“How do you reckon Hoff got himself demoted?” Rolan asked.
“I don’t know,” said Luc. “Perhaps he was late to his shift one day too many. Perhaps he was caught with his blade gone dull.” He riffled through a stack of paper, then added in a darker tone, “Perhaps one of his charges was injured by a Cryptic, and he failed to administer truth salve, and this was reported to his superiors by a concerned citizen.”
Rolan stared at the Arcanist, his skin prickling.
“Luc,” he said softly, “didyou—”
But he didn’t get to finish his question because the door swept open and Duke Benhald walked in, scowling.
“Brother,” he said. “You’re late.”
They sat at a table across from each other, duke and Arcanist, with Rolan sprawled on a rug nearby, lulled by the warm fire and nearly asleep. There wasn’t much else to do since Luc and his brother had been in low conversation for some time and Rolan had quickly gotten bored. They were talking about the dullest topics known to humanity, things like taxes, and drainage systems, and crop yields. Rolan began to wonder if they’d actually come here on business, or if this was really some elaborate form of punishment Luc had cooked up just for him.
The only interesting part of it all was that it sounded an awful lot like Duke Benhald was asking for Luc’s advice on everything, and Luc was quietly giving it.
He was much more patient with Duke Benhald’s lessons than he was with Rolan’s, Rolan couldn’t help but notice.
Just when he thought he was about to fall asleep or possibly evendieof boredom, he heard something that caught his attention. Keeping his eyes lidded, he listened to the two men speak, Luc’s low, rumbling voice and the duke’s lighter one.
“It’s big,” Luc was saying. “Bigger than anything I’ve seen before.”
“And you’re sure it’s headed for Crisanth?”
“It’s already here. It’s circling the city, sniffing around. It’s only a matter of time before it ventures out of the woods.”
The duke leaned back in his chair, frowning. “You can stop it, though. With your Arcana, your traps…”
Hearing silence, Rolan chanced a quick look at the Arcanist and saw Luc’s great shoulders rise and fall in a shrug. For some reason, that made a tingle of cold run down Rolan’s spine. He shut his eyes again, fearing if they thought him awake, they’d fall silent. Adults had a habit of doing that—shutting up just when things were getting interesting, all because a curious kid wandered too close.
“It’s big,” was all the Arcanist said.
Rolan thought back to the rustling of trees in the distance weeks ago, and how it had made the lines in Luc’s face grow deeper than usual. Could it be there was a Cryptic out there, so large it made even the mighty Arcanist nervous?
“I could write to the king,” said the duke. “He could refer our problem to the Arcane Council, and they could send you a few extra hands to help deal with it. It’s no shame to call in backup, andit might be a good idea to have a few more Arcanists at your side when the time comes.”
“It hasn’t come to that, not yet. I need to study it more. Get a good look at the thing. Cryptics can be deceiving in the tracks they leave behind.”
“You don’t have to take it all on yourself, Brother.” The duke waited, but Luc said nothing. After a few tense moments, Benhald added gently, “I know what it is you seek out there in the woods. But are the answers you’re after really worth risking your life?”
“You know that they are,” Luc replied, his voice an ominous rumble.
“What happened to your wife and son was a tragedy. But throwing awayyourlife will not honor them.”
“It would if it brought them justice.”
“How do you even know you will find the secret you’re looking for?”
“Secrets have a way of returning to the ones who hatched them.”
Rolan waited breathlessly for more. The flatness of Luc’s tone scared him a little, but the mention of his lost family pricked his curiosity.
“I found this in the city,” Luc said. Rolan heard the crumple of paper and knew he was taking out the page he’d ripped off the Confessory wall. “Do you know anything about it?”
There was a brief pause, then the duke replied, “It says a Listener has been using donations to fund his gambling habits.”
“It’s asecret,” said Luc.
“So? Probably someone with an axe to grind. The Listeners are a slippery bunch, I’ll grant that much. Nothing I can do about it, ofcourse, not without evidence. Since when were you so concerned about the rumor mill of Crisanth?”
