Rasnake(17)

"I see," Tallant said softly. "That's beautiful."

"Whatever," Cecil said, but it was impossible to miss the flush to his cheeks.

Smiling faintly, Tallant took pity and changed the subject. "Milton always said you were more the scholarly sort. Were you going to be a scribe or scholar, if not for the wards falling and Marden going mad?"

"Does it matter what I might have been?" Cecil asked, bitterness not quite masking the sadness in his voice. "I'm no scholar; such a path was the luxury of a peaceful land." He looked at his hands, and Tallant knew what he stared at even if in the dark very little was visible.

He had the hands of a soldier—scarred, calloused, tough, hardened. They would never be the soft, graceful, elegant hands of a scholar who spent his days reading, writing, drawing. A scholar relied heavily on his hands to do intricate, delicate illuminating, and the battered hands of a soldier were ill suited to it. Tallant wished he could help, if only because Cecil's sadness was palpable in the dark.

Gold gleamed in the palm of Cecil's right hand. The object he'd been toying with earlier, Tallant realized. A ring, set with some gemstone he could not distinguish in the dark. His wedding ring? Some other token? Though he badly wanted to ask, Tallant bit the question back.

"So how did the two of you meet?" Cecil asked, and curled his hand around the ring, then tucked it away. "You and Milton. You mentioned you chanced upon him being attacked, right?"

"Yes. I helped kill the bandits, and when the wolves came upon us, we managed to sneak away while they were busy with the corpses. We traveled together to the next town, and shared a meal and room. I was eager to get as far from home as possible, and he wished sorely to return home. As that was not possible, we kept ourselves occupied traveling. After a year, we battle-bonded. We kept traveling, fighting, whittling down the years until Milton could return home. If he had known Marden had been locked up, he would have returned sooner."

"So you think it's acceptable that he left us," Cecil said.

"I believe in fate," Tallant replied. "But that is not your belief, so I will say only this: you focus too much on the fact that he was gone for twelve years. I think perhaps you should consider that after twelve years he came straight home. That in twelve years, he never forgot you, and for twelve years carried things to bring home to you. Thank you for speaking with me. Good night."

Standing, Tallant brushed off his clothes and left, wending his way through the castle back to his room. Time for a chat with the other brother. Milton was lying on his bed when Tallant slipped into the room. He waited until Tallant had closed the door, then asked, "How is Cecil?"

"Sad. Hurt. Angry. He'll get better, I think. I think half the problem is that he obviously worshipped you as a kid. It's hard to reconcile that with your being human. He also mourns the fact he is no longer a scholar. But I think he will come around."

Milton nodded.

Tallant sat down on his own bed and removed his boots, then stripped out of his tunic, leaving the rest on. "So what weren't you telling me, or anyone else, at dinner?"

"I'm not sure, yet, really, but I've been in that tower where Marden is locked up. I've been all over this castle, into nooks and crannies I'm not certain even Henry knows anything about. I'm going to do some snooping tonight, to confirm or refute my suspicions, but I'd be willing to bet all that I own that Marden isn't as locked up as everyone thinks."

"We haven't snooped in months," Tallant replied. "Wake me when it's time." With that, he rolled over and let the exhaustion he'd been fighting for the past couple of hours finally have him.





~~*





"Time to go."

Tallant woke with a jerk, then shifted to full alertness. Sitting up, he swung his legs off the bed, snatched up his boots and pulled them on, then tucked away a couple of daggers and said, "Let's go."

Milton flashed a grin, then opened the door and slipped out. Tallant followed behind him. They moved silently through the castle halls, until Milton abruptly stopped in front of a single, locked door. He turned and motioned to Tallant, the movements of his fingers just visible in the light of a nearby torch, the only one in the hall.

Tallant stepped forward as Milton moved out of his way. Pressing his hand to the lock, he called up his magic, working carefully, delicately, until the unseen tumblers finally gave up and the door just barely opened. Tallant slid back and let Milton resume the lead. Milton's hand hovered over a dagger, but after a brief hesitation he did not draw it.

Following his example, Tallant kept his own blades sheathed. Milton slipped through the door, signaling Tallant to close it behind them. Then they began to climb the tightly spiraling stairs, keeping close enough they did not lose sight of each other, but far enough apart that an assailant would not find it easy to get both by getting one.

At the top of the stairs was a small landing, not big enough to hold more than two people easily, three awkwardly. A single torch burned low next to the door, making visible the way this one too was locked. Tallant moved forward when Milton signaled, and opened the second door like he had the first. Milton took over the lead again, as they moved slowly, silently, into the tower room.

A few moments of careful searching revealed Milton's prediction to be true—Marden was not locked up. At Milton's silent signal, Tallant summoned his magic and called forth a ball of soft but effective light. Letting it hover above them, he signaled to Milton, fingers working nimbly as he asked Safe to talk?