Updated 8/14/24

Chapter 1

Rebekah

As the last rays of the setting sun slipped into her rented room through the crack between the shutters, Rebekah poked a fingernail under the edge of her false beard and peeled a bit away from her cheek. She winced as the skin pulled, blowing out a quick breath. Inhaling the pungent aroma, she held it, before immersing her face into the bowl of warm vinegar again. Her skin tingled as the mild acid broke down the hardened glue. She came up for air, took another breath, and went under again. Her raw, irritated skin burned as the beard and mustache came away, bit by bit.

She placed the hairy lacework on the table and rinsed her face with water and began to spread the salve. The fragrant elm bark that she used to heal her skin, had to be reapplied often, but she didn’t mind, as it immediately eased the burning.

On the sabbath of each week, from sunset to sunset, at one of the inns along her route, the beard came off. This day of rest was the only break, a brief therapy, from the always aggravating glue.

Looking in the hand mirror, she picked up her brush and finally saw a woman before her, the wife of Jonathan Otual and the mother of David and Sarah. With each stroke through her hair, she smiled wistfully, imagining the little cottage, surrounded by her family, laughing about something little Sarah had said about a castle in the sky.

Jonathan took turns throwing each child up into the air as they laughed breathlessly. They hugged and kissed.

David stood tall with his practice sword, determined to be a Knight of J’shua like his father.

Sarah was three years younger, and as soon as she could speak, she declared that she was a princess, a princess with a sword.

Sarah, where are you? Jon, I need you. Why can’t I find you?

It had been two years since Sarah had been taken and Jonathan was forced to go into hiding. At least David was safe in Esthlanis, the neighboring country to the east, completing his apprenticeship on a horse farm.

Every time she passed a herald’s station, she checked her husband’s poster. If it had been taken down, either because he was no longer wanted or because he had been captured—but so far, it was still present with all the other so-called criminals. Whenever the painful separation overwhelmed her, she forced herself to think of all that was good and possible for her missing husband and daughter.

When she traveled, the danger of discovery and the focus on every detail of her portrayal kept her from dwelling on it. And each night, exhaustion saved her. But on the sabbath, the long hours of inactivity brought the haunting memories that tormented her—the destruction of their home, the blackened bodies of her parents in the thunderous fire, and the sickening stench of their burnt flesh—and witnessing Sarah stolen away before her eyes. She feared going back to sleep and yearned for Jonathan’s strong arms around her.

A shout from below pierced the bittersweet memories that always started as a daydream. The sing-song voice of the innkeeper’s wife drifted up through the floor as she ordered her daughters about, preparing for the next wave of diners. The familiar sound of logs dropping beside the tavern fireplace and laughter from guests reminded Rebekah of what her soul starved for.

She longed for the fellowship of her circle back home. Each sister and brother, their warm friendship and the meals they’d shared, were a soothing balm. Any circle would embrace her and comfort her, but her alter ego, Tommas Bekh, was not a follower of J’shua. He must appear as worldly as anyone else in order to ferret out what the enemy was doing in the land—so attending any circle would put Bekh’s reputation in jeopardy.

Still, in private, she read the Writings and prayed, keeping her mind engaged, so she wouldn’t wallow in despair. She never expected an easy life, but the tormenting thoughts flooded in without warning. Then she prayed in the spirit until the peace tempered her anguish. She meditated on the Writings that guided her. Her confidence was bolstered by passages that gave her direction.

[And whatsoever you do in word or deed, do all in the name of J’shua Ha Mashiach, giving thanks to God, the Father, by him.]

***

The next evening, with the sabbath ended and the new beard in place, Rebekah or as her alter ego would have it, Tommas Bekh, tromped downstairs to look for entertainment as any merchant would.

Here in the town of Lorness—a most dangerous place, but that provided vital information—she used the Golden Canary, a popular place at the far end of town, where the dining room and tavern had an entrance at the rear, as well as from the street. Tonight, the regular bard, Bingdad, was singing a lively tune. The stone fireplace and chimney in the center of the room warmed everyone with dancing yellow and orange flames and the proprietor’s unique blend of ale laced the air with its fruity aroma.

As she entered, one man nodded. “Gooday, Tommas.”

 “Gooday to you, as well, Barnus.” Her eyes crinkled at the corners as she passed him.

Another man lifted his mug. “Tommas, hallo!”

She raised a friendly hand, continuing toward the back, still finding it unnerving that so many knew that name now—but it couldn’t be helped.

Rebekah took a seat at her usual table—happy to find it unoccupied—and waited for Teress, her closest friend and ally. Together, Rebekah, Teress, and Teress’s husband, Vincent, had started Licht Gegen, an underground movement working against the dark machinations of the Order of the Black Robe. They had called it Licht Gegen, because it meant “light against,” and only light can prevail over darkness.

When Teress entered the tavern, she flung off her cloak and threw it over her arm, revealing a bright blue linen shift, with a navy silk over tunic. She forced a few of her unruly brown curls back under her bright green headscarf.

After ordering two ales, Rebekah pulled out a chair for her. “How are you, dear?”

“Very well, cousin. The music here is always incredible. Don’t you think? Where have your travels taken you? Anything interesting happen?”

Rebekah leaned in and took up her friend’s hand. “Oh, yes. I agree.” Then quieter, she said, “I hoped to find the rumors about the Knights’ School to be untrue, but its buildings were burned to the ground. A remnant continues on the mountain.”

“How many died?”

Rebekah sucked in a breath, head drooping. “Twelve knights and two students. It was a slaughter. If the soldiers had come at night, they might all be dead. But the daikons were on the mountain supervising training with several of the knights and the rest of the students.”

Teress nodded, then let out a tinkling laugh. She leaned closer and whispered, “Two men near the door have been staring.”

Rebekah laughed as though she’d made the funniest joke. “And what did he do then?” . Then lowered her voice. “They could be black-robes. Come to my room in an hour.”

“My dear cousin, I will call on you later.” Teress stood, blew a kiss, and sashayed through the door.

Rebekah waited to see if either man followed her. She touched her dagger, her fingers tracing over the smooth elderwood hilt. Lorness Province, the domain of Earl Melazera, was the hub of black-robe activity with the largest concentration of them, but also providing the most important intelligence.

Officially, the Order of the Black Robe was a group that taught unskilled people a trade, such as scribing or accounting, in order to support the needs of merchant guilds, grand houses, and nobles. But unofficially, they were behind much of the darkness that had been spreading like mold across Freislicht. When Rebekah had discovered they were performing child sacrifice, in her search for Sarah, she vowed to expose the depths of their corruption.

Every black-robe wore an expensive black silk tunic, trousers, and hooded cloak. This shielded them somewhat from identification, allowing them to move within others’ shadows, slip on disguises without recognition, and infiltrate gatherings to cause chaos.

Just last week, a man in a black robe go into a shop and come out dressed as a merchant. When she’d followed him, he caused a commotion in a tavern. Soldiers passing by were sent to put down the uproar. She discovered later that this left a prisoner they were transporting guarded by only the captain. A group dressed as commoners converged on the cage cart and held the officer at sword point. They escaped with the prisoner.

These two guests that frequented this inn could be black-robes as well.

One of them cocked his head, acknowledging Bekh, to which she returned a smile and a nod, before proceeding to the manager’s desk, retrieving her messages for the day.

The proprietor, Mister Giles, had come on duty and nattered about behind the counter. His thin face sported a short brown goatee, which reminded Rebekah of a caterpillar. His furrowed brows rose as she approached.

“Mister Bekh, it is a pleasure to welcome you again. How long will you be staying with us this time?

“I will apprise you tomorrow morning, Mister Giles.” She held up the messages with a smile. “It depends on how many of these are potential sales. The room is available?”

“Oh, yes, sir.”

“Wonderful,” Rebekah said, as she waved the letters in the air. “I’ll know more after I read all of these.”

She glanced back toward the tavern.

Neither man had followed.

Perhaps, all she had learned over the past two years made her paranoid, and yet it was better to be safe than dead, or worse. If any of their group ended up in the earl’s dungeon, their torturer would soon learn of all of them.

She listened and took in the room as she continued up the stairs.

***

The familiar scent of beeswax candles might have soothed her, if she wasn’t worried about Teress. She took too many risks. She was not hidden like Rebekah with a disguise. She roamed all over the country as herself, Teress Donitoro, pretending to be kinswoman to many of the Licht Gegen leaders.

Rebekah sat on the worn leather couch in her room, head in her hands, praying for everyone and everything that came to mind. Passages of the Writings arose, and meditating on them always dispelled her worries.

[Be full of care for nothing; but in every thing by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known unto God.]

[For the God of Truth hath not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind.]

However, no matter what she prayed on or for how long, her words returned again and again to finding the young soldier that had ridden off with her Sarah.

***

Rebekah clenched and unclenched her fists, praying in the spirit, as she paced back and forth across the tattered braided rug.

Where is she? Was she taken? Dreck. I can’t leave the room. Did she come alone? Licht Gegen has procedures.

The knock was soft.

Rebekah's heart pounded in her chest as she opened the door, her hand trembling. The narrow hallway beyond was dimly lit by a flickering candle, casting eerie shadows that danced across the familiar face.

Teress slipped inside, the smile on her lips as disarming as ever. “Hallo, cousin.” she said softly, her voice a blend of relief and mischief.

Rebekah shut the door and turned to her, her eyes searching Teress's face for any sign of trouble. “You're late, an hour late,” she hissed, biting her lip.

Teress shrugged, her smile widening. “A few detours, but nothing I couldn't handle. Besides, the less predictable we are, the safer we'll be.”

Rebekah sighed, rubbing her golden beard. “Every minute you were late, I imagined the worst. Were you followed?”

“No,” Teress said, hands in her hips, chin lifted. “I made sure of it.”

Rebekah glanced at the window; its shutters closed tight against the night. “We can't be too careful,” she murmured, pacing the small room. “The black-robes are everywhere.”

Teress squeezed Rebekah’s shoulders, her eyes glinting in the dim light. “Relax, Rebekah. We’re safe for now.”

Rebekah sighed, nodding and her friend released her and took a turn around the room, her eyes landing on each item, the dented chairs, faded draperies, and dusty floor. Her eyes stopped on the battered lace of the beard Rebekah had removed earlier. She picked it up from the table and was about to throw it in the waste bucket.

“No!”

Teress froze, her eyes seeking an explanation.

“I cannot leave that behind. It will set anyone who finds it to wondering. I always take it with me and burn it in the first campfire I make.”

“And do you always leave it just lying about?”

“No—just waiting for it to dry out before packing it.”

Teress’s mouth formed an O as she set it down.

“Stop judging my housekeeping. I am neater than this, but I’m trying to act like a typical man. We both know most are not fastidious.”

Teress’s easy laughter, set Rebekah at ease and Teress shared her news. “The council sent word through Major Gonnels.”

“Did Commander Taelor receive the information?”

“Yes.” Teress opened one of the window shutters. “He said it proved accurate and most helpful in placing men into the renegade garrisons. He confirmed that they are being given orders by black-robes as we suspected and relayed the intelligence to the king, but he promised not to reveal the existence of the Licht Gegen movement to protect our secrecy.”

Rebekah sighed, nodding at the reassurance.

Her gut told her Earl Melazera was behind the growing evil. In his province and surrounding towns, circles were being raided and it was his undersecretary who had destroyed her home. However, all the intelligence that she and others had gathered so far had not brought tangible proof. None of it made sense yet. Melazera was the king’s Royal Steward.

Is the king aware? Is he involved?

Rebekah smiled at Teress, who sauntered to the table and sat in one of the plain spindle-back chairs.

She always appears so confident and unhurried.

Filling the silence, Rebekah said, “Daikon Crispus of the Knights’ School asked us to transmit messages to the circles. He wonders if any orphans might wish to become knights. I hadn’t thought of that before.”

Teress smoothed her skirt. “That’s a good idea. We will need their discipline and wisdom for our strategy to stand the test of time.”

“Crispus said they will pray for us and help us when they can.”

“Do you trust him?”

“Yes, completely and without doubt. I’ve known him almost as long as I’ve known my husband. I vouch for his character with my whole heart.” Rebekah paused. “I think we should include them in my regular schedule.”

“Yes, I agree. I’ll pass it on.”

“I’ll be taking David to the school soon. It will be a great comfort to spend time with him.”

“You deserve some comfort,” Teress said as she took her hand, giving it a loving squeeze.

“Thank you,” Rebekah said, blinking away tears. “You are a dear friend, Teress. You keep me strong. I don’t think I could keep doing this without…your support.”

They exchanged knowing smiles, a tremble emerged in Rebekah’s, as she blinked back tears of sorrow and continued as she must, “Since our last meeting, I stopped in Wooster. Many black-robes have duties in the castle and town. This is concerning, since Duke Fredruck is a follower of J’shua. I was going to approach him, but this revelation made me hesitate. These mysterious functionaries are connected to many odd coincidences and to the rash of debt collections that claimed my daughter.”

Teress leaned forward and patted Rebekah’s knee. “You were wise to hold off. I will have someone that lives there, get close to him. He may need our help extricating himself, if the earl has compromised him somehow. Perhaps he will join us. I will let you know what we find.”

Rebekah sighed and closed her eyes, breathing in the scent of beeswax and Teress’s gardenia perfume. “Now, some glad news. When I passed through Lexandria, with my two young assistants, I purchased a warehouse on the south-side and began collecting trade goods, as well as items Licht Gegen might need in the coming years. I named the enterprise Bekh’s Bold Bargains. What do you think?”

Teress laughed. “I love the alliteration. This is splendid. I am always uplifted after hearing your updates.”

“I have to tell you of the boys I encountered living rough in the woods. My lads were gathering kindling and firewood when about thirty boys of all ages stepped into our camp.

“Oh my! I would have been terrified.”

“Perhaps, but hold that thought, I’m not done. I mean, yes, their clothing was in various degrees of neglect, but each boy seemed well otherwise. It was their leader, James, a tall beardless lad, who addressed me. He was quite confident and they all seemed ready for action.

“Still trying to understand why you weren’t terrified.”

“Well, I was startled at first, not hearing their approach, but his affable grin reassured me.”

Rebekah’s lips quirked, thinking of James of the Wood leaning against the tree. “Their parents were arrested from circles in Lorness and Fairness Crossing. They seek information about them and I’d like to provide something next time I encounter them. Do you think any of the boys’ parents can be located? Did they get the list names I sent through my southern contact?”

“Yes, but I’m not sure, if I’m to be honest. The council fears it is a trick. Can you prove these boys are genuine?”

“Proof—?” Rebekah rubbed her beard. She had no proof. Only her gut feeling. “Jonathan helped these boys.”

“He did? Are you sure?”

Of course, I saw his handiwork, he taught the boys to make arrows the same way he does. And they described to me what he taught them.”

“That is good. So, you know he is alive.”

“Yes, yes, of course.” She forced a smile. “I was pleased to touch the arrows and see how he helped those boys. But I miss him so much.”

“The council might accept that.” Teress steepled her fingers under her chin.

“But I don’t want that shared because if their affiliation with Jon leaked, it could endanger them.” Rebekah bowed her head for a moment. “What if they provided statements that only their parents would recognize—specific events and such? Then their parents could be sure.”

“That would work. Send several such statements for each.”

Another hour passed in conversation before Teress bid her goodnight. “I will deliver this and bring you any information Licht Gegen can provide when we meet next. Remember, Rebekah, what you are doing is so important, and because of you—we will prevail—and we will find Sarah.”

They hugged for a long time.

“Thank you, sister,” Rebekah whispered.

Teress walked out the door, and down the long hallway past the flickering candle on the wall. Her shadow bobbed as she descended the stairs. Then all was quiet.

Looking out the window, Rebekah kept watch until Teress stepped into a waiting carriage. Licht Gegen hadn’t sent her out alone. Good. She wondered which of the unfamiliar men in the bar could’ve been her Licht Gegen shadow.

Chapter 2

Blackhawk

Steven Blackhawk gnashed his teeth as a shiver trickled down his spine, wrestling with things he couldn’t change or avoid. He tied his curly jet-black hair into a tail as he gazed up at the blue granite parapets reaching many stories above the castle. He now trained the king’s soldiers in the same hand-to-hand fighting techniques that had impressed Commander Taelor the first day Steven had arrived at High Keep two years ago.

The commander had not seen the fight in the dining hall, but the story swept across the army section like wildfire. And soon Steven had been called to Taelor’s office to explain how he’d put down Lieutenant Fortuch, a well-known bully and his followers. He had feared a reprimand.

That might have displeased the earl. He didn’t know how many black-robes were planted at this castle or in the town who could be passing information along to the earl.

He was told to excel, excel at everything, and to never let any know that he knew the earl. He didn’t dare fail at anything, ever.

The earl sent him to North Fort on the frontier for his first four years in the army and after attaining the rank of lieutenant, he’d been sent to the capital just as his patron, Earl Gaelib Melazera, had always intended.

Blackhawk was the youngest lieutenant ever and as he walked through the army section on the south side of the fortress, he rubbed his meager beard. It was black and curly, but not very thick yet. Not much of a shield, but he’d grown it to hide his youth. and he thought it might have helped. Indeed, no one teased him about his youth anymore.

Once his body had filled out, and he looked more like a grown man, the commander added him to the rotation of teams patrolling the main roads from High Keep. Blackhawks’s team orders were to continue to patrol the road from High Keep to Fairness Crossing. The soldiers were meant to keep law and order all along the route. His instructions were to maintain a relaxed pace and avoid alarming travelers as they passed. They were expected to meet with the local officer in charge, in each town or village, for reports, before returning the same way.

Each foray kept them away two or three weeks at the most, then the last week of the moon, he’d train soldiers back in High Keep. The only soldier that avoided his training sessions was Lieutenant Fortuch, who had not forgotten about their clash in the dining hall. He’d been unconscious for fourteen hours and his nose had healed even more off-center. Although Fortuch maintained military decorum in public, his private revenges were ongoing: clothes missing from the washer woman, things shuffled around in his shanty, and other minor inconveniences. Despite this harassment, Blackhawk remained unaffected and affable.

Ahead, the commotion around the announcement board caused him to swallow hard. Before he rounded the corner, he prayed that his team’s assignment hadn’t changed. The other soldiers dwindled away, as he pushed his way to the front. He huffed out a breath, relieved to see that he was not assigned to the High-Lorness Road. If he ever was, Earl Gaelib Melazera would undoubtedly expect a regular visit from him. Melazera could make it happen.

 Any involvement of the earl might reveal our relationship though, spoiling whatever ultimate plan he has for me.

He touched his breastbone where the tokens lay under his tunic and thought back to when he’d traveled from North Fort to Lorness to report to his patron. When he’d left there, he met a sergeant in a tavern who offered him a short-term job with a debt collection crew. With nothing better to do until he must appear at High Keep, he’d accepted. And that’s how he met Little Soldier.

I was only fifteen then.

She’d been a curious little thing. Her comical expressions and witty quips caught his interest and made him think. He’d found her hiding in the woods under a pile of leaves after she and her mother had run away at that last debt collection. Blackhawk had scooped her up, and brought her to the camp. But when she comforted that small black-haired boy in the cage—that’s when he realized there was something about her that made her special. He’d listened as she told the boy about J’shua Ha Mashiach and his Father, the God of Truth.

Blackhawk pulled the necklace out from beneath his tunic and rubbed the two seashell buttons she’d given him between his fingers, remembering her. Somehow Little Soldier, the strange blonde girl that he’d rescued from a future toiling in a brothel, had awakened an ache in his heart, a distant memory that conjured strange dreams. He had felt compelled to save her. He still could not fathom why he’d taken such a risk. But he thanked the girl’s God every day for keeping him away from Lorness.

When Blackhawk entered his quarters after the day’s training, he saw two dust free squares on the wooden floor. He stopped in his tracks, his heart skipping a beat.

His bed had been moved.

Fortuch! Dreck!

Did he find it?

He rushed to the head of the bed, pushing it aside and knelt. His fingers traced the floorboards. It seemed smooth and undisturbed. Peering at the door, he listened for the sound of boots crunching on the stones he’d spread around his door.

No one approached. All the sounds outside were typical.

As he pushed down on one end of a board, the other lifted up.

He pried it out.

It was still there. The pattern of stones he’d placed on top of the book lay undisturbed. He blew out a breath as his fingers traced over the leather cover. A year ago, he’d found the thick book. What was written in it was odd, but comforting and encouraging. He had no time to read now though.

Blackhawk constrained the rising panic he felt as he scanned every inch of the room for any other evidence of Fortuch’s latest intrusion. Could the brute know of his relationship to Melazera? Could he be a black-robe? He was their type... If he was, would he report on him to Caileagh? A sense of doom washed over him. He pushed down the fear though, praying again to Little Soldier’s God of Truth.

His eyes wandered to a scuff in the dust, proving his trunk had been moved. Opening it, he found a silver goblet tucked under his formal uniform. He swallowed hard. It was not enough for Fortuch to aggravate.

He wanted Blackhawk whipped, thrown out of the Royal Guard in disgrace, or hanged.

He had to act, or rather… catch the man in the act.

Stashing the goblet in the only place he considered safe, under the loose floorboard next to the Writings, he waited to see how his suspicions would be confirmed.

***

Two hours later, as he sat at the table reviewing maps for his patrol assignment, the stones crunched.

They were here; at least two men, maybe more, waiting at his door.

Three rapid thumps followed.

Blackhawk squared his shoulders and walked to the door.

A scowling captain pushed his way in, a sergeant trailing behind him. “Lieutenant, there have been reports of pilferage. Your name has come up. Therefore, I need you to stand over there, while we perform a search.” The captain pointed to the farthest corner.

Blackhawk furrowed his brow, then steeled himself against any reaction and did as he was ordered. “Yes, sir.”

The captain crossed his arms, scrutinizing Blackhawk for any hint of guilt.

Despite his calm exterior, sweat ran down Blackhawk’s prickling neck.

I am a stone.

Over the seven years in service to Earl Gaelib Melazera, until he was sent away to the army at eleven, he’d learned to hide all emotion, in order to survive.

The sergeant ransacked the room, tossing everything he owned out onto the floor.

This invasion of his space took him back to a dark place. He was a four-year-old again, frozen and powerless, staring up at the large man leaning over him. Gaelib Melazera, the Earl of Lorness.

I am a stone.

Every drawer was flung open, the trunk emptied, even his bedding overturned.

I am a stone.

The captain’s puzzled expression changed to a glare. “Lieutenant, clean this mess up,” he ordered as he walked out.

Blackhawk blinked. He released a sigh only after the sergeant finally marched away. Running a hand through his hair, he sat on his bed and wept.

***

The Merry Fox had become Blackhawk and his comrades’ favorite tavern ever since Sergeant Samuel Benutt, caught the eye of the proprietor's daughter, but that romance ended when she married the local blacksmith only a few moons later. Even so, the ale was good and the prices low, so they kept it as their regular watering hole.

The tavern was alive with chatter, laughter, and the clinking of mugs tonight. The warm glow of the fire illuminated the rustic wooden beams and the well-worn tables scattered throughout the room. Amidst this lively scene, three hooligans occupied a corner, their raucous laughter and boisterous shouts cutting through the ambient noise like a knife. The very same hooligans who interrupted their card games twice before. Tonight looked to be no different.

One of the hooligans, a burly man with a scruffy beard and a tankard in one hand, let out a hearty laugh, slapping his companions on the back. “Aye, boys, another round!” he barked, drawing the attention of most of the patrons.

Blackhawk and his friends were huddled over a game of cards. They’d worn street clothes hoping for a quiet night and tried to focus on their game, but with each repeated phrase over the yelling... their patience was wearing thin and their expressions grew increasingly sour with each loud interruption from the neighboring hooligans.

Corporal Donert Maitlan was a towering figure of a man, with a broad, muscular build, and dark brown hair tied back in a simple tail. He was normally the first with a joke and a laugh, but currently his lips were drawn tight and brows close together.

At his friend’s serious demeanor, Blackhawk looked up and traced Maitlan’s gaze.

Maitlan’s sharp blue eyes were burrowing into one of the hooligans.

Lieutenant Brean Mitchett, a grizzled veteran with a prominent scar running down his left cheek, a memento from a fierce skirmish years ago, and close-cropped, salt-and-pepper hair glanced over at the hooligans and sighed. His stern brown eyes gave him an imposing presence. “Again, are these fools ever going to go away? They’re ruining the game,” he muttered, throwing his cards down on the table in frustration. “I can't concentrate with all that racket.”

Blackhawk’s comrades nodded in agreement, their eyes flicking towards the hooligans. Their laughter had grown even louder, and one of them knocked over a chair in his enthusiasm, causing more disruption as they were now engaged in a loud and exaggerated retelling of a recent escapade.

“That's it,” Blackhawk said, his voice tinged with irritation. “Let's take our game elsewhere. We won't get any peace here.”

Reluctantly, the soldiers gathered their cards and coins, exchanging disgruntled glances as they stood up from their table.

As they began to leave, the bearded hooligan noticed their departure and called out, “Oi, what's the matter, gents? Can't handle a bit of fun?”

Blackhawk shot him a withering look but said nothing, leading his comrades toward the exit.

As they stepped out into the cool night air, Blackhawk turned back to look at the tavern, shaking his head. “Let's go to my place,” he said, “where we can enjoy our game without the likes of them.”

The others nodded in agreement, their footsteps echoing down the cobblestone street as they left The Merry Fox behind, its lively interior still reverberating with the hooligans' laughter. When they made it to Blackhawk’s quiet shanty, they played for several hours at his makeshift table.

“Why don’t we keep the game here, Blackhawk?” Benutt asked. His sandy blond hair fell messily around his ears, and his sharp green eyes, which missed little of what was going on around him, made him excellent at his job, “I’m on guard duty at the stable most nights. It’s quite a walk back here from the tavern, and this is close.”

They all agreed Blackhawk’s shanty was more convenient and blessedly quiet.

***

The next week during his patrol down the High-Fairness Road, Blackhawk met one of the obnoxious hooligans at a different tavern.

“Hallo, ‘Tenant Blackhawk, thanks for da extra ale money, did we do good for ya?”

“Yes, Arno, I appreciate you helping me out. You were a perfect nuisance, loud and obnoxious.”

“Well, sir, if you had’na saved my sister from that bandit, I may have killed the man, and then I’d ‘a been swinging from a rope. I owes ya. You ever need anythin, you just let me know.”

“Thank you, Arno. I will never forget that you helped me with this.”

***

After his return and another game in his shanty, Blackhawk stood in the shadows, his eyes scanning the stable for any signs of eavesdroppers. The dim light of the moon filtered through the gaps in the stable's wooden walls, casting shadows across the hay-strewn floor. The smell of horse and straw permeated the air, mingling with the faint scent of leather and steel from the saddles and bridles hanging on the walls.

Satisfied that they were alone, he turned his attention to the man standing nervously before him.

Edwin, a wiry fellow, shifted uncomfortably on his feet, his eyes darting around the stable before settling on Blackhawk. A year ago, Edwin had bungled a crucial delivery for the High Keep garrison, and Blackhawk covered up the failure, ensuring that Edwin’s error never reached the ears of his master. Now, it was time for Edwin to repay the favor.

“Edwin,” Blackhawk began in a low, authoritative voice, “I need you to do something for me.”

Edwin nodded, fidgeting, fingers worrying the edge of his tunic. “Anything, Lieutenant. You saved my skin back then. I owe you.”

Blackhawk took a step closer, his dark eyes locking onto Edwin’s. “There’s a silver goblet. It’s important that it finds its way into an empty shanty within the High Keep garrison. No questions asked. Can you do it?”

Edwin swallowed hard. Planting evidence in the High Keep garrison was no small feat and not without its risks. But he was a man of few means who had proven his resourcefulness when Blackhawk had needed it most and they both knew he couldn’t afford to lose Blackhawk’s favor.

He nodded again, jaw set, licking his lips. “I can do it. Just tell me when and where.”

Blackhawk’s expression remained stern. “Tomorrow night. The goblet will be left for you in the feedbox at the old mill. Make sure it’s in the shanty nearest the great oak by dawn. You know the one?”

“I know it.”

“Once it’s done, we’re square.”

Edwin took a deep breath, his resolve hardening. “And you’ll make sure we’re truly even after this? No more favors, no more debt?”

Blackhawk’s gaze softened, a rare flicker of empathy crossing his features. “You have my word, Edwin. Once this is done, you’re free of any obligation to me.”

Edwin nodded, relief mixing with determination. The man knew the risks, but he also knew the value of a promise from a man like Blackhawk. “Alright, Lieutenant. Consider it done.”

Blackhawk clapped Edwin on the shoulder, a rare gesture of camaraderie. “Good. Remember, discretion is key. No one must see you.”

With that, Blackhawk turned and walked out of the stable, leaving Edwin standing in the fading light, as the moon slipped back behind the clouds.

***

The very next night when the moon hung low in the sky, casting a silver glow over the landscape, Lieutenant Blackhawk prepared for his last clandestine mission. A buzz of excitement hummed through his chest as he donned his disguise—a highwayman's garb of dark oiled leather, complete with a cloak and hood that concealed his identity.

Blackhawk borrowed a horse from a stable in the village, paying the stableman extra coin to ensure his forgetfulness. The horse, a sturdy chestnut mare, was well-suited for the journey ahead. With a final adjustment to his cloak, Blackhawk mounted the horse and rode into the night, the village fading into the distance behind him.

His destination was a black-robe lair he discovered during one of his patrols—a hidden alehouse in a small, out-of-the-way village. He'd stumbled upon it quite by accident while chasing a boy who had stolen his lunch. The memory brought a smirk to his lips; yesteryear’s annoyance turned into a valuable discovery he would use tonight.

Blackhawk approached the alehouse, observing the surroundings. The building was nondescript, blending seamlessly with the other structures in the village. Only those in the know recognized it for what it truly was—a den of vice and shadowy dealings.

He dismounted, tying the rented horse to a post outside the alehouse, and made his way to the entrance. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of ale and pipe smoke. Patrons huddled in corners, engaged in hushed conversations, their eyes flicking up momentarily as Blackhawk entered before their wary glares—a quick glance, an assessment for danger—before they returned to their business.

He pulled his hood lower, obscuring his face, as he made his way to the back of the room.

There, in a shadowed corner, sat the man Blackhawk sought. He was a burly figure with a thick beard and cold, calculating eyes. This was Trankin, a man known for arranging all manner of unsavory tasks—for the right price, of course. Blackhawk took a seat opposite him, sliding a small pouch of coins on the table between them. The man knew him only as the high paying Raptor.

“Trankin,” Blackhawk said in a low, gravelly voice, “I need a job done. A fire, to burn down the shanties by the old oak tree in High Keep.”

Trankin's eyes gleamed with interest as he picked up the pouch, weighing its contents in his hand. “Raptor, A fire, you say? Dangerous business, that. High Keep won't take kindly to arson.”

Blackhawk leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper, pointing to the pouch. “The risk is figured in the payment. The buildings will be empty. But it must be done on the new moon at third watch. Can you arrange it?”

Trankin opened the pouch, letting the coins spill onto the table. He counted them, then smirked. “This'll do. Consider it done. My man will take care of it.”

Blackhawk nodded, relief washing over him. “Good. Make sure it looks like an accident.”

Trankin’s lips curled up revealing a black eyetooth, gathering the coins back into the pouch. “Discretion is my specialty, Raptor. You have nothing to worry about.”

With their business concluded, Blackhawk stood, giving Trankin a final nod before making his way back to the door. The alehouse patrons glanced at him for a moment, but their attention quickly returned to their own important matters, as he left.

Outside, the night air was cool and crisp, a stark contrast to the murky warmth of the alehouse. Mounting his horse, Blackhawk rode back towards the village, the excitement of the night's dealings still thrumming through his veins. The pieces were in place, and soon, he’d solve two problems at once.

***

Today, Blackhawk was ready. If all went to plan, it would prove to be a very memorable evening. He sat with his friends on spindle back chairs around the wooden board thrown over a barrel just inside his shanty.

“Another hand to you,” Blackhawk lamented as he threw down his cards, taking a long pull of ale, his frown deepening. It was an appalling string of bad fortune.

Brean Mitchett scooped the baden toward him, wagging his head at Samuel and Donert. “I told you his luck couldn’t hold.” His gleeful smile lit up the room.

“Seems everyone’s winning but you tonight, Steven,” Samuel Benutt crowed.

“Just evening the score,” Donert Maitlan chuckled, looking down at the largest pile of baden he’d ever amassed at one of their games.

“Fire!” came a yell from outside.

Blackhawk and his friends grabbed their gear and baden, dashing outside to see what was going on. Officers barked orders to the militet who relayed sloshing buckets of water. Shouldering loitering soldiers out of the way, the four tried to get closer, but the heat prevented them. Flames engulfed the nearest row of shanties east of Blackhawk’s.

The officer’s shanties housed lieutenants and captains. Majors and higher had rooms inside the keep. Each row of ten shanties shared adjacent walls. The four rows formed a square with a practice yard in the center. This is where Blackhawk trained soldiers when he was in the garrison.

Karl Fortuch ran into view, then turned on Blackhawk. “You did this! I’ll get you for this. You’ll rue the day that—”

“He’ll rue the day he did what, Lieutenant?” Commander Taelor demanded, striding into view as he cinched tight his sword belt. “I’m waiting, Lieutenant! I won’t ask again.”

Fortuch eyes were alight with fear. “He burned down my quarters!”

Blackhawk wondered what might have been burning in Fortuch’s quarters to make him so scared.

Taelor’s eyebrow rose as he turned to face Blackhawk, but he addressed Maitlan keeping his appraising eyes on Blackhawk. “Is this true…Corporal Maitlan? Did Blackhawk set the fire?”

Blackhawk remained unflinching before Taelor’s stony glare.

“I don’t see how he could, sir. He’s been playing cards with us for the last two hours, maybe longer. He hasn’t even left to take a piss.”

Taelor fixed his gaze on Benutt. “Can you shed any light on this?”

“No, sir. Blackhawk had a lousy run of cards.” Benutt lifted the tattered cards in his hand. “But that’s the only thing he’s done since we came off duty.”

“I…see…” Taelor’s jaw worked back and forth as if chewing a tough piece of meat. He turned back toward Fortuch.

A crash from within the burning officers’ quarters pulled all their eyes away from each other to a wall collapsing and a silver goblet rolling out of the burning structure into their sight.

“Does that belong to you, Lieutenant Fortuch?” asked Taelor.

“No, sir. Never seen it before.”

Taelor walked forward, kneeled, and examined the piece. “Someone stole this from me about a week ago. Which of these quarters,” he pointed to the burning rooms, “is yours?”

Fortuch smirked, pointing to the one next to where the goblet had appeared from.

“And who stays in this one?” Taelor pointed to the goblet’s former hiding place.

“It’s—” Fortuch’s face fell. “It’s empty.”

“How long has it been empty?”

“Four—”

“Days, Lieutenant? Weeks?” Taelor demanded, his tone hardening, eyes narrowing.

“Moons, Commander.”

“What? How did that come about, Lieutenant? Were these other quarters empty?”

“Yes, sir—”

“How many of them, Fortuch?”

“All of them, sir.”

“Well then, I think that you have explaining to do, Lieutenant. Starting off with why you would accuse a brother officer. Next, there is the matter of your—unique living arrangements in a camp that has little or no space to waste. And, how this goblet appeared from empty quarters next to your own.”

“Sir, I—” Fortuch glared at Blackhawk with murder in his eyes.

“Enough!” Taelor snapped. “If I prove that you’d stolen this goblet, I’ll see you get the maximum number of lashes and a dismissal. As it is, you are demoted. Report to the quartermaster for your new accommodations and to replace your lost gear. Then report to my office within the hour.”

Fortuch threw one more glare at Blackhawk before he trudged off.

Blackhawk suppressed his mirth, remaining stone-faced, standing at attention until the commander turned and marched away.

His expression transformed to perplexion when his smirking friends glanced at him, saying nothing. A hint of a smile twitched into play as he turned away.

This was better than he had hoped. The quartermaster never fulfilled such a request this late in the evening or in less than two hours, and that’s assuming the former lieutenant knew which tavern to find him in.

[No weapon that is formed against you shall prosper...]

It will be much harder for him to harass me as a sergeant from the other side of the castle and now the worst quarters at High Keep will be rebuilt.

It was worth every baden he’d spent on the multiple intermediaries for planting the goblet and setting the fire. It was even worth all his losses at the gaming table. However, he could not work out how the goblet rolled into sight as if on cue. He’d expected a lump of silver to be found when the Militet cleared the debris away. For a moment, he thought back to Little Soldier.

We need it when we need it. Perhaps, every once in a while, things just fall into place.

He waved to his friends. “Come on boys, let’s have another hand.”

Chapter 2.2

Owakar

On the waning crescent moon of late summer, in the thirty-first year of King Edal’s reign, all of Owakar’s direct wards were asleep or away from Lorness, and the rest of humanity in his jurisdiction was preparing for their time of rest. The angel, the watcher of Lorness, was officially off duty.

He’d read about the fire, knew who had reported it, and where they loitered about. Owakar headed to the capital, High Keep, to a tavern on the outskirts of town, the King’s Cup to resolve some niggling questions regarding the incident.

Owakar, when he could, also directed other angels to help those in the Density and on earth. It was tricky to work on their behalf. Any interference might harm them. For example, giving them too much information could lead them to pride, or removing an obstacle might obstruct their character development. The key to any direction was to trust God and walk in love.

Tonight’s journey started when he solidified in the shadows of a clump of trees, before stepping onto the road. Several men looked at him, as he hiked up his breeches, like he had just come from relieving himself. Having lived in the Celestial Sea, named for the chaos unleashed by the Serpent's rebellion, he and the rest of the heavenly host, who lived below the holy realm of God, had no need for such bodily functions. However, he’d learned in recent moons that this was a customary reason for returning from the trees—an experience he had recorded on more than one occasion.

His luach was a device that connected him to the Book of Life—the chronicle of the God of Truth—their God, who lived far above in the highest heaven. The Book of Life contained all of the people, places, and every event throughout time. Time that had aged since the Serpent’s rebellion. With the gardens destroyed, all that remained were ruins, but as a watcher, he was sent through the barrier, between the sea above, and the atmosphere of the earth, and below to the realm of man to write what he witnessed, adding it to the sacred book’s moments.

In response to his thoughts, the luach began to bubble up passages from the Book of Life that somehow always applied to the situation.

[He that doeth good is of God: but he that doeth evil hath not seen God.]

[But without trust it is impossible to please him: for he that comes to God must believe that he is, and that he is a rewarder of them that diligently seek him.]

He sighed. There was so much to learn about the people of the Density.

***

Having arrived at The King’s Cup, he followed some of its patrons inside. Several rough men sat at a table, talking in low tones. Owakar recognized them, guardians for the people of High Keep. The chair’s leg squeaked across the floor as he pulled it out and joined them.

The one with shaggy brown hair, Reaven, looked up. “Owakar, what brings you here?”

Owakar ran his eyes over the guardians, who appeared as peasants, with dusty cloaks and three-day whiskered faces. Then he looked to Guendal and back to Reaven, smiling. “I’ve observed Steven Blackhawk from the Celestial Sea and read of his doings in the luach. I heard about the fire and how Steven Blackhawk was accused. Is this so, and was anyone hurt?”

“Ah yes, the fire. Blackhawk was behind it, that is true, but one can hardly blame him,” Guendal said with a chuckle. “Our ward, Karl Fortuch, has been tormenting him since the boy arrived. He’s out to ruin him.”

The other guardian, Reaven, shrugged. “But the shacks were about to fall down anyway, and no one was hurt. All in all, it’s an improvement.”

Owakar snorted.

Guendal turned to look at Owakar. “But more curiously, what’s Blackhawk to you, anyway?”

“He’s someone connected to Lorness that I have been following. Granted, I had no compassion for the boy when I first encountered him, seeing him as a loyal pawn of Gaelib Melazera, but I should have remembered that great upheavals often occur due to simple changes of heart. I should have been less cynical.” Owakar sighed. “In my defense, I had a limited view of things as a messenger, with no access to a luach.”

Reaven and Guendal nodded.

“I didn’t know how about his past. How he tragically lost his family at such a tender age, only to be ensnared by that despicable earl and everything he went through there—It wrenches my heart to think of it. He is a grown man now though, and a seeking man at that.”

Guendal leaned toward Owakar. “When we realized what was truly happening between Karl and Blackhawk. We saw an opportunity to teach Karl a lesson. Reaven here,” Guendal said, “tossed the stolen silver goblet into the open so the commander and everyone else saw it.”

 “Did J’shua approve that?” Owakar scanned the luach.

“He didn’t, but when he heard of it, he laughed, then said it was well done,” Reaven said.

The two guardians bumped their cups together.

 Owakar shook his head, but then looking to Guendal with a smirk he said, “I expect after today’s mishap, he might not be coming to the tavern for a while.”

Reaven smiled. “We know. We are doubtful about Karl Fortuch, but his aunt continues to pray for him. Even though the man won’t listen to us, we keep trying. We talk to him whenever he’s here, unless something prevents us—or him from coming. Right now it seems to me, Fortuch’s best hope is to be demoted enough times to change his ways. Otherwise, he could face something much worse.”

Owakar nodded in agreement.

Guendal gestured toward himself. “How do you like our disguises?”

“You fit in well. I, on the other hand, should leave. I can’t be seen talking to the likes of you,” Owakar said with a grin. As he turned to the door, he said, “Keep an eye on Blackhawk for me, would you?”

“Our pleasure.” Reaven raised his tin cup.

Owakar listened for the latch of the tavern door to click behind him as he left the tavern and continued walking down the empty road, not a soul in sight. Only a few rare candles burned inside windows across the road. When he passed into the shadow of a tree, he disappeared.

He hadn’t mentioned it was Steven Blackhawk’s Little Soldier, Sarah Otual, the daughter of Jonathan and Rebekah Otual, who set him on this path of questions. Then again, why would he? She was a secret, an important secret.

[For every one that asks receives; and he that seeks finds; and to him that knocks it shall be opened.]

Chapter 2.3

David

The three-year-old mare, slick with muscle, reared up. Her black forelegs kicked up a storm over David’s head. Sweat dripped down his face as he held his hand high, the lead line dangling down his arm. Soothing words breezed past his lips, and she seemed to listen as he lowered his arm, and she came down with him as graceful as a butterfly.

“That’s it, nice and easy, no need for all the fuss,” he said as his thumb stroked the length of the mare’s black cheek before he set her up in the cross ties, groomed her, and tacked her up for the day ahead.

She was a beauty. The day she was born, Eikhan, the magistrate’s oldest son, told David he could name her and that he would raise her and train her over the rest of his apprenticeship. It was difficult to choose a name when the foal was wobbling on spindly legs, still dripping from its mother’s womb. But he named her Monarch. She would be his masterpiece. From then on, he cared for her. Many moons had passed since then, and David, now almost twelve, had worked for Magistrate Gorum for four years, first as an apprentice, but now as the first stableman—under Eikhan’s supervision, of course.

He fed the colts the last of the oats, then let them out to pasture. He watched them romp and race across the fenced yard. He was as restless as they.

He had longed for this day as far back as he could remember. His father was a Knight of J’shua and he would be one as well. His mother would be coming soon to take him to the Knights’ School. He loved the horses and all that Master Gorum had taught him, but this was his destiny. It was past time for him to start there.

She had written to him and Magistrate Gorum, passages of scripture that she'd read and her meditations, as well as bits about her day. In her last letter, she told him she’d collect him before the waning moon of autumn. That began tomorrow. He had longed for this day as far back as he could remember. The day he’d see his ma again. The day she would fetch him and take him to the Knights’ School to become a Knight of J’shua, just like his father.

He had wondered if Da would also come, perhaps then his parents would be reunited. It had been two years since his father had appeared after the attack on their home. Even longer ago that he’d seen his sister. Sarah was four when he’d left for Esthlanis with Da. She turned eight this year. He sighed.

Shading his eyes, he measured the height of the sun. Time to meet the brothers –Eikhan, Rhoran, and Khant. The four of them rode along the fence line looking for damaged wood, breaks, or any sign of trespassing predators. They were stopped by the grove of pear trees when they heard the bell tower ring a single vibrating peal.

“A visitor, now?” asked Rhoran.

David’s heart leaped. She’s here!

“It must be my ma,” David said as he jumped on his horse, and galloped away. The others followed.

David felt the echo of his excitement in Monarch’s prancing as he waited for the lone rider to approach. But—a tinge of worry dug at his heart too. What if it wasn’t her, but someone else? He squinted, unable to make out the finer details of the person riding up.

Why didn’t I bring my glass?

The mount was the color of hickory …

The rider was a woman …

A woman who wore a long wool tunic …

A woman who had a sword dangling from a sash tied tight across the hips, the same fashion as Esthlani women.

It is her!

Cantering ahead of the others with a sweeping wave, the short sword clapping against his hip, he yelled, “Ma, you’re here!”

She spurred her horse, her face shining with joy. When she drew close, the tears that filled her eyes stabbed at the depths of his heart. All the nights of homesickness flooded back, and he had to blink away his own emotion, lest this moment become a blur.

Once close enough, they pulled their horses to a stop beside each other. David threw his arms around her neck, and she in turn wrapped him up and pulled him close, filling him with all the comfort the world had to offer.

“I missed you,” he said into her ear, his face buried in her hair.

“And I you.” She pulled back looking him over with a warm smile that melted into pride. “Care to escort me the rest of the way?”

“Of course.” David wiped his face as a cloud of dust ahead grew shorter and the young men he had come to know as brothers pulled up before them. He kept Monarch beside his ma, excited to be in her presence, but—he bit his bottom lip.

What do I say?

Eikhan and his brothers bowed to her. “Welcome, Mistress Otual. See you later, David.” Then he motioned to his brothers. “Back to it.” And they rode off.

“You look well.” His mother smiled, her teeth showing. “Is your apprenticeship finished?”

He blinked, but then beamed as the answer came to mind. “Yes, it ended several moons ago. Since you were delayed, Master Gorum asked me to stay on, so I’m a journeyman now.” His gaze held onto her, looking to see if her smile had broadened, or her eyes had widened, or for any sign that offered so much as a hint of approval. His impatience outpaced him though and he continued on, “Look, see this horse, see this saddle? I earned them, and our circle—” He lifted the flap of the baldric that lay across his chest and patted the book inside. “Our circle gave me this. Doesn’t it look just like Da’s.”

His ma reached over and passed her hand over the embossed leather holster. “It does, and just as beautiful. Has he written you?”

“Yes, weekly, bundles arrive each moon. I think he’s in Tarinland, but his letters are cryptic. He looks for you and Sarah everywhere. Are you …?”

Ma placed her hand on his shoulder. “Lord J’shua has missions for us both that, so far, have kept us apart. Still, his small voice tells me your sister’s alive and well.” Her smile withered into disappointment. “Yet, despite help from many, I haven’t heard a whisper of where she might be. Has anything reached you regarding her whereabouts?”

“No.” David shook his head. “Very little news of Freislicht reaches here, and even less of it reaches my ears.” He twisted the reins in his hands. “They think they’re being kind, but—thank you for writing, Ma—I was so worried for you. I’m still worried for Sarah, and have often questioned if I should be,” he sighed, “if I should be grieving her.” David looked into his ma’s eyes and saw his sadness reflecting back.

His ma nodded. Her hand on his shoulder squeezed. “As have I, son, but we must not let ourselves be swayed by our fears. We must have faith. We must trust J’shua. Though as your Ma, I appreciate Master Gorum’s attempt to spare your feelings, even if it’s in vain.”

David nodded.

Silence, filled only with the rhythm of horses’ hooves on the well-trodden pathway, fell between them.

***

Dismounting and tying Monarch up at the house, David smiled as he saw his master, Magistrate Gorum, waiting on the porch.

However, before he approached, he went over to his ma and embraced her again. “Last time I hugged you, I had to reach up for your waist.”

“Yes, you’ve grown quite a bit, my son,” she said, and he took note of the sadness in her tone, and the way she held him all the tighter for it.

“Welcome, Lady Otual. Come, have tea with me,” The old gentleman said as he pointed to comfortable tufted chairs around a low table.

A servant brought out sliced fruit and cakes. Another followed with the tea and cups.

“Master Gorum.” His ma gasped. “You are treating me like royalty. And here I am, taking away your help.” She looked down at her hands.

“Please, call me Agon, Jon does.” As he went about pouring a cup of tea, “And no need to feel guilt. This was the agreement from the beginning, remember? Besides, your son’s now prepared to teach all he knows of horses to his future peers.” He leaned against the railing. “Having the knights become horsemen, as well as swordsmen, will be good for all, don’t you think?”

Ma nodded and David let her usher him up the steps, her arm around his waist felt smaller since they were last together. “Right you are, Agon. Still, I hope taking him away will not be too much of a burden for you?”

“Bah, I’ve got three new apprentices who could use the extra discipline, worry not. Though I admit, it’s been a prosperous four years with David’s help.” Gorum clasped David’s shoulder and offered the cup to Ma. “He has no small talent with animals. It is I who should be giving thanks.”

Ma accepted the tea, taking a small sip until a question creased her brow, “Pardon?”

Gorum continued, “In thanks, to you and Jonathan, and praise be to J’shua, I am giving the knights twenty-five horses. Please tell them to pick them up whenever they can.”

Astonished by the magistrate’s generosity at such a princely gift, his Ma faltered a bit as she sat. “Thank you, that is very—"

“There’s another matter.” Gorum cleared his throat, straightening his jacket. “I promised Jon, and myself, that I’d keep you safe.”

Ma chuckled and leaned forward to the small table between her and the magistrate, trading the teacup for a cake. “Well, I suppose there is no stopping you, go on.”

“And there is no forcing such ‘safety measures’ upon you, but you’re right there is no way to stop me from trying. Therefore, will you permit me to provide you with extra horses, provisions, perhaps weapons, and an escort?”

The cake devoured, his Ma sat forward once more, reclaiming her cup. She sipped her tea for a moment, her finger sliding back and forth along the rim. “I’d appreciate an escort to the Tarin River Trading Post. But beyond your borders, being accompanied by Esthlani warriors would draw attention.”

“Done.” Gorum poured more tea for himself. “And the other things?”

“Let’s discuss them.”

David remained quiet, listening to them get reacquainted, smiling at the thought of traveling with his mother during the week-long trip ahead. He had dreamed of going to the Knights’ School as long as he could remember. And he had longed for his mother ever since he left home to come here four years ago. He was embarrassed when he remembered all the silent tears he’d shed those first weeks. But grown up now, he was ready for the days of training ahead.

“Be proud of him, lady,” Gorum said. “He’s my best apprentice in thirty-five years. Had he no parents, I’d adopt him.”

“I hope you’ll never be held to that.” His Ma laughed, relaxing back in the chair. She took another sip of the fragrant tea.

David smiled as he emptied his cup—peach, pear, nutmeg, and cinnamon. Fruit and spices he doubted they’d have at the School.

Gorum spoke of the business of horse breeding, and she told of her travels.

“I met a troop of boys hiding in the woods whose parents had been arrested. They have a settlement of a sort near Caswell. Their leader is only fourteen years old. And I learned that Jonathan helped them.”

David’s eyes widened. “That’s near the same age as me! And father helped them?”

“Yes, he and his brothers met your father and he taught them how to survive. They’ve learned his lessons well, and taught them to other boys they find hiding. I’ve tried to learn tidings of their parents, in the hopes of reuniting them.”

She reached out to David, who clasped her hand, squeezing it.

“They have great heart, like you.” She gave his hand another press, “I believe good things will come from them, just as I do from you.”

His grin returned, raising his eyes to her as she acknowledged him.

Their attention returned back to Gorum who talked about this and that with his Ma well into the night.

David stared off, only hearing the rhythm of their exchanges.

Soon I will begin training, as my father did.

His mind at work, imagining hours of practicing with a sword. He promised himself he would not let anyone know that he already knew as much as he did, including the fact that he had mastered his father’s practice routines. After all, he didn’t want to be the drecksa that knew everything and showed people up.

But how do I hide what I know?

Puzzling over the best way to do that, he pictured his father helping people in need. He could hear his voice as he reasoned with the irate and comforted the downtrodden.

I will make you proud, Da.

His ma’s words began to bleed into his thoughts. They were talking about the troubles that were spreading across Freislicht. He pictured his da, hiding from soldiers and black-robes and prayed in the spirit.

Give him strength J’shua.

“Before I forget.” The magistrate’s words broke through David’s meanderings.

Gorum reached into his pouch and brought out an elegant dagger in an embossed leather sheath. “Jonathan sent this. Said David needed a knife, and it was customary for the father to provide it.”

His ma took the sheathed blade and drew it out, turning it over and testing the edge. “It’s a fine dagger.” She passed it and its sheath to David.

David stood, taking the empty sheath, and threaded it onto his belt. He then took the blade, observing it from tip to hilt. “It is a fine piece, indeed.” He slipped it back into its leather carrier, and drew his shoulders straight. “I will cherish it, and maybe, I hope, I will be able to travel with Father after I finish my training.”

“You could return here to Esthlanis after your training,” his mother suggested, “as I’m sure Master Gorum would be most appreciative of your continued help.”

David’s brows lifted, before becoming a frown. He shook his head. “No, I cannot, Ma.” He then turned to Gorum. “I mean, Master Gorum, I know the offer is there and, I’m thankful for your training and guidance, sir.” He turned back to his Ma. “But I am to be a Knight of J’shua like my father, and knights do not muck stalls and hide in the homesteads of Magistrates. They do noble deeds, like finding Sarah, which I plan to do.”

 “I am sure you will.”

 “I’ve something for you, too, Rebekah.” Gorum pulled out a bundle tied with hemp twine.

She took the bundle, leafed through the letters, and sighed. “We’ve missed seeing each other over the past two years. I have heard those who hunt him are relentless. I dare not risk his well-being on desires fed by loneliness. Although hard, it is enough to know he’s well and doing J’shua’s work. Here is a letter for him, should you see him or hear of a place to send it.”

Gorum accepted the folded paper, his face solemn.

“Thank you for taking such good care of our boy.” She touched the magistrate’s hand.

David’s eyes drooped, prompting a grin from his Ma. He could hear it in her voice as she said, “I think it is time for everyone to go to bed.”

David shook his head, and blinked away sleep. “No, no. Don’t stop on my account. I’m too excited to sleep.”

Gorum laughed. “You’ve a long journey ahead. I know how badly you want to begin it. Go to your bed. We’ll talk more in the morning.”

They exchanged goodnights, and David sighed with satisfaction as his ma disappeared into the house and up the stairs. Then he headed off the porch, untied Monarch, and took his leave for his room in the stable. Some might think that a lowly place, but the rich mahogany bookcases on either side of the large fireplace made him think otherwise. Glass doors protected the equestrian reference books from dust, as well as the journals of three generations of the Gorum family’s practices. The bed was fit for a king, with a thick feather mattress and clean linens.

Readying himself for sleep, his last thought was, I will miss this.

***

Morning came and the breakfast table exploded with all David’s favorites. Servants streamed in and out of the room like the bees of a hive, setting plates and cups, napkins and silverware. Steaming pancakes stacked high on a platter, sliced fruit and cheese fanned out on a wooden board, and a pitcher of goat’s milk set on the table in the grand dining room.

When Gorum entered he signaled everyone to sit. “David, come sit on my right hand.” Eikhan, who already sat one seat over from his usual place, nodded.

David gave a sheepish smile but bowed before sitting. “Sir, you honor me. Thank you.”

He knew this man better than his own father, and loved him too. After all, this man had raised him like a son. Tears crept up at the corners of his eyes, and he blinked them away. David dug into the feast before him, savoring all the delicacies that he’d surely miss while training with the Knights.

After they’d all had their fill, Gorum and his sons walked them out to the waiting horses

David took note of the three-man escort, decked out in oiled leather jerkins, swords, and bows, waiting at the head of the line. A gentle pat for his mare, and he mounted up with everyone else.

Turning back for a final farewell, he watched Magistrate Gorum give a bow, and the signal for the escort to proceed. The man who held so much importance in his life and the young men who he’d come to call brothers, waved from the porch as he and his mother rode down the drive toward the iron gate.

He waved back, before turning his eyes to the path ahead.

Wild heather grew on either side of it exploding with butterflies. They had been cute, fuzzy caterpillars, useless eaters a few days ago, stripping the leaves from every green plant. And now…

Now, they had new powers and a new perspective, flitting from flower to flower.

It’s time for me to start a new life too.