Beyond the Amaranthine Veil

By J. A. Bullen

Tristan served nearly two decades as a Templarslayers of monsters, mages, and men. A man, whom sacrificed everything, for the sake of his loved ones and the innocent. Abruptly walking away meant leaving that life far behind him, along with many responsibilities and enemies.

Now far removed from the life of a Templar, Tristan defends his home, by order of his king. His latest assignment is a politically contested marriage to one high-ranking noblewoman from a rivaling kingdom. The mission, Kirin Talmarian, is every man's dream, but can Tristan keep her safe?

Demons from his past career soon find root in his present, dragging Tristan and Kirin into a political conflict, which breaks the borders of kingdoms and realms. Tristan must fight for their lives against the overwhelming threat of monsters, rogue sorcerers, and above all else, the corruption of men.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Sep 12, 2017
• ISBN: 9781543444933

J. A. Bullen

J. A. Bullen was born 1988, in Mason, MI and has remained a local with his wife and daughter. He first began writing at the ago of 8, and found his passion reignited after the birth of his daughter, Ashlynne. He mostly delves into Fantasy Epics, Thrillers, Horror and Science Fiction.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Tristan! Behind you! Zara, the young red-haired, green-eyed rogue, yelled to her mentor. Tristan, the tall broad-shouldered, long- and black-haired man, whirled around as three highwaymen ran up to him. As Tristan locked blades with the first, he kicked the second in the chest.

Tipping to the side, he brought down his opponent’s entangled blade toward the third, whom he head-butted in the face, before striking the first with his pommel. As all three opponents fell to the ground, Tristan looked up to the toppled horseless wagon, which the rest of his team fought beyond.

Bors! Having some difficulty, old man? Zara yelled, throwing a dagger into the back of one of the four red- and brown-wearing adversaries. Bors, an ax-wielding, bearded older white-haired man, shoved off against the foe he had locked arms with as the stabbed man fell beside them.

Silence, urchin! I will be at this long after your nap! the white-haired enforcer yelled, striking out at another foe as Zara charged in. Seeing her approach, one of the two engaging Bors swung wide at her. Zara, both daggers drawn, dropped to her knees, sliding under the man’s blow. Slashing with both weapons simultaneously, she cut deeply into the man’s left hamstring and severed his right Achilles tendon. Falling to the ground, the crippled highwayman cried out in pain as Bors brought down the head of his ax across the collarbone of his final foe.

See, Bors, now you can afford a nap too, you grumpy old codger, Zara teased, sheathing her knives. As Bors opened his mouth to retort, Tristan chimed in.

We are not yet finished here, he said. Kylie and Drew may still need our aid. He sheathed his short sword and drew his longsword. After he ran past, both Bors and Zara pursued him.

I do not suspect the future baroness shall take kindly to you underestimating her, Bors warned.

He has a point. I do believe she would kill you. Were your father and her mother not in peace talks? That sword maiden really hates you, Zara chimed in, drawing her bow as she followed close behind.

Unfortunately, I must admit the street urchin is right. Oft times, I feel Kylie wished you dead, more so than the brigands who rape her country, Bors added. Tristan only smiled, maintaining his pace as he passed the opened gates of town.

Charging through, he witnessed the many signs of attack, which led through town. Ruined merchant carts, broken doors and bodies belonging to bandits, townsfolk, and animals lay about. Seeing the center of the town cleared of animate life-forms set the three of them on edge. Tristan slowed as he examined the many tracks, which sprawled out from the center of town.

Looks as though they moved toward the tavern, my lord, Bors said to Tristan, hovering over the tracks.

Come now, Bors. We all know I am not the baron’s son by birth. Tristan, shaking his head, followed the trail with his eyes, looking through the muddled disaster before cautiously proceeding forward.

Speaking of the baron’s sons, where is Sir Torran? Is he not supposed to be the baron’s right hand and second in command of his forces? the man whispered, hunched low as he followed the much younger commander.

I am afraid that my dear brother is accompanying the baron in his talks with the baroness of these lands. Father must ensure Torran is ready to take his place when the time comes. Tristan crouched down behind the corpse of a horse. He searched around carefully, Zara and Bors both watching his back. Reassured they were clear, Tristan rose from his cover and, staying low, ran toward the inn that sat on the other end of the square a mere forty paces ahead.

As they approached, the sounds of swordplay and shouting could be heard. Tristan grinned as he stood tall, sword at the ready, and turned to his comrades. Back to the wall, he turned his head to the right, where Bors stood. Making eye contact, the old warrior nodded as Tristan looked to Zara, who pulled back on her bowstring, broad toothy smile on her face.

Nodding once more, Tristan turned back to his left and, with one quick fluid motion, kicked in the door before throwing his body through the doorway. Sword held out to his side, Tristan came down on his left shoulder and rolled gracefully across the room where Kylie and Drew were fending off a hoard of bandits.

My lord, Drew, a tall slender man with shoulder-length sandy-blond hair, called as he held off two attackers. Using his curved sword, he quickly slashed between his enemies as they attempted to tiptoe around. Across the room from him was the graceful yet deadly Kylie Talmarian, daughter to Baroness Talmarian, ruler of the province of Old Dale, where they were currently stationed. Her long white hair flowed in the windstorm she created with her highly skilled furious swings.

Being a sword maiden, Kylie fought with a lone two-handed longsword, which she whirled about her body, blond hair flowing around her as a savage, delicate whip. She alone stepped and struck with more skill and ferocity than the whole of the Dalmorithian army. Five armed men were kept at bay, too afraid to approach her during her bladed dance of death. Doing their utmost to remain outside of her sword’s reach, the men simply defended themselves as five of their fellow appeared from above, bows drawn.

Kylie! Above you! Zara yelled, loosing an arrow. One of the bandits dropped to the side as the other four fired. Whirling around quickly, Kylie struck three arrows from the air with her blade as Tristan spun on his heel, capturing the fourth, which he tossed into the air toward Zara. Zara fired again, dropping a second man. Catching Tristan’s arrow, she dispatched a third archer. Before she could fire again, the remaining two bowmen ducked behind cover.

Zara pursued the archers as Bors ran to aid Drew, who knocked one opponent’s blade aside, spun on his heel, and kicked the man in the head as he parried a second blade. Tristan, left with little other choice, ran to Kylie’s aid, though she hardly needed it.

Be gone, noble pretender! My boots do not require shining at the moment! she growled angrily, slashing horizontally as she spun in a circle. Tristan, seeing the attack, slid beneath her blade as the highwaymen defended.

Placing his feet under his body, Tristan turned his blade pommel up and kicked off from the ground. His pommel made contact with the man’s stomach, knocking him off his feet. Quickly spinning his body, he tipped the blade behind his head. As he snatched it in his opposite hand, he brought it down from his shoulder and swung it across his body.

At the same time, Kylie had spun back around and slashed at the third man. Both highwaymen stumbled as Tristan and Kylie both switched targets, cutting down both men at the same time. Kylie spun one final time, swinging her sword in a vertical arc. Tristan quickly swung his sword over his shoulder, the blade lying flat across him as he blocked Kylie’s swing.

I am not one of them, Lady Talmarian, he said respectfully, shoving her blade away.

My mistake, she answered, sheathing her sword. Your kind all look the same to me.

All the same we are not, he said, sheathing his sword. Zara! Are you all right?

Oh no, thy damsel beseeches thee, Lord Tristan. Prithee come to my aid. Zara laughed as she peeked over the balcony. All clear up here, she called as Bors slouched down.

Bors, are you all right? Drew asked, catching the man.

Aye. Blasted blighter got a small piece of me hip. He groaned, pulling his hand from his side and examining it. Tristan eyed the wound and then turned his head to Zara as she reached the floor.

Zara, I need …, he began, looking to his apprentice, who was already in flight.

I remember which ones! Zara yelled, sprinting out the door. Turning his attention back to Bors, Tristan and Drew peeled back the man’s clothes and looked over the wound.

Well, fortunately, the wound is not all that deep. Once Zara returns, we can patch it, Tristan reassured him.

Though it will be a difficult trek back to Talmarian Manor without a horse, Drew said. Did any of the horses survive? Tristan nodded.

Archon shall return when called, Tristan answered. If needs be, she will let you ride her.

Much obliged, my lord, but what shall you do?

I will walk if necessary. My body is much younger than yours, old boar. Both men smiled as Zara returned, a cluster of herbs in her arms.

Aye, were I little more than one score and ten again, I might not bother with such a worry. However, at nearly three score, I find myself obliged by your offer. The old veteran sighed, easing the weight from his side.

I have everything, Commander, Zara interrupted, placing them on the counter.

Bors, put pressure here, Tristan said as the wounded man placed his hands where Tristan’s had been. As Tristan turned away, Kylie returned, two young women and an older man in tow.

The innkeeper and his daughters, Kylie said, gesturing toward the three, who eyed the band of saviors. Their clothes were worn with slight tatters, bearing obvious signs of a struggle. The man looked as worn as the ripped and soiled clothing he wore. His daughters did their utmost to make themselves presentable behind his back.

Thank you for saving us, the two young women said, bowing their heads, smiles on their faces.

Thank you, all of you, the innkeeper began, ringing his gnarled hands. Should any of you need a place to stay, you need only come by.

I appreciate that, sir, Tristan began. Do you think you may be able to watch over my friend here once I have finished bandaging him?

I am old, not feeble! Bors complained. I can look after me self.

Actually, if you did not mind, we shall prepare a small feast while you search about the town. I will bring up a fresh barrel of mead from the cellar so that we might toast your deliverance from the bandits, the innkeeper said.

Bors looked about, suddenly intrigued. On second thought, I could do with a rest, Bors said, leaning back. Tristan smiled as he applied the ground herbs and gently wrapped Bors’s hip.

What would you have us do, Lord Tristan? Drew asked.

Zara, I need you to search for survivors. Drew, would you begin gathering wood for a pyre?

Sure thing, Commander. Zara hopped down from the counter and ran outside.

As you wish, my lord, Drew said as he too left.

I could do with a bath, if none are opposed, Kylie said, daring with looks alone for any to object. Ignoring the comment, Tristan turned his attention back to the innkeeper and his daughters.

I hope that will be all right with you, sir, ladies? We have little time and far too many dead to prepare graves for all.

The innkeeper raised his hand. It is our custom to burn our dead. Returns us to the gods, it does. The other townsfolk will not object. As for your bath, my lady, it shall be seen to immediately.

Thank you, said Tristan, turning away from Bors as he began wiping his bloody hands on the extra strips of cloth.

Sir knight, one of the innkeeper’s daughters began, might you be the fabled Sir Tristan, slayer of monster, mages, and men? Sir Tristan Stryfe, son of Baron Stryfe, from Altair? Already, he could see the long lashes of both ladies flicker with curiosity.

Aye, Tristan answered, bowing. Though I would prefer to be known for more than spilled blood and adoptive family. He smiled as the young women, not much younger than him, swooned.

Please, Sir Tristan. Might you tell us some of your stories? Tales of Sir Tristan and the Tarmeran cave trolls or Sir Tristan and the Den of Wolves are told on the lips of every bard in the kingdom of Dalmorith. Please, might you tell us more of your stories? Tristan held up his hands, eyeing around the room for help.

Perhaps the stories may wait until evening, after Sir Tristan has seen to the rest of the townsfolk and returned for the evening’s celebration? Bors suggested.

An excellent idea, Sir Bors. If you would all excuse me, I shall return this evening, after I have seen to the rest of the town.

Of course, Sir Tristan, but do not take too long. We wish to hear of all of your exploits.

Ah, and you shall hear a great many tales, I am certain. Drew is quite the accomplished bard. I fear he is to blame for many such outlandish tales, Tristan said as he moved to the door. I shall return, he added as he quickly turned and left.

Once outside, Tristan let out a sigh of relief before he began his search. His hands twitched as they hung at his sides. The thought of his earned reputations—mage slayer, all of it—stung in his mouth as fetid-tasting as words could be.

Setting in the center of town, he could see a pile of wood consisting of broken doors, boards, beams, and wagon parts Drew had gathered. Tristan continued out into the war-torn town center, charting a path toward a cluster of buildings. Tristan called out for any survivors while carefully keeping watch for any bandits lying in wait.

Is anyone there? he called. My name is Tristan Stryfe. I am a knight of the kingdom of Altair. I have come on behalf of Baroness Talmarian. If anyone is there, please let me know you are all right. Tristan waited for several silent minutes, listening for anyone to respond. He repeated his message again as he walked farther down the road. No answer came once more, leading Tristan to approach the nearest house curiously, a series of sudden sharp and angry noises coming from within.

Hello? he called, stepping inside. The interior had been decimated by what resembled the work of a pack of angry beasts. Various pieces of the floor and walls had been torn apart and strewn among the various other home decorations that had been destroyed. Tristan moved through the house cautiously, drawing his short sword.

My name is Tristan Stryfe, son of Baron Stryfe. Is anyone there? he called until he saw a pool of sanguine seeping beneath a nearby door. Tristan moved ever more carefully, sneaking silently across the room. Carefully, he pulled against the door, revealing the body of a middle-aged man, eyes wide open, his throat cut by an exceptionally sharp blade.

Looking farther into the room, he noticed red footprints that paced back and forth across the floor, stopping in various places where furniture and floorboards had been torn apart. Tristan stepped over the body and followed the final path of tracks that led out into the next room.

Turning around the corner, Tristan followed the trail up the stairwell. As the bloody footprints came to an end, he heard the sound of something heavy being knocked over. Placing his back to the wall, Tristan crouched down, listening intently.

Where is the blasted relic? a woman yelled angrily just before Tristan heard another crash. Tell me, child. Where did your father hide the wheel? Tristan slowly crept down the hall, sword at the ready as the young girl answered her aggressor, her meek voice trembling.

My father would not tell you, and neither shall I! the girl yelled at the other woman.

I see. Well, there is more than one method of extracting information from someone, the woman replied.

Tristan, fearing for the child’s safety, spun around the corner and charged into the room. As he entered the room, he saw a tall red-haired woman wearing an emerald gown and gloves standing over the cowering dark-haired child. As the woman turned her cold brown eyes upon him, she smiled with a deceptive beauty, a snake filled with venomous intent.

I would prefer that you did not interrupt, she said, lifting her left hand, which glowed with a dark violet mist.

Instantly recognizing the use of magic, Tristan jumped. The sorceress cast her spell, which shot across the room, narrowly missing Tristan as he rolled behind a turned-over bookshelf.

Without a second’s hesitation, Tristan grabbed a nearby chair and threw it at the woman, who had begun to ready another spell. Tristan squatted and, using his entire body, flipped the bookshelf into the air. The chair shattered as her spell discharged.

The woman turned her body, pointing with her right hand, as Tristan spun and threw his short sword. The moment the sword left his hand, he drew his longer two-handed rune-engraved sword. The bookshelf burst, allowing Tristan’s perfectly timed throw to pass through the debris.

Gah! the sorceress gasped, stumbling backward and turning to face opposite of the young girl, who stood off to the left of the room. Tristan could see the woman from the side, both hands wrapped around his blade. Seeing no blood on the point of the weapon, Tristan charged, sword lifted over his head.

Clever. The sorceress smiled, turning her body to reveal the blade she had caught. Throwing the weapon back at its master, Tristan spun, knocking one blade away with the other, and swung down. His attacker shrieked with anger as she used her magic to deflect his blade but was still cut on her right side, tearing her dress. As he spun once more, he whirled the blade from the ground; and carrying it through an upward spiral, he swung horizontally from shoulder level.

The woman’s body broke apart into black mist as she quickly moved backward just outside of reach from Tristan’s sword. Rematerializing briefly, she awaited Tristan’s next attack. Back slashing, the blade narrowly missed its mark, as the woman turned to mist once again, jumping to the right and held out her right hand. Quickly changing the direction of his attack, Tristan switched his grip and swung in a downward facing arc. The woman’s spell shot off as Tristan’s swing raked upward, slashing though the attack and connecting once more with its intended target.

The wind was forced from Tristan’s lungs as he felt a strong impact in his stomach, sending him flying across the room as the sorceress screamed in pain again. Tristan groaned as his back struck the far wall. Slowly sinking down the wall and to the floor, he looked up at his opponent. Stumbling backward, the woman stared down at a wound that shined with blood glistening like ruby through the center of her chest.

Seems I underestimated you, Tristan Stryfe. Had I known that you possessed the Spell Drinker, I might have considered a different approach to our game. Until next time, she said, looking over her wounds and stepping back toward the second-story windows.

Tristan rose to his feet, a large hole burned through his clothes, revealing the well-toned muscles beneath. I am far from finished, Tristan said, lifting his sword to his shoulder.

No doubt. A fine specimen you are, she said, throwing out both hands, causing the bay windows to shatter and crumble. I do not see what I have come for, and my time is short. I am certain we will meet again.

She stepped forward. Tristan charged, quickly closing the gap between them. He swung his sword, which struck nothing as the woman crumbled into dust and was blown away by the wind. Tristan ran to the edge of the room, the tips of his boots, hanging over the ledge of the destroyed wall. He searched around for any sign of the woman to no avail as he saw Zara and Drew running up to the house from below. Kylie, freshly bathed and free of the sweat and grime covering the others, followed not far behind.

Tristan! Are you all right? Zara yelled as Drew stopped, staring at the damage to both the home and the scarce debris around them. Zara stopped as well as the bard looked up and smiled.

I am fine. There is a child up here in need of help, he said, looking back at the frightened girl.

Perhaps another gallant tale of Sir Tristan? Drew asked, smile only growing broader.

What happened here? Zara asked in shock. Kylie, catching them, stared on, puzzled.

There was a sorceress. I fought with her, but she escaped.

Magic! Kylie growled with disgust. Blasphemers and their sacrilegious arts are an offense to the gods. You say one of them was here, of all places! Tristan nodded slightly, his hands twitching in minor irritation.

My lord, said Drew. What form of sorceress creates such damage but leaves behind so little evidence? There is nary any debris down here. Tristan sheathed his sword and gripped his chin in his left hand.

I do not rightly know, he answered, placing his hand on his stomach as he stared at the destroyed wall.

CHAPTER 2

Wall to wall, the tavern was packed full of people most of the evening. Nearly everyone gathered and drank heavily as they exchanged stories of the ones they had lost. Tristan looked around the room, having sat with his band at a round table in the back.

Drink up, Tristan! Bors, already red in the face, said, slapping Tristan on the shoulder. Another job ably well done! We should revel! he continued excitedly, tipping back his mug.

I suppose you are right, Bors. There was nothing more we could have done. I just find myself wondering who the mage was. Tristan continued staring off into space as Kylie slammed down her glass.

Enough talk of mages! Tonight we drink to our health and honor those lost! Tomorrow we ride to Dale to report to my mother and draw a hot bath to cleanse away the filth. I swear that I can still feel it upon me.

Ah, Kylie, I had nearly forgotten you to be the daughter of nobility. What with being covered in dirt and the various smells of the road, I would have wagered you to be among the common folk, such as the rest of us, Drew teased as Kylie’s face grew red.

Were you not intoxicated, Sir Drew, I might have taken offense to such comments. The man merely grinned, already a flock of women surrounded the charming, dashing bard.

Ah, but my tales reach their peak once my tongue is wet. Speaking of which, might you all join me in the spinning of yet another yarn? he asked as he reached beside his chair, grabbing his lute. As he struck his first chord, Tristan rose from the table, seeing the young girl from earlier walking inside.

Please excuse me, said Tristan as he approached the girl, leaving his comrades to their drinks and tales of grandeur.

Drew raised his glass as Tristan walked away. To our brave young commander. Without him, none of us would be united here today. May he live forever so he might save the world one lost child at a time. Bors and Zara raised their glasses, clinking them against Drew’s.

To the commander! Bors and Zara both called, tipping their cups back. Though Kylie offered no toast, she too tipped back her glass and drank to Tristan’s health.

Setting his tankard down, Drew returned to his lute, broad smile on his face. Now allow me to tell you the latest tale of Sir Tristan Stryfe, slayer of monsters, men, and mages, he said as he strummed across the face of the lute.

Across the room, Tristan approached the child who, upon seeing him, ran straight to him. Stopping in front of Tristan, she looked to her feet. Tristan watched as tiny tear droplets peppered the ground. Kneeling, he gently placed his hands on her shoulders and stared into her amber eyes.

Do you need to speak with me? he asked. The girl did not speak. However, she nodded, cautiously looking around at the many people inside, most of which stared at her. Tristan looked around the tavern. Every corner his eyes could touch was occupied. As he looked for a suitable place to talk, the innkeeper’s daughters approached.

Good evening, Sir Tristan. Are you ready to regale us with stories of your adventures? As one of the sisters asked, the other eyed the young girl at Tristan’s hip.

I apologize, ladies, but it seems as though I must continue our discussion later. I have something I must tend to. I must find someone to care for this child. As he said it, the two daughters and the child all looked remorseful.

That will prove to be a most difficult task in this town, one of the daughters stated.

Why is that? Tristan asked, shocked by the statement. She is only a child. Has she no next of kin? The girl stared at her feet as the woman explained.

I suspect not, she whispered. The trouble is, you see, the people in this land are highly superstitious and fearful of all things magic-related. The common belief is that the use of magic offends the Amaranthine. It is not that there are none who would care for an orphaned child. The trouble is that her father, who studied magical artifacts, was murdered by a sorceress. You will be hard-pressed to find anyone in the kingdom of Dalmorith who is brave enough to take in anyone so heavily involved in the forces of magic.

But she is just a child. Surely, exceptions can be made.

I am afraid that is the way these people are. Ever if we took her in, we would go out of business within a fortnight and be cast out ourselves. In shock, Tristan continued to eye the women.

Well then, if you would please excuse me, I cannot let this child go uncared for.

Of course, Sir Tristan. May the Amaranthine bless you for your kindness. Tristan smirked as he guided the young girl outside.

Do you know somewhere we can talk? he asked. The child looked around and, after a brief pause, turned her head back to him and nodded.

I have only ever been in town to find you. Father did not let me leave home. He said the people here would not understand and would be afraid of me, she told Tristan as she began to sob.

It is all right, he said, hugging her tightly. I have an idea. How about I take you somewhere quieter where we can talk. Perhaps the monument over there, he suggested, pointing at the statue at the center of the town. We can sit over there, and you can tell everything that you need to say. Afterward, we will find out who is going to look after you.

All right, she agreed, wiping her eyes and taking Tristan’s hand as he led them toward the monument.

As they approached, he took a chance to appreciate the fountain. Despite the destruction to the rest of the town, the beautiful maiden within remained unscathed. Long flowing braided hair ran down her smooth, tender body as she held out a hand to those who approached. He did not know the legend attached to the woman, but the plaque at his feet simply read Dame Fryda, keeper of the pass. Sitting down on the ledge beside the plaque, he turned his attention to the child.

First of all, my name is Tristan Stryfe. I am a knight from Altair. Might I ask your name?

Elizabeth Taro, she answered, her voice still a whisper.

Well then, might I call you Elizabeth? You may call me Tristan. The young girl nodded. Excellent, now then, Elizabeth, what was it you wanted to speak with me about?

You do not seem afraid of me, and you are the only person I know, she answered, watching Tristan curiously.

Should I be afraid? Tristan mused.

I do not know. Everyone else is because I have magic.

That hardly constitutes a need to fear you. Especially since you are only a child. All it means is that you are just coming into your gift and need extra help.

Does it bother you that I am magical? she asked.

No … I have traveled across most of the continent and several other places I needn’t mention. I have seen both good and evil in this world. It exists within all of us, magical or otherwise. A man in power can foster much more damage with a single word than a mage with a spell. No, it is the evil of all man, which I remain wary.

You are different from the people my father spoke of, she stated.

I will take that as a compliment, thank you, Tristan said, watching as Elizabeth fumbled with a folded page she had been holding. She handed it to him, and he unfolded the page.

What is this? he asked.

Instructions from my father to make sure his work did not fall in the wrong hands. Tristan read the note in his hand.

Your father has a hidden cellar in his home. Do you know where?

I do not, but my father spent a lot of time in his study.

Then I will search there. Do you want to come back with me? Elizabeth shook her head.

I … I do not know if I can go back, she said. Tristan sighed as he thought to himself.

Well then, how about you come as far as you are able? If you come to a point where you can go no farther, you can wait for me there, he said, standing up.

All right, she replied, following Tristan to the outskirts of town.

They walked in near silence, Elizabeth’s pace slowing as her house came into sight. The rhythm of her step slowed the closer they grew, though Tristan did not press her. She stopped at the tree in front of the ruined home, while Tristan walked to the front door, pushed it open, and walked inside.

The house was left in the same state as Tristan had found it that afternoon. While he had removed and burned the body, nothing else had been touched. Without the afternoon light, he found difficulty navigating through the house. Slowly making his way to the room where he found Mr. Taro’s body, he saw the lantern was still dimly lit.

Fetching the lantern from the desk, Tristan held it high, the dull light striking the many objects in the room, stretching their images into strange leering phantasms. Following the faint trail offered by the lantern, Tristan slowly guided himself around the blood, which had begun to dry. He stopped for a moment, observing the room in silence, when a noise caught his attention.

Drip, drip … Drip, drip …, he could hear from somewhere in the room. Curious, Tristan approached the bloody pool and sat the lantern on the floor beside it. Drip, drip … Drip, drip …

Following the surface of the blood, he found the fluid flowed through a crease in the floor. Drawing his blade, he wedged its tip into the crevice and gently pulled. As the floor lifted, Tristan carefully raised the trapdoor, revealing the concealed staircase beneath.

Interesting, mused Tristan, grabbing his lamp and making his way down the steps. The stairs winded downward, leading him into an otherwise dark cellar, the lantern his only light. His boots touched down on the damp earthen floor, and he examined the room, seeing only a chair and a workbench beyond. Tristan approached the bench and, seeing the lantern post, hung his light and sat at the desk.

Several notes were sprawled out across the desk. Tristan sifted through the lot of them, thumbing through the several loose pages. A courier bag, writing supplies, and several instruments lay strewn across the desk as well, but what stood out to him was the large leather-bound tome. Tristan quickly raised his head at the sound of a noise from above. Shooting upright, he quickly stuffed the bag with notes and the tome as he heard a voice from above.

Tristan? He immediately recognized Elizabeth’s voice.

Stay there! Do not come into the study! he yelled through the floor as he ran back to the staircase. Being sure to close the door to the study behind him, Tristan saw Elizabeth waiting for him in the front room. Tristan smiled as he saw her.

I am glad to see you decided to come up, he said, walking to her.

I have nowhere else to go. If I cannot come here, where else might I go? Tristan sighed, his conscience gaining the better of him.

Torran is going to kill me, he muttered into his own hand, which his face rested on.

Tristan?

How would you feel about returning to Altair with us? he asked.

What?

"In Altair, the kingdom I am from, those who possess magic can live without fear of being cast out over local superstitions. We have an accord with the Cabal, an association for those with the Amaranthine Blessing. While finding magical kinship might prove difficult, you will not be left alone.

"There are two people living at my home already who possess a talent such as yours and another who has yet to realize his. Their names are Rosalind, Gabriel, and Gael. If you wanted, you could even leave with the boys once they head to the Cabal for schooling.

In fact, there are many other children, whom my friends and I have rescued, living together. If you so desire, you may accompany us. I would be happy to introduce you to them. Elizabeth sat in a nearby chair and looked about her home.

I do not want to leave, she replied.

It is your decision, though I do not know how you will get by alone. My troops and I ride for Old Dale tomorrow to visit Talmarian Manor. If you wish to join us, we ride at first light. If not, I shall be certain to mention your plight to Baroness Talmarian. I will make arrangements to see that you are cared for. At least allow me to clean your father’s study for you, Tristan said, turning around.

No, it is fine. I cannot afford to live as a child anymore. I have magic within me. If I am to survive the cruelty my kind often face, I cannot ask you to baby me, she said adamantly.

As you wish. If ever you change your mind, you only need to send me a letter. If you cannot reach me on your own, I will come back for you.

Thank you. I will not forget your kindness, she said as Tristan handed off the lantern and gently patted her shoulder before leaving.

Exiting the house, he took a few steps away and turned to stare at the ruined second floor. As he witnessed the terrifying use of magic he had seen earlier, he gently patted his stomach and counted his blessings, before walking back toward town.

The sounds of merriment grew louder the closer he drew to the tavern. Walking inside, he looked around, smiled, and shook his head at what he saw. Drew sat across the room feet up, leaning back as he performed his ballads to the crowd. Kylie lay face down on the table, tankard still in her hand as she slept. Zara stood at the far end of the tavern, stumbling from side to side while playing a game of darts with throwing knives.

Aye … Commander, Bors hiccupped as he stumbled toward Tristan. Tristan looked to the table Bors had risen from and saw three grown men passed out.

Friends of yours? he asked. Bors looked back at the men and then, turning back to Tristan, smiled as a giddy child.

They tried to drink old Bors under the table, they did, but I showed ’em, he said with a thickening accent, tipping back his empty tankard, stumbling back and forth, waiting for the mead to flow out.

Excellent work, Bors. Do not stay up too late. We have to ride out early, Tristan said, patting the man on the back as he approached Kylie. Slowly, he tiptoed up to the sleeping sword maiden, gently tapping her hand.

Lady Talmarian, might you wish to retreat to your room tonight? he asked.

Go away, noble chaser. I am trying to talk with Sir Torran, Kylie muttered under her breath, to which Tristan shook his head.

Oh, but, Lady Talmarian, the manor has become filled with dirty common folk. Without opening her eyes, she barely perked her head up and simulated the act of looking about, the look of disgust on her face.

Make yourself useful then. Address their concerns. I am finished with my meetings for the day.

Afraid I cannot. You see, Kirin has asked me to meet with her in town. We are going to spend the day together.

You leave my sister alone! Kylie growled, banging her fist on the table and waking herself. Kylie’s eyes studied the room carefully, narrowing as Tristan entered her vision.

What did you do? she grumbled, an audible growl to her voice.

I suggested you may wish to sleep in a room, opposed to a table surrounded by drunks. Kylie looked around a moment before rising. All around, the tavern was still filled with patrons, most of which sang off-key, swaying mugs back and forth. Several others lay face down on their tables as she had.

"I have my eyes on you, noble chaser. You best mind your