When the duke nodded in assent, looking irritated, Hoff dragged Rolan backward, away from the stranger, where he could whisper privately.
“Do you even know who that big man is?” he asked.
Rolan shook his head. He peered around Hoff, watching the stranger, who was watching him.
“If I say I’m his apprentice,” Rolan said, “can I really go with him? No prison?”
“He’s theArcanist, boy.”
Rolan froze.
The Arcanist.
He knew that name.Everyonein Crisanth knew that name from the time they were little children.If the Cryptics don’t get you, the Arcanist will…His job was to hunt Cryptics. Not the little ones like the monster that had been in Rolan’s cell, but the enormous ones out in the forest. He held them back from the city—but at the cost, it was said, of becoming a monster himself by using the Cryptics’ own dark powers.
He was the man of nightmares. The man who knew all your secrets, all the dark shames and hidden deeds you didn’t want anyoneelse to know. He could see into your soul and read your thoughts. He lived outside the city, outside the safety of the lamps and light, close to the forest with all its shadows.
Hefeastedon Cryptic flesh.
A man more monstrous than the monsters he hunted.
“They say he chops little kids up and uses them as bait to lure in Cryptics,” Hoff said. “Then he kills the monsters and eats them raw, taking their dark power for his own.”
Rolan stared at the captain, his stomach turning over.
“I’m only telling you so you know what’s what,” Hoff went on. “You go with him, I can’t guarantee your safety.”
“Since when have you ever cared about my safety?” retorted Rolan. “You just want me to give up my pa.”
“I do my job. But I’m no monster. I’m nothim.”
Rolan glanced at the stranger—the Arcanist—again. As if to punctuate what Hoff was saying, the man put his hand on the hilt of his terrible sword and stroked it gently. A warning? A promise? What did that gesture mean?
Hoff shook Rolan, making his teeth rattle. “Tell them you don’t want to go with the man. Tell them you’d rather take the cell. Ten years, boy. Ten years and this will all be behind you. Or better yet, you tell me where to find your father, and I cut your sentence in half. At least you’ll have a future this way.”
“He can’t beallbad,” Rolan said. “They wouldn’t let him near the duke if he were.”
“The dukepayshim, you little idiot. He pays him to stay outside the city and keep the biggest of the Cryptics away. Even a dog knows not to bite the hand that feeds him.”
“Enough!” called the Arcanist. “Forget it. I have work to do. This is a waste of my time.”
He turned and began storming off.
Rolan licked his lips.
“Wait!” he shouted.
Hoff sighed, releasing Rolan. Darting past the captain, Rolan ran to the Arcanist and grabbed his cloak, his heart fluttering as if trying to escape through his ribs.
“I’ll be your apprentice,” Rolan said breathlessly. “I mean, if you still want me.”
The Arcanist gave him a long, probing look.
“You don’t want this one, sir,” Hoff said, hurrying over. “He’s all wickedness and spite. If you want an apprentice—”
The Arcanist silenced the captain with a look, then returned his gaze to Rolan. Wordlessly, he lifted a black-gloved hand and gripped Rolan’s jaw. His thumb dug into Rolan’s cheek, into the pale scar that had been carved there for years, a half-moon just to the left of his mouth.
“He’ll do,” the Arcanist rumbled. “I claim him.”
