Book of Heroes: George of Sedona I - 6. Poltergeist

Chapter 6: Poltergeist

“It’s huge!” George said. “It’s beautiful!”

The road crested the hill. George and Arthur were facing west; the sun was high in the northern sky. Before them, the road ran in switchbacks down the hill that fell steeply toward a broad plain. A city stood in the center of the plain. It was the largest city George had seen. Like the towns and villages they’d visited, the city was surrounded by stone walls. Here, their outline was like that of a ship whose prow pointed to the southwest and whose flat stern faced the northeast. The walls were at least 60 feet high, and crenellated. The gate on the southern wall was flanked by towers that were perhaps half again as high as the wall. Similar towers on the north wall marked another gate.

A river cascaded over hills southwest of the city. Before the river reached the city, it split, and flowed on both sides of the walls before coming back together at the northeast corner, making a natural moat. Docks projected into the river. High, triple-arch-supported aqueducts ran from the hills to the top of the city walls.

The gate that was visible from the hilltop was open, and traffic passed in and out: people on horseback, carts drawn by horses or mules, several parties of people on foot. One group appeared to be marching in a rectangular formation. From them occasionally could be seen a glint of reflected sunlight. Ships with colorful sails plied the river.

*****

By the time the road flattened at the foot of the hill, George could make out the insignia on the tower flags: a circle vert charged by a spear argent bend dexter with tongues of flames rising gules. “It’s the same one that’s on your escutcheon,” he said to Arthur. “But this isn’t Elvenhold.”

“No, Elvenhold is still south of the Gray Mountains and well east of here. This is Barbicana. It is governed by the Firespear Sept, and the Duke of the City is a cousin of King Oberon. It’s an important city, and the largest elven city north of the Gray Mountains. The southern road leads eventually to Elvenhold and then the sea; the western road goes through the Gray Mountains, as well, and then dips into Arcadia. The northern road goes to the rain forest. All these roads are major trade routes, and the city of Barbicana was established many lifetimes ago to protect caravans,” Arthur said.

“Barbicana,” George said. “It means fortress. Good name.”

“Yes,” Arthur said, “In Old Elvish and in Latin, both. On your world, it began as a Persian word.” Arthur did not see the emotion that flickered over George’s face before being replaced with the boy’s normal bright curiosity.

“One of those things the Arabic culture preserved during the Dark Ages?” George asked.

“Yes, very likely,” Arthur said. “I’d not thought of it that way, before.”

Just before reaching the city gate, Arthur and George caught up with a train of several horse-drawn wagons, filled with grain. The boys waited patiently while the guards conducted a cursory inspection of the wagons, and spoke to the drivers. It was apparent from their behavior that the guards knew the farmers. The guards were not friendly toward Arthur and George, however. Their demeanor was very professional, and their hands stayed on their weapons.

“Dismount and approach leading your horses,” a man ordered. The tween beside him looked hard at Arthur and George and whispered something to the man.

“That’s far enough. State your name, place of origin, citizenship, and intentions,” the man said.

“Arthur, born in Carter, in Arcadia. I am a citizen of Elvenhold. I am traveling to Arcadia, at present, and will stay in Barbicana for at least several days. I stand for my companion, a boy.”

The man frowned. “How is it that you were born in Arcadia and are a citizen of Elvenhold?”

“I left Arcadia as an infant, and entered Elvenhold as an infant.”

The tween nodded to the man, who continued. “Please report to the reeve if you stay more than a ten-day, or if you accept employment.”

Arthur agreed, and the guards waved them through.

Arthur and George led their horses into the city. The streets were wide, and despite the number of people about, the boys were able to walk side by side. Arthur explained his plan to George, “Barbicana has two market places. The City Market is in the central square, and is pretty much like any market in any town. That’s where you can buy food, clothing, household things, weapons, and toys. The other market, the Ordinary Market, is near the northeast wall, and carries…well, more exotic things: medicinal herbs; magical charms and amulets—some of which are real, but most of which are fake—; mind-altering drugs, none of which are illegal but which are dangerous.”

“What do you want to learn, here?” George asked.

“Good question. Wish I had a good answer. I want to get a feel for the city, what’s going on, what has been going on. I haven’t been here in several decades. There are also some old friends…I’d like to see them, but…” Arthur replied.

“Oh, oh Arthur, I’m sorry!” George had seen a look of sadness pass over Arthur’s face.

“Thank you, George. It’s all right,” Arthur said. “It would be dangerous to see them … dangerous to them, to you, and to me. It’s likely that no one in Barbicana would recognize me. However, if my appearance triggered a question in someone’s mind, he might search his memory for an answer—and find one. And, it might raise questions that I don’t want to have to answer. Like, ‘Why have you been absent from court for so long?’ ”

The road opened into a large square. “Stay close,” Arthur cautioned. The palace of the duke of the city dominated the square. Around the other sides of the square were buildings, large and small. The ground floors of many of the smaller buildings were shops. Doors and large windows were open to display the interiors. Other buildings appeared to be public houses, and one especially large building bore symbols of a temple. In the nice weather of the day, tables had been placed in front of the pubs. Most were occupied at this hour of mid-afternoon. The square, itself, had a fountain in the center, but no other permanent structures. A few pushcarts were parked here and there, and vendors were hawking their wares. A goodly number of people walked through the square, from shop to shop.

“The buildings house the permanent shops,” Arthur said, gesturing. “On First Market Day, on the third day after each new moon and for three days, the whole square will be filled with vendors and shoppers.” He pointed across the square. “There, an inn. We’ll see if they have room.”

*****

Sleep rock the brain
And never come mischance between us twain.
—William Shakespeare, Hamlet

“George! George! Wake up!” Arthur whispered urgently, cradling George in his arms.

“Oh … ” George moaned. “What … ?”

“You were crying out,” Arthur said softly. “Bad dream?”

“No,” George sobbed, “It hurts! Make it stop!”

Arthur touched the boy’s forehead. A sudden, sharp pain raced through his arm. Instinctively, Arthur used magic to help George’s body produce endorphins and dopamine to dull the pain. Arthur brushed aside the pain and plunged into the boy, searching for the source of the pain. Feels like a headache … migraine, perhaps, although George has never had one, before. That I know of.

Suddenly, the pain was gone. George gasped in relief and fell limply from Arthur’s arms.

What? Arthur thought in surprise. That’s no headache … I didn’t do anything … George didn’t do anything; I’d have felt it if he had.

George’s soft breathing told Arthur that the boy had fallen asleep. It will have to wait until tomorrow, Arthur thought. He hugged the boy in a protective embrace, and closed his own eyes.

The next morning, Arthur quizzed George, but learned nothing. “I remember it hurt, but you were there and made it better,” George said for the third time. “I’m sorry, Arthur, but that’s all I remember. Are you sure it wasn’t just a bad dream?”

“Not a dream, George” Arthur said. “The pain was real. I felt it, and I was wide awake. At least, I think I was. Let’s go to breakfast, but if it happens again, let me know at once, please.”

*****

The common room was full. Visitors to the market supplemented the dozen or so regulars who lived in Barbicana. This was the evening of the second day of the Market. George and Arthur had spent the past two days exploring the City Market. The variety of goods enthralled George. On the next day, they planned to visit the horse market that was set up outside the town.

It was summer; there was no fire. Still, the seat of honor was by the hearth. Tonight, it was occupied by perhaps the oldest elf George had ever seen. The man’s skin was translucent; his veins were clearly visible at his wrists. His hair was thick, but had lost all its color, leaving only white. Yet he appeared in excellent health. His eyes were clear and bright; his teeth appeared to be sound; and he had moved with ease between the other patrons to his seat.

The buzz of general conversation was interrupted by the soft voice of the old elf. The other voices stilled to hear him speak. “If you’d open your eyes and ears,” he said in the growing silence, “you’d know it be a poltergeist.”

The old elf turned to look into the cold fireplace. Most of the inn’s patrons returned to their own conversations, a few shaking their heads in disbelief. George looked at Arthur, “Poltergeist … is that the same in Elvish as uh … you know … ?”

“Um hum,” Arthur nodded. “It means the same thing—noisy spirit or mischievous spirit. You know what he’s talking about, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” George said. “All those funny things that have been happening—like Halloween, only all tricks and no treats.”

It had started innocently on the morning of the first day of Market. Soapy bubbles had appeared in the fountain. They quickly overfilled the fountain, and spread across the plaza. To the disappointment of the score or so children that gathered, the display lasted only a few minutes. Then, as suddenly as they had appeared, the bubbles disappeared, leaving the plaza dry. Arthur and George had been nearby, but neither had seen the display. The rumors were that it was magic.

That afternoon, in the heat of the day, snow fell from a clear sky onto a solitary minstrel who was playing in a corner of the City Market. Arthur and George had been in the market, but by the time they became aware of the phenomenon, it has stopped.

“But,” George asked, “are there really ghosts?”

His voice had carried well enough for the old elf to hear. “Come here, boy, and I’ll tell you of poltergeists.”

George looked to Arthur, who nodded. A few of the other boys and tweens in the room moved closer to the old elf. George and another boy sat on the floor at his feet.

The old elf spoke.

A Prince’s Promise

A thousand lifetimes ago, there lived an elven prince.

Because the prince would someday be king, he had to learn languages, history, geography, economics, politics, and many other things. Because the prince would someday be king, he had to learn how to use a sword and a lance, how to ride a horse, and how to shoot a bow. He had to learn how to deploy an army to besiege a town, and how to supply a town to withstand a siege. On many days, when the prince thought his head would burst from study, he would slip from his room and through a postern gate to a stream behind the castle. There he would play games of his own imagination. There he met one of the servants’ children.

At first, the boys were shy in each other’s presence, not because they were prince and servant, but because they were children. After a while, however, they began to play together and became friends.

One day, the servant boy found a shiny rock in the stream. The prince saw the rock, and wanted it for himself. The servant boy didn’t want to give up the rock, but when the prince promised that the servant boy could be the prince’s Companion in the Mysteries, the servant boy gave the rock to the prince.

When the servant boy became a tween, he stopped coming to the stream. The prince found other playmates among the court, and forgot all about the servant boy and his promise.

By the time the prince reached his four hundredth Name Day, his voice had changed. It was time for his initiation into the mysteries; it was time for him to become a boy. Because he was the prince, and heir, the celebration was to be a grand one. The king invited princes from all the lands, and they came to Elvenhold. Each prince was more splendid than the last.

The Prince of Arcadia, which in those days was called Altamere, was the first to arrive. He brought an elephant, whose tusks were covered with gold and whose back was covered with rich rugs on which sat a small howdah—just the right size for an elven prince and his companion.

A prince from Beringia was the next to arrive. He sailed a five-masted barque up the river from the sea. Behind the barque was a skiff made of cedar and with a silken sail—just the right size for an elven prince and his companion.

The Prince of the Desert People, from the far side of the Arista Mountains, came riding a camel. In his hand were the leads of two yearling colts—just the right size for an elven prince and a companion. This was in the days before elven horses were the best in the world, and some say that these two colts were the ancestors of all the horses in Elvenhold today.

Prince after prince arrived, from lands and countries that do not exist today, or about which we have lost all knowledge. Each prince brought a gift that was perfect for an elven prince and his companion.

When all the princes had gathered, the king announced the date of the ceremony. However, one essential thing remained. The prince had not chosen his Companion in the Mysteries. The king’s retainers included many tweens. Each one of them vied for the honor. The prince remained friendly to all of them, but could not find the one who would become companion and share the gifts and the honor.

The prince went to bed knowing that he had but three days in which to make his choice and to make it known to his father.

That night, the strange happenings began. The scullery boy, a young tween who had been sleeping in the kitchen, ran naked into the hallway crying, “The pots and pans have gone mad!” The guards who took him back to the kitchen arrived in time to see pots and pans jangling and clanking on their hooks. A teakettle was flying around the room. The guards rushed from the room, dragging the scullery with them.

They ran toward the room of the Captain of the Guard. On their way through the great hall, one of the suits of armor—this was in the days before mithral chain mail—came to life and started walking toward them, swinging a halberd. The frightened guards ran even faster.

As they ran, the doors along the hallway began opening and closing, slamming into the walls and doorjambs and creating a tremendous racket. By the time they reached the captain’s room, the captain was awake, and met them with his sword drawn.

While one guard tried to explain what had happened, another knelt down to comfort the scullery.

The doors had stopped opening and closing, and the frightened scullery had been wrapped in a blanket and sent back to the servants’ quarters in the charge of one of the guards, when the king and queen, as well as the royal mage, arrived.

The mage waved his arms. He sniffed at the doors and at the now-still suit of armor, and then announced, “Sulfur. I smell sulfur, and that’s a sign of evil.”

“Nonsense,” said the queen. “You smell the matches used to light the candles.” Indeed, a servant stood nearby, his hand holding several spent lucifers.

*****

The storyteller nodded his thanks to the potboy who had handed him a mug of ale. After a sip, he continued the story.

*****

The next day and night, and the following day, the mysterious happenings continued. Buckets of water in the kitchen were overturned. Two buckets of slops being carried to the hogs broke apart, to the disgust of the man who was carrying them. In the stable, a bale of hay exploded, startling the horses and the stable boys. Hot water ran cold and cold water ran hot, and everyone had to be especially careful in the bath. People found salt in the sugar bowls and sugar in the saltshakers. Bread did not rise, and cakes fell, and the cook despaired that he would be able to prepare the feast for the prince’s celebration.

When she became aware of these events, the queen spoke to the king. “Husband, we have a poltergeist.”

The king replied, “Good Wife, if it were a ghost, the mages would know it. I would know it.”

The queen said gently, “Dear Husband, it is not a ghost. The poltergeist is a living child! It is a child with a magical talent. It is a child who is angry. Who among the children in the palace has reason to be angry?”

The king pondered the question, but found no answer. However, believing his wife, he summoned the mages and instructed them to find an angry child who was working magic. Within an hour, the mages appeared before the king. Standing between two strong, young mages was the scullery.

“It is he, your majesty. The scullery is the poltergeist. The queen,” the senior mage bowed deeply as he spoke, “the queen is wise.”

The king addressed the scullery. He did not ask why the boy had done what he had done. He did not berate the boy. Rather, with kingly wisdom, he asked, “Boy, what has been done to you to cause your anger?”

The boy spoke quietly, “A promise broken, your majesty.”

“What promise, and who broke it?” the king asked.

“On my life, I cannot answer, your majesty,” the boy asserted.

Before the king could speak, the prince found his memory and his honor. “I can answer, father. It was I.”

Before the stunned court, the prince related the story. When the story was over he said, “It was a foolish wish to have the stone, and a foolish promise which I soon forgot.”

Turning to the scullery, the prince continued, “If you will forgive me, I would have you be my companion.”

The scullery answered, “The stone was of no value; the promise was made by a child. No one should be allowed to sell his birthright for a stone. I have nothing to offer a prince, and this court is full of boys of higher station and greater worth. My prince, I release you from the promise. Please, your Majesty, may I go back to the kitchen?”

The king gestured to the prince. “Come here, son.” When the boy approached, the king spoke to his ear. “Do you really want this boy to be your companion?”

The prince nodded. “Yes, father.”

The king asked, again for the prince’s ear, alone, “Why?”

The prince whispered to his father, “Because I promised, and no promise should be made and not kept. If I cannot keep this promise, I cannot be trusted to keep any promise; if I cannot be trusted to keep my promises, I cannot rule.”

The king nodded. “Boy, what is your name?”

“Arkin, your majesty.”

“Arkin, my son would keep his promise to you. You were wrong to say that you have nothing to give a prince. You have given him honor.”

Thereupon, Arkin became the prince’s Companion in the Mysteries. Together they rode the elephant and the ponies, sailed in the boat, and played with all the gifts from all the princes of all the lands. When the king died, and the prince became king, Arkin became his chancellor, and was called the greatest chancellor in the history of Elvenhold.

*****

The tweens and boys who had been engrossed in the telling sat, silent and still. The publican broke the silence. “Last call, gentlefolk. Tomorrow’s another day.”

Both Arthur and George were tired after two long days on their feet. Their sharing had been slow and languid, but was no less passionate. Tonight, George had no questions for Arthur, but fell asleep instantly. Sleep came to Arthur only moments later.

George’s scream echoed in Arthur’s mind, but Arthur could not wake up. He struggled against a heavy darkness that pressed him down. Arthur fought against the stifling force. He felt as if he were trying to reach the surface of a pond choked with dense weeds. He could not breathe. Light, he thought, I must reach the light!

With that thought, Arthur saw a misty, white glow. He turned toward it and kicked. His head broke the surface and he awakened. The moon shone through high, thin clouds into the open window. By its light, Arthur saw George. The boy’s face was twisted in pain. Arthur touched the boy. Something black filled the room for an instant, and then vanished.

“What was it, George?” Arthur asked the now calm boy.

“Dark,” George whispered. “It was greasy, nasty dark that rolled over me. I couldn’t breathe. It choked me. I reached for you, but you weren’t there.” The boy’s breath caught in his throat. “Oh, Arthur, you weren’t there! I couldn’t find you.”

“Shhh,” Arthur replied. “I’m here, now.”

The boys slept late the next morning, and again Arthur quizzed George about what had happened, but without learning anything new. “George, these attacks are aimed at you. I thought, at first, it was an untrained mage, perhaps a child, like the poltergeist in the story, and you were just…well, sensitive. But after last night…no. You need to learn how to protect yourself.

“Close your eyes and look into your body. Look for the boy magic I gave you,” Arthur said.

George sat, silently. Under Arthur’s patient tutelage, George had learned to see magic flowing between himself and Arthur. Now Arthur wanted George to see the reservoir of energy in George’s body. The boy concentrated. Then, just above his navel, George saw the golden glow that was Arthur’s boy magic. “It’s in my tummy.” George giggled, and then said, “but that’s where it went, so that’s where it should be.”

Arthur laughed softly. “Something went to your tummy, but the magic is located just under your breast bone…the sternum. It’s not in or attached to anything, but is pretty close to the center of mass of your body.”

The older boy continued, “When you wash my hair, you imagine magic flowing through your arms and fingers and into my hair. I want you to imagine it flowing into your right arm, only, but not coming out your fingertips. Just make it flow along the bones of your ... do you know what the bones in your arm and hand look like?”

George nodded. “Um hmm. Humerus, radius and ulna, carpal, lunate, navicular, trapezium, triquetrum, phalanges … in school I had to memorize them all … twice … ” His mind flashed back to Earth, and his voice faded to a whisper.

“All right, George?” Arthur asked, softly.

George nodded. “Yeah … I’m okay.” He saw the look on Arthur’s face, and added. “Really, I am.”

Slowly, patiently, Arthur showed George how to use the bones of his arm, hand, and fingers to create a matrix on which to anchor the magical energy. “Now,” Arthur said. “You’re going to use that energy to capture energy from the great magic.” Following Arthur’s instructions, George waved his arm, and saw it glow more brightly with captured energy. George’s magically limned arm gathered energy from the magical field, even though the field, itself, was still invisible to George.

Next, Arthur showed George how to mold this energy into a shield that covered his body.

“This spell will not protect you from a deliberate attack by a strong magic user—not yet. Right now, I hope it will protect you long enough for me to realize you’re under attack, and defend you. Eventually, you’ll learn how to put more and more power into it, giving you more and more protection. It won’t last very long, either. I’ll help you make a stronger one that will last through the night. It won’t protect you against lightning, Mage Fire, or other forms of physical attack,” Arthur concluded.

“Why are you telling me all the things it won’t do?” George asked.

“So you won’t get overconfident,” Arthur replied.

*****

The market was three days over. Arthur and George spent their days riding, wandering the city, and practicing archery on targets set up in the public square. They were returning to the inn when George stumbled and dropped his bow

“Arthur! Make it stop!” George covered his ears with his hands, but his hands did not block the noise. It was in his mind, not in his ears. He tried to weave the magical shield Arthur had shown him, but he could not concentrate because of the pain.

Arthur raised his hands to gather magic when the flash of a sword caught his eye. Where did he come from! Changing tack instantly, Arthur drew his own sword and blocked the blow that was aimed at his head. George crumpled to the ground.

Where is everyone? The thought flashed through Arthur’s mind. This square was full …

When Arthur and George had entered the square, a dozen or so people had been about. Patrons entered and left the public house; other people strolled in the warm sunshine; two children splashed in a small fountain. Now, when George was under attack, there was no one. The only people in the square were Arthur, George crouched at Arthur’s feet, and the two elves who were attacking Arthur with drawn swords. No, there’s another figure … in the shadow, there, Arthur thought. He’s the source of the attack on George. He must have concealed these two until they were close to us. I must stop him … but how?

Arthur continued to parry the two men’s swords. He was constrained by George’s presence. He could not step away from the boy for fear that one of the men would attack him. He could not strike either of his attackers, because they were able to dance out of the range of his blows. He tried to gather magic, but could not concentrate on that task and keep the swordsmen at bay. How did I get us in this predicament!

This thought was scarcely formed when one of the swordsmen crumpled. The second attacker was momentarily distracted. Arthur did not hesitate. His sword struck his second opponent. A large chunk of the man’s head flew through the air to strike the ground; the rest of his body fell to become the center of a growing pool of blood.

Behind the first man stood a figure in the uniform of the City Guard. Arthur could not stop to acknowledge him, but seized the magical field and hurled a knot of magic at the shadowed figure. Arthur heard George sigh with relief, and understood that the attack on him had ceased.

“Arthur! What’s going on?” the guardsman asked.

Arthur started when he realized who stood before him. “Hayden? Is it you? That man in the shadow … he attacked George …”

The figure in the shadows gestured, but Arthur blocked the attack.

“Protect the boy,” Arthur said to Hayden and walked toward the shadow. The figure gestured once again, and Arthur felt a tear in the fabric of the magical field. Putting his left hand in front of himself, palm outward, Arthur willed a shield to form around the figure.

A blinding stream of darkness poured from the figure. No, Arthur thought, not from him, but through him. The figure crumpled. He’s dead, Arthur realized. He killed himself rather than let me close. Who—

Hayden had helped George to stand. They walked toward Arthur.

“It was the old elf! The storyteller!” George said.

“Yes,” Arthur replied. “He was the one who was attacking you.”

“Did you kill him?” Hayden asked.

“No,” Arthur replied. “He killed himself. It was suicide by magic. He opened himself up to the full power of the field. If I had not shielded, he would have killed us, too, and probably anyone within 100 yards … ” Arthur paused in confusion, then, “Hayden! What are you doing here?”

“Uh … I live here … don’t you remember?” Hayden said.

“Sorry, that’s not what I meant. How did you know it was I?”

“I saw someone being attacked. He didn’t have a sword in his hand. Then he did. Just like a certain dagger and rock so many years ago. Who else could it have been?”

Arthur introduced George to Hayden, and then explained what had been happening to George.

“The old elf was the source of the attacks on you, and those incidents in the Market?” Hayden asked.

“But he seemed so … I don’t know … harmless, I guess, when he told the story of the poltergeist,” George protested.

“Yes,” Arthur agreed. “It was a good disguise, and it was clever of him to tell the story. It distracted us from the real danger. I’m afraid I underestimated the danger, again. I’m sorry George; I’m not being a very good protector.”

“You should not stay in this square,” Hayden said. “Go to the Golden Onion. I will meet you, there.”

“We shouldn’t!” Arthur said.

“Brandy said he would not forget you, and he hasn’t,” Hayden said. “He asks often if you’ve come back through the city gate, and would Jon and I be sure to ask you to visit if you do. He will ask again. I told you once that I only wanted the truth between us. By that same resolve, I will not lie to him.”

“Um, is that healthy?” Arthur asked. “Such an infatuation—”

“Oh, yes,” Hayden said. “Per Bolyn is aware, and he’s a good father. Besides, if Brandy’s infatuated with anyone, it’s with Jon. Poor fellow spends all his money on candy. What did you once say about Brandy being mercenary?

“Further, since you released me from my promise, Per Bolyn and I have talked much about your visit. He has often said that he wishes he could tell you some of the conclusions he has reached. I will not lie to him, either, even by not telling him I’ve seen you,” Hayden concluded.

“You have placed a burden on me,” Arthur said, “but it is a burden of my own making. Let me ask once more. Are you sure? This man is dead; but he may have allies—”

“It does not matter,” Hayden said. “Now, go you to the Golden Onion. I will deal with the Guard.” This last was said as several of the Guard entered the square. “Go, now.”

Arthur and George complied.

*****

Brandy ran across the room, nearly knocking Arthur to the floor in his enthusiasm. In the middle of a long kiss, Arthur realized, He’s not on tiptoe, and I don’t have to bend down—

When he caught his breath, Arthur exclaimed, “Brandy, you’ve grown. You’re a tween!”

The boy nodded, and then hugged Arthur again.

“Per Bolyn will not be here until after vespers,” Brandy said of his father. “And, if I’m to work the common room, I need to be clean. The bath is hot—” His words were an obvious invitation. Arthur looked at George, who nodded, somewhat reluctantly.

After dinner, Per Bolyn and Arthur sat at the table in one of the guest rooms. “This will be private,” the man said.

Arthur nodded. “Hayden said you had talked about … well, what happened when I … seconded Hayden—” he began.

“Saved his life twice in a minute, rather,” Per Bolyn replied.

“Did he tell you he saved my life, and George’s life, earlier today?” Arthur countered.

“Yes,” Per Bolyn replied. “And the rest of the story. He reported to his centurion, who brought him to the Palace.”

Arthur tilted his head, and raised his eyebrows.

Per Bolyn chuckled. “I’m back on the council, only now it’s the Duke’s Privy Council. We were meeting when Hayden and his centurion came to the palace.

“That’s the final piece of the puzzle, I think,” he continued. Seeing the quizzical look on Arthur’s face, he continued. “Do you remember what we talked about just before you left Barbicana?”

“Good attracting Evil,” Arthur said.

Per Bolyn nodded. “I’ve been thinking about that ever since. I’ve reached the conclusion that while Good attracts Evil, Evil also attracts Good. That,” he said, “was a revelation. In any case, I believe that the Evil of those men—the one against whom Hayden fought, and his second—attracted you. I believe that the circle was closed when Hayden saved your life, today.”

The man looked into an empty corner of the room, but his eyes … to Arthur it appeared that the man was looking at something that was not there.

He sighed, and said, “Arthur, even though that circle is closed, it’s very likely that another has opened. In fact, it’s likely that two have opened: one for you, and one for Hayden.

“I’m as proud of Hayden as I would be if he were my son rather than my nephew. And I’m proud that Brandy will follow him into the Guard. Oh, yes,” he continued, “Brandy will begin training with the autumn cohort. More Evil is coming; and it’s pulling the Good to the defense of the Light.”

*****

“George, we must leave,” Arthur said. “Our enemy knows where we are.”

George nodded.

At the gate, Hayden and Brandy kissed Arthur and George goodbye and watched as they rode south.

A long way from Barbicana, the death of the old elf was greeted with disappointment. He had been a valuable tool, and his loss would hurt. But, there was another.