Published: 3 Jun 2019

Missing Children

Payolo had free rein in the kitchen, now. He was happy with the arrangement. Not only did the work keep him busy – too busy to dwell on his thoughts – but also it allowed him to do things his way, without criticism or interference. And, the boys seemed to like the change in diet. The improvement in the meals and the additional work had not gone unnoticed. The centurion quietly raised Payolo’s salary.

This market day, Payolo had finished the morning’s cleaning. He scanned the shelves to see what supplies were needed. The centurion’s wife still did the shopping – rather, she paid for what Payolo selected – but she would expect him to tell her what to buy. So far, she’d been pleased to get what he needed, especially since he seemed to be able to do quite well with less expensive ingredients than she was accustomed to using. More and more often she would send Payolo to buy what was needed, while she sat with Meeka’s mother, Sara. Once his tasks were complete, Payolo would wait while Sara and the centurion’s wife gossiped.

Today, Meeno had been selected to accompany the centurion’s wife and Payolo to the market. Meeno wore a tabard emblazoned with the school colors and the insignia of his sept: Firespear. The two boys followed their mistress and her daughter. Payolo pulled a small tumbrel at the rear. Meeno was on the centurion’s wife’s right, so that he could freely draw his sword. It’s not likely that he’ll need to use his sword, Payolo thought. If it were, I doubt that the centurion would have sent only one boy. Nevertheless, the customs were followed. The small party walked on the left side of the street.

Once in the market, Payolo took the lead, pointing out the things he needed for the kitchen. Most of the supplies they purchased from Meeka’s mother. She, Lucas, and Meeka had brought a large cart full of produce to the market. As Payolo put the purchases on the tumbrel, he sensed a disturbance at one corner of the square. A buzz of conversation moved across the market toward them like the crest of a flood moving down a river. “That’s the third one this month,” came an anguished cry. “Something must be done!”

Meeka’s mother rushed to speak with another woman a few carts away. When she returned, she shared the grim news. “Now, three children are missing. A boy, just after the last market day; a boy-child two days later; and this morning a girl-child. They have not been found in the city, despite a magical search. Every cart and wagon leaving the city today will be searched.” She turned to her sons, “We’ll not get home, tonight.”

“Please, when you finish at the market, come to the school,” the centurion’s wife said. “Stay tonight with us. We would be honored by your company.”

Meeka’s mother hugged the centurion’s wife. “Thank you. I’ve hoped to see your baby. I regret that it took someone’s sorrow to give me the opportunity.”

Meeka’s mother arrived at the school well after supper had been served. Payolo set out bread, cheese, butter, and fruit. “There are eggs, if anyone would like an omelet,” he offered.

“Thank you, Payolo, but your day is over,” the centurion’s wife began, “I will serve—” Her baby’s squalling interrupted her. Flustered, she turned to Payolo.

“Thank you, mistress,” Payolo said, “but he is hungry, too. I’m pleased to serve your guests.” I’ll also hear what else they’ve learned about the missing children, he thought.

Unbidden, Payolo prepared an omelet and split it between Meeka, Lucas, and the women. As he cooked and served, he listened carefully to the conversation between Meeka’s mother and the centurion’s wife.

“The girl-child had been missing less than an hour when they sealed the city. The guards said no one who had left before then carried any bundle large enough to have been the child,” Sarah began. “Oh, Wilma, how can that be?” Payolo’s ears perked up. He’d never before heard the name of the centurion’s wife.

Wilma was occupied again with her baby, and didn’t answer immediately, giving Lucas an opening. “The guards weren’t looking for a bundle, and didn’t see the many places the child could have been hidden. Under the seat of a wagon, perhaps; inside a large jar like are used for kitchen waste. And besides, how do they know she left the city?”

“They say the duke’s mage, himself, conducted the search,” Sarah asserted. “He’s supposed to be very powerful.”

“Not if the kidnappers have a touchstone,” Meeka said.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Sarah chided. “And what do you know about a touchstone?”

“It’s in one of the stories Payolo told us,” Meeka said. “Isn’t it?” he demanded.

“Come, Payolo, sit with us,” the centurion’s wife insisted, “and tell us what he means.”

“Thank you, Mistress,” Payolo said. He pulled a stool into the corner next to the table, and began the story.

The Prince of Sarand

 

A thousand lifetimes ago, when Elvenhold had been at peace for generations, there came from west of the mountains a prince of the Desert People. The prince had golden skin and raven hair, but he was not an elf. Rather, he was a human. He traveled alone on a horse that some said was as fine a horse as ever seen in Elvenhold. Later, however, it was said he crossed the mountains on foot and stole the horse. You will hear why some people came to believe that.

The prince rode to the gate of Barbicana, and called, ‘Open to the Prince of Sarand in the name of the most ancient of treaties.’

The guards at the gate knew nothing of Sarand or of ancient treaties, and summoned their superiors, whose knowledge was no more extensive than that of the guards. The prince waited calmly, and did not berate those who stood in his way. His demeanor convinced the centurion who responded that the prince was truly a prince. The centurion sent word to the duke, and escorted the prince to the duke’s palace.

By the time they arrived, the senior of the city’s temple had found vague references to Sarand and to treaties, and the prince was welcomed with honor.

The prince brought word of Darkness spreading over his land, Darkness that came from the sea that lies on the western edge of the land, Darkness that struck at coastal villages and retreated before it could be discovered. The Dark forces killed people and burned their homes, and took captives or slaves. The prince demanded by right of treaty the support of Elvenhold in battling this darkness.

The duke listened to the prince’s story. The court semblers confirmed that the prince believed what he said to be true, but the clerics could find no proof that Elvenhold was under obligation, other than a natural obligation to fight Evil.

The duke told the prince, ‘This message must be taken to the king. I will send my son and his companions to escort you to Elvenhold to see the king. While that takes place, I will marshal an army, so that when you return with orders from my liege, they will be ready to march.’

The prince was obviously disappointed, but acknowledged the wisdom and necessity of the duke’s plan.

Payolo paused to drink from his mug of water. “There are two endings to this story.”

The king’s mage held a touchstone of great power. The stone could penetrate magical illusions if it were brought close to them, and could shield the person who possessed it from magical attack. It is said that it had other powers, as well. It was of an ancient age and an ancient magic.

Seizing upon the trust the king had bestowed upon him, the prince stole the touchstone and fled with it back across the mountains.

“In another version of the story,” Payolo added, “the king sent the mage with the touchstone back to Barbicana, from which the mage accompanied the army into the west to engage in a Great War between Dark and Light. Although Light won the war, the touchstone was lost and never returned to Elvenhold.”

Payolo concluded his story with the observation, “I don’t know anything about magic, but I guess, if the stone could do all the things it did in the story, it could shield a child from detection.”

The next day was the boys’ free day. Payolo and Kyrie left the school early so that Kyrie could claim a table in the square. They were walking briskly through the streets when Payolo stopped suddenly. As he did so, he took Kyrie’s arm, bringing the other boy to a halt.

“What’s down that street?” Payolo asked.

“What? Why?” Kyrie stuttered, clearly startled by Payolo’s actions and words. “What are you talking about?”

“There’s something down that street…” Payolo said. He sounded less sure, perhaps because of Kyrie’s challenge.

Kyrie looked at his friend. The boy was clearly upset, confused, and perhaps even afraid. Kyrie took Payolo’s hand. “Let’s go see.”

Payolo’s eyes darted from side to side as they walked down the center of the nearly deserted street. A sudden chill stopped him. “There,” he said, pointing to a building on the north side of the street. It seemed darker than could be accounted by the morning shadows.

Kyrie’s eyes narrowed. “That’s my father’s inn. It was my father’s inn. How did you know?”

Payolo stepped into a narrow band of sunlight that passed between two buildings separated by an alley, pulling Kyrie with him. “I walked past here the first day I was in Barbicana. I felt the same chill. I was looking for a place to stay for a few days, and then I met you. I hadn’t thought about it…”

Kyrie was clearly confused. “What chill? It’s already hot, and going to get hotter before the day is over.”

“I feel cold,” Payolo said, “as if that building were pulling the heat from the air, and from me,” he whispered. “Do you not feel it?”

Kyrie shook his head, “No. But you see things others don’t. I thought it the first time we shared boy magic. I knew it for certain when you saw the tower in my mind.”

Payolo’s face, his entire body, stiffened. “Uh…” He could not continue.

“Don’t be afraid, Payolo,” Kyrie said and hugged his friend. “Don’t be afraid. It’s all right…”

“But I don’t want to be different!” Payolo insisted, forgetting for the moment that it was Kyrie’s feeling of difference that isolated him from the rest of the boys.

Kyrie, perhaps because he had been dealing with his difference for so many years, was able to put his own feelings aside. “Payolo, you told me long ago I had made my difference into a strength. Will you take your own advice?”

“But there is another way out of the city!” Kyrie exclaimed. “At least, I think there is.”

It was afternoon of the last day of market. Kyrie and the other tweens from the school had been on duty. They had worn the tabards of the City Guard, and had been stationed throughout the marketplace to keep order, and to summon the regulars of the Guard if required. Kyrie usually managed to be posted in the vicinity of the cart from Meeka and Lucas’s family farm. The farm produced much more than cheese; the family attended the market in nearly every season.

Payolo had completed his purchases for the kitchen and had his bags full of produce, eggs, and cheese. He needed little today, and had left the tumbrel at the school. The centurion’s wife had for some time entrusted the boy to do the shopping, and now came only to socialize. By mid-afternoon, the market was closing. Kyrie had been dismissed from duty. However, the centurion’s wife and Meeka’s mother still were deeply engaged in their gossip. The boys waited, dutifully; they would escort the centurion’s wife’s home. It would not be appropriate for her to walk even that short distance alone. Dodger, also relieved of duty, joined them.

The two women had tisked over the missing children. There were six more, now, and the city officials were stymied. “Now they’re saying that laudanum is being sold in the Ordinary, and opium smoked in some of the public houses, but no one knows where the opium is coming from!” the centurion’s wife said.

“I don’t see how it’s getting through the gates,” Meeka’s mother replied. “They question us and search the wagons going in and going out! We had to leave home three hours early, today, or we’d have been late for market.”

The centurion’s wife tisked again, “There’s no way in or out except the gates. But where are the children? And where is the laudanum coming from?”

“But there is another way out of the city!” Kyrie exclaimed. “At least, I think there is.”

Kyrie’s comment had been heard only by Payolo, Meeko, Lucas, and Dodger. While the two women continued their gossip, the boys huddled.

“What other way?” Lucas whispered. “And how do you know about it?”

“A tunnel, under the city wall, from the inn my father once owned,” Kyrie whispered. “At least, that’s the story one of his friends told me. I saw it, once. The entrance and the first hundred yards, anyway. That’s as far as he would take me.”

“But that would be a weakness in the city’s defenses,” Dodger said. “Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

“Because I didn’t remember it, until now,” Kyrie said, hotly. “Besides, he said – father’s friend said – that the ceiling had collapsed, closing the tunnel, and that it was dangerous. That’s why he wouldn’t let me go any farther.”

“Why would there be such a tunnel?” Payolo asked.

“Smugglers might have made it,” Dodger suggested.

“Or, it might have been built so that people could escape if the city were besieged,” Lucas guessed.

“Or so they could get behind a besieging army and counterattack,” Kyrie added. “I wonder,” he mused, “if someone has cleared the collapse and shored up the tunnel. They could be using it to smuggle children, opium … anything.”

The boys’ conversation was interrupted as the centurion’s wife rose. Kyrie and Dodger took their places behind her. Payolo followed with his bags of food.

“You’ve got to tell someone about the tunnel,” Dodger said. Payolo nodded agreement.

“And what if I’m wrong?” Kyrie asked. “Or, what if they blame me for not saying something sooner? No, we need to know more about this, first. We have to explore the tunnel.”

“That would be incredibly dangerous,” Dodger said, his face lighting up at the thought.

Will was eager to join them, although disappointed with the role he was to play.

“There is another way into the inn besides the doors,” Kyrie explained. “A narrow passage between the back wall of the inn and the neighboring building can be scaled by pressing hands and feet against opposite walls.” He grinned. “That’s how I got in and out without my father knowing. It leads to a dormer in the attic. We didn’t use the attic, and it’s likely that the present owners don’t, either. And, there’s a back stair that leads to the cellar.

“I will go in through the attic at sext – they’ll be busy serving lunch, then. Dodger and Will, you are to visit the inn … stay in the common room near the door, and drink tea. If there’s any evidence I’m in trouble, or if I don’t meet you by vespers, you’re to tell Centurion what you know.”

“I will go with you,” Payolo asserted, and rejected Kyrie’s objections. “You know I can help you,” was all he would say. Finally, Kyrie relented.

Payolo was right. Reluctantly, Kyrie allowed the younger boy to take the lead. Payolo cautiously led them down the back stairs, once urging Kyrie to retreat to an alcove when Payolo sensed someone approaching. When they were alone, again, Payolo whispered, “Evil, but petty evil. He’s one of them.”

The opening to the tunnel was as Kyrie remembered it, behind a rack of ale kegs. A panel in the wall opened easily. Payolo touched his friend’s arm.

“What?” Kyrie whispered.

“Nothing, I guess,” Payolo said. “I thought I heard something. A whoosh. Probably nothing.” The boys entered the tunnel, closing the panel behind them. Kyrie struck the lucifer for which he’d paid two pennies, and carefully lit the candle Payolo held.

Above the boys, in the inn, a low-level mage had heard the same whoosh. Unlike Payolo, he recognized it. It was the alarm he’d spelled onto the secret door into the tunnel below the inn.

The boys had traveled about a hundred yards. The floor of the tunnel, which had been descending steeply, leveled. “This is as far as I went before, I think,” Kyrie said. “And see, here, these beams are newer than those. This is where they opened the tunnel.”

The tunnel turned sharply to the right. Payolo looked at the beams, and nodded. Before them, beyond the pool of light made by their candle, lay darkness. Kyrie looked at Payolo, who nodded, and began walking.

They had gone scarcely another hundred yards when a metallic clang caused them to turn and look back. Payolo stood, paralyzed. Kyrie faced the two men who’d caught up with them. The men wore felt-covered boots. Their steps had been silent. The boys were not aware they’d been followed until one of the men’s sword scraped a rock. Kyrie turned. He recognized even in the dim light of the candle that he and Payolo were in grave danger. Drawing his sword, Kyrie prepared to defend himself and his friend.

The candle flickered in the breeze of Kyrie’s movements. The tunnel was narrow enough that only one opponent could make a serious attack; the second, however, harassed Kyrie from the edges of the battle. The first man swept Kyrie’s sword hard to the right, and pinned it against the wall of the tunnel. At the same time, the second man lunged, his sword pointed directly at Kyrie’s unprotected chest.

“No!” Payolo’s anguished voice boomed, unnaturally loud, in the tunnel. The two men looked at him, hesitated, and the sword that was about to pierce Kyrie’s heart was withdrawn.

Payolo and Kyrie watched, stunned, as the two men turned and ran toward the inn. The boys’ amazement was short lived, however. A sharp snap presaged the collapse of the ceiling. Payolo pulled Kyrie’s collar, dragging the older boy out of harm’s way.

Choking and gasping, the boys labored to find air in the darkness.

In the common room of the inn, conversation stopped as the room shook slightly. Small ripples walked across the surface of the ale in the patrons’ mugs. Dodger and Will looked at one another, alarmed. Earthquake? They and the others wondered.

The answer came when a low rumble sounded below their feet. The boys ran into the street followed by most of the men. There were cries of alarm from within. A puff of dust appeared at the door. And then, silence.

“Not to worry,” the publican said as he appeared at the door. “Only a bad barrel of ale.”

Dodger and Will did not stay to hear more. They knew he was lying. The boys, anxious with fear for their companions, ran back to the school.

“Where are we?” Kyrie asked.

“I pulled us in the direction away from the inn,” Payolo said. “We’re trapped on the wrong side of the collapsed ceiling.”

“Better to be here than under the rubble,” Kyrie said. “Do you suppose we can go back that way?”

“We can’t.” Payolo said. “It’s completely blocked, and the rubble shifts when I try to move anything. Even if the way weren’t blocked, it would be dangerous…”

“And they would be waiting for us,” Kyrie added.

“I still have the candle,” Payolo said.

“But I have lost the lucifer,” Kyrie answered. “We’ll have to feel our way out … if there is a way.”

“Should we wait? Dodger and Will…” Payolo began.

“No. Even if Centurion believes them, and even if he comes, he will not be able to dig us out before we die of thirst,” Kyrie said. “We must find our own way out. Take my hand.”

“Um, I’m already holding it,” Payolo said.

Kyrie laughed weakly. “So you are.”

“We must go forward, then,” Kyrie said. “And hope that they did, after all, open the tunnel.”

Payolo held his left hand against the wall of the tunnel. His right hand gripped Kyrie’s left hand tightly. Kyrie tapped his sword on the floor of the tunnel as he inched his way forward. Slowly, carefully, the two boys made their way through the darkness, hoping to find light.

Dodger and Will rushed into the armory, where the centurion was working. Panting and gasping, they began an unintelligible story. Calmly, the centurion put down the sword he had been sharpening, and said, “Report, legionnaires!”

The boys training returned. They stood stiffly, eyes locked on the centurion. Dodger, the senior, spoke. “Legionnaire Kyrie and Auxiliary Payolo had evidence that there was a secret tunnel leading from the Inn of the Lotus Eaters to a location outside the city wall. They were investigating. We were in reserve in the inn’s common room. There was…” the boy stumbled briefly. “There was an earthquake. Kyrie gave us instructions to report to you in the event of anything unusual or of any trouble.”

The centurion, although nonplussed by what he’d heard, questioned the boys quickly but precisely. He did not need to think, but reacted automatically. “You two. Swords, poniards, daggers, light armor, school tabards. Five minutes.”

In less than five minutes, the centurion was armed and armored, and wearing a tabard that displayed not only the school’s device but also his rank and honors.

“Damp,” Kyrie whispered. “The air is damp. Can you hear the dripping?”

“The wall is wet. We’re under the river,” Payolo answered. “Listen.”

Knowing what to listen for, the boys heard the soft susurrus of water echoing around them.

“Let’s not stop here,” Kyrie said. The two boys continued in the darkness.

The decuria of City Guardsmen was startled, but having recognizing the centurion’s insignia, and then his face, quickly followed. The centurion gestured to one. “Your commander. Ask him to come in force to the Inn of the Lotus Eaters.” The guardsman nodded and ran in the direction of the ducal palace.

In the darkness of the tunnel, time was immeasurable. Payolo thought a day had passed. It can’t have been that long, he reasoned. I’m only a little thirsty, and that may be from the dust. Perhaps a couple of hours.

“Kyrie,” Payolo whispered, squeezing his friend’s hand. “Something … someone … ahead.”

Kyrie squeezed back. Payolo sensed his friend’s understanding. There was a question in Kyrie’s mind. “I can’t tell,” Payolo whispered. “More than one. There’s anger, greed, and an unwholesome feeling of maybe lust. There’s also fear.”

“Two boys were attacked in this inn. Where are they, now?” the centurion demanded.

The publican was no less startled than the men who had returned to the common room, and to their various vices. Opium, the centurion thought as a sickly odor seeped into his nostrils. And the potboy, he’s but a child. Justification enough for our presence – I hope!

“You will take me to the tunnel entrance, now,” he said to the publican. “Allow no one to leave,” he instructed the guardsmen. “Get that child out of harm’s way,” he instructed Will. “Dodger, you’re with me.”

Dodger’s pride at being included was strong enough to overcome his apprehension and he followed the centurion.

“Have they heard us?” Kyrie whispered.

“No,” Payolo answered. “There’s no change. There are five people, perhaps six. One’s asleep, I think. At least one other is awake and moving around. He’s angry. Three are fearful.”

“We must get past them if we’re to escape,” Kyrie said. “I will lead. No, no argument. This calls for strength of arms. You will follow and be my eyes. Find the way out, and send me in that direction. I’ll be concentrating on defense. If I fall, you must escape and bring help.”

Payolo sensed Kyrie’s determination as well as his confidence in the plan and its necessity. Reluctantly, he agreed.

“Now,” Kyrie whispered, as he crashed against the door.

“This is the tunnel they said led outside the city,” Centurion Antonio said.

“The collapse is recent, and was certainly the source of the trembling and dust,” the Commander of the Guard agreed. “Any sign of life?” He asked the question of one of his legionnaires.

“None that I can sense, Centurion,” the legionnaire answered. “But I’m only a sembler…”

“We must find them,” Centurion Antonio began.

“We will,” the Guard Commander answered. “We’d need to clear the tunnel in any case. That your students may be trapped adds urgency.”

The amount of blood belied the brevity of the battle. One man had been fast enough to attack Kyrie as he burst through the door. He’d not been fast enough to reach his sword, though, and Kyrie swept aside the man’s dagger with the same blow that sliced through his throat, nearly severing his head from his body. Another man proved a more formidable opponent. His sword clashed against Kyrie’s as he tried to overpower the tween with his greater strength and weight. The man’s attack was no match for Kyrie’s agility. Before Payolo could react, the second man lay, dead, on the floor.

A third man lay on a truckle bed. He stirred, but did not waken. The room was filled with a sick-sweet odor from the pipe that had fallen from his hands and lay smoldering on the floor. What they found more surprising were the three children who were huddled together in one corner.

“We can’t just kill him,” Payolo said, referring to the third man. Kyrie had bound the man’s arms and legs.

“But we can’t have him awaken and follow us, either,” Kyrie said.

The boys resolved the matter by securely tying the man to the truckle. “If we don’t send help, he will surely die,” Kyrie said.

“That may be; however, the burden is not on us,” Payolo answered. “We are responsible for our actions; we are accountable for our intentions. We intend to send someone for him. If we are prevented from doing so, the fault is more his, than ours.”

There was only an hour of night left when Kyrie and Payolo reached the city gate. The city was under curfew. “Please, send a message to Centurion Antonio at his school,” Kyrie asked the startled decurion. The guard had refused to open even the postern gate to two filthy and tattered boys, one of whom carried a naked sword, and who led three equally disreputable looking children. The Decurion recognized the centurion’s name, and nodded briefly.

“Wait here,” he said.

“May the children have water?” Payolo asked. The Decurion gestured to a legionnaire.

“Kyrie, Payolo, I want very much to be angry with you. On the other hand, while you were stumbling through the tunnel and finding your way back to Barbicana I had ample time to think. I realized that you were both doing what you knew was Right and, in Kyrie’s case, using the skills I’d tried to teach him. You gathered intelligence, evaluated options. You employed economy of force, using what was consistent with the objective and didn’t crowd troops onto the battlefield. You established backup in depth. I could go on, but it’s not necessary.

“I’m proud of you both. Please, however, do not let yourself be changed toward your duties.”

The boys accepted the centurion’s dismissal and warning.

The rescue was the only topic of gossip at First Market, and the centurion’s wife was excited to be the center of attention. “The man who survived was questioned closely,” she said, although she had no firsthand knowledge, but relied on gossip, herself. On the other hand, since it was she who said it, it gained the weight of truth.

“They found two others, and the baron has sent a company of Legionnaires northward seeking other members of the band. It’s possible that some of the children were sold to a caravan that entered the Rain Forest. There was another child at the Inn … rescued when they searched it from attic to basement. Several of the men at the Inn have been executed, and more will be.”

A tenday had passed, and the matter was settled. Centurion Antonio had accompanied Kyrie to the Chancellor’s Court. “Kyrie,” the Chancellor began, “custody of the inn reverts to the crown. It will be held by the duke in the name of the king. Under the circumstances, you might press a claim that it be awarded to you.”

Kyrie was prepared. “Thank you, My Lord, but no. The inn is no longer important to me, and it has become a place of evil. I have learned from my friend Payolo that evil does not really reside in stone and mortar but only in the actions of people. Nevertheless, it is no longer a place I wish to be.”

A few days later, Kyrie and Payolo stood with the centurion, trying to be invisible among the crowd at the duke’s monthly audience.

“Kyrie, son of Patermass, present yourself,” the herald’s voice echoed throughout the chamber. Gasps and whispers followed as people recognized the name Patermass and confided the knowledge to their neighbors who did not. Kyrie knelt before the duke, and the whispers stilled.

“Kyrie, thou and those whom thou led did rid the City of Barbicana of a great Evil. Thy actions saved the lives of four children, perhaps many more. Thy service to the Light reflects great credit upon thee and thy teacher. For thy service, and in anticipation of service to come, I name thee Squire in Right and Honor.”

As earlier instructed, Kyrie rose. The duke handed the boy a dagger and spoke. The man’s voice carried no farther than Kyrie’s ears. The boy nodded twice, and spoke once. Whatever Kyrie said carried no farther than the duke’s voice did. When the duke stopped speaking, Kyrie bowed deeply, turned, and walked back to where the centurion and Payolo were standing.

“Payolo, scion of Valeus, present yourself,” the herald intoned.

The whispers were even louder, but ceased as quickly when Payolo approached the duke. Payolo bowed, but did not kneel.

“Payolo, thou hast served the City of Barbicana as Companion in Danger to Squire Kyrie. Thou art neither soldier nor citizen, and therefore cannot be ennobled by this court. Know thee and all those present of thy courage and of the gratitude of this City.” The duke gave Payolo a heavy book, and spoke quietly to him. “At the mark, Payolo, you may find yourself.”

“What did he say to you?” Payolo asked, as he and Kyrie followed the centurion back to the school.

“He just said how greatly he appreciated what we did in our little adventure … he actually said adventure!

“What about the book?” Kyrie added.

Payolo held out the book. On the leather cover were Elvish letters that spelled, A Book of Heroes. Kyrie let the book fall open to a page marked with a leather strip on which was cut the arms of Barbicana. At the top of the page was the title, “The Story of Valeus.”

“Valeus! He’s the first Valarian,” Payolo said to Kyrie.

“Your father was a General? And hero of Derry?”

“But if you’re half human, that means you’re not really as old as you look.”

Kyrie felt the earlier imagined distance become more and more real. He was the son of a General who was a hero. He was a Squire in his own right, and in Station and Honor exceeded all the boys at the school, including the sons of the oldest families. Payolo felt Kyrie’s unhappiness, and shared it. I wish I could help him.

We hope that you are enjoying this tale of World. David appreciates all comments to his stories. David dot Mcleod at CastleRoland dot Net.