was only playing, boy,” he said as he reached into his coat. “I'll tell you what, son...how about a peace offering?”

Arimon had a friendly look in his eyes as he pulled out a figurine of what appeared to be a knight, its features intricately carved so as to show every last detail. The right half of the man was colored in blue and white, and almost seemed to be exuding light from its face. The other half, however, was a different story. The white and blue garment covering the chainmail beneath twisted into pure black, the only change from that being what appeared to be spots and stains of blood scattered over the chest and arms. The left half of the figure’s face was pale, and a hollow eye socket sat above half a mouth twisted down in a snarl of hate. The area separating the glorious-looking side from its dark counterpart was not a clear line, but rather, blurred so that no feature could be clearly made out.

Azrael was slightly bewildered. “What is it?” He was trying to sound indifferent, but his voice carried a hint of curiosity and maybe a little excitement.

“It’s a baron of light and dark.” Khalton interjected. “It’s supposed to represent good and evil, and the eternal balance between the two in the world. Things like that are never as clear-cut as the figure portrays, but it’s a very popular decoration on mantles and fireplaces of lords and nobles in the larger cities west of here. I would have always liked to have had one myself, but they tend to be rather expensive.” Khalton was looking at it as if he thought he’d never see it again, and wanted to burn the details of it into his memory.

“You are right, sir hunter, in every word of what you said.” Arimon extended the hand that held the figurine out to Azrael. “I would like you to have it, child.”

Khalton’s protest was almost immediate. “We could never accept such a thing, especially after your all too generous overpayment on the meat you bought this morning.”

“Nonsense,” Arimon replied. “It has always been my belief that all people should help one another when they can, and that’s what I did this morning. As for this figure…the merchant that I bought it from had two, and insisted that he would not sell them individually.” He reached back into his coat, removing another figurine that was almost identical to the first. “I would only like to have the one for myself, and I think your son would like the other. Wouldn’t you, Azrael?”

Ignoring his father’s glare telling him it would be proper to say no, Azrael looked up at the man. “Y-yes, sir, I would like it very much,” he stammered.

“Then it is yours.”

Azrael knew that his father would give him a stout lecture at the very least when they went home for the day, and he might even get a switching once they arrived, but he liked the gift immensely. He thought that having to deal with a little pain when he sat down for a few days would be a fair price for the object. Looking back at his father, and the smile that crossed his face as he gazed at the baron, he was starting to doubt the switching already. He knew what his father was thinking, and he couldn’t really blame him. Azrael had a hard time taking his eyes off of it, too.

* * *

Arimon sat there conversing with them a short while, and in that time, Azrael learned some things that answered some of his questions about the man. He was not of noble birth - Azrael had guessed as much from the start. However, he carried himself as such, and nearly dressed the part, and that was what confused the boy. He found out that Arimon's father had been an accomplished instructor in the arts of the sword, staff, and other various weapons; so great was his skill that he instructed the personal guard of one of the most prominent noble houses in Teshai, the House Ba'ine. Therefore, Arimon grew up within the house's gates, and learned alongside the noble’s children throughout his life. It was no surprise that their bearing and lifestyle had rubbed off on him somewhat. He laughed as he spoke of playing in the courtyards of that house with the only son of the Domeni Ba'ine, Elisan Ba'ine. He talked of the penchant the young Beo had for getting into trouble, and the steps his parents had to take to ensure that not a word of it was spoken beyond the walls of the house.

The time passed all too quickly for Azrael's liking, and before he knew it, the merchants in the square began packing their horses and carts. Arimon was in the process of bidding them goodbye when two palace sentries that had been patrolling the square approached. They seized Arimon by the arms, binding his hands quickly and efficiently, as they had been trained to do.
"What is the meaning of this?” Khalton barked upon realizing what was happening. Arimon simply stood there, a stunned expression on his face. It seemed that he knew no more of this than the hunter or his son did.

"This man was seen stealing from a cart earlier today," replied one of the sentries. As he spoke, he reached into Arimon's pocket, removing a few trinkets and an unwrapped piece of meat, as well as the twin to Azrael’s newly acquired baron. "And it would seem he relieved you of a little weight as well, sir hunter."

Khalton looked over his cart quickly, turning back to the two sentries and the bound Arimon. "That's impossible." he said, his voice fully confident. "I have all that I should here. He bought that parcel from me not an hour past."

The sentry on the left, a rugged looking man with a flat, wide nose responded with a cocky smile. "You must be mistaken.” He sifted through a gold necklace and a few rings. “The proof is here, after all."

"What he keeps in his pocket proves nothing at all. You have no way of knowing how long he's had those things. Release him, so we can straighten this misunderstanding out." Khalton was becoming intolerant of the sentry's attitude. They did not seem to care about any argument that could be given in Arimon's defense.

The other stepped forward forcefully, coming withing inches of Khalton's face."Not our concern, hunter. If you have a problem, you can take it up with the Domennati Taleni." And with that, they pulled Arimon away across the square and toward the castle, seemingly unaware of the hooded men who fell in behind them, following at a distance. Azrael, still confused and shocked, couldn’t look away. Unaware of the luck of what had just happened, he stood staring at Arimon, this man who had been so kind to him. Arimon, however, seemed unconcerned with his present situation. His expression never changed. He never said a word.