Bernard chuckles. “Right? He joined up almost a year ago. I don’t think he was even eighteen when he started. The Archpriest made an exception for him.”
The more Arthur talks with Bernard and Freya and everyone else, the more he settles back into safe, familiar patterns. The process of packing up camp and setting out is routine. Tanner picks the two rearguard and calls for Freya to join her at the lead, and the rest fall into loose formation around the supply carts. Duchess ignores the other horses; she’s always been more interested in humans, who are more likely to give her treats than steal them.
There’s a chill in the air, and red and gold leaves mix in with the green canopy above. Bernard is off talking with someone else, and Arthur reins Duchess in until they fall back alongside Karis and his dapple gray mare.
“You’re Karis, right?” Arthur says.
The boy looks over. His eyes are light amber, almost gold. “And you’re Arthur Davorin.” He has a slight accent Arthur can’t quite place. “Did you need something?”
The strangest wave of recognition washes through Arthur, even though he’s sure he’s never met the squire before. Maybe the jewelry just reminds him of Shae. Or something about the way the boy carries himself.
“I heard you’re our local tracking expert,” Arthur says. “What do you need to have in order to find someone?”
He doesn’t regret letting Shae go. He doesn’t. This is where he belongs, in Vara’s service with his brothers and sisters, and Shae is the one who refused to say. Arthur just wants to know that Shae’s all right.
“Footprints help,” Karis says with a smirk. “But if you mean magically, I need an item belonging to the person. I don’t work for free, though, outside assignments.”
“What do you charge?”
“Take my shift in the mess tent tomorrow night,” the boy says immediately. “Sound fair?”
“Sure.” Arthur reaches for his belt pouch, then stops.
He doesn’t have anything belonging to Shae. Just the coin that changed hands in previous weeks, but he knows enough about magic to know that won’t work. Maybe he should have picked up the coins Shae threw at him this morning, instead of leaving them in the dirt for someone else to find. “What sort of item?”
Karis sighs. “Anything, as long as there’s a connection. It doesn’t have to actually belong to them, just has to be something they’ve touched recently enough.” He glances sidelong at Arthur. “For Ronan Vizia, I’ve been using the knife he stabbed you with.”
Arthur’s hands tighten. Duchess tosses her head, annoyed, until he relaxes. “That’s a little unnerving.”
“A little,” Karis agrees. “Who are you looking for? Is it the necromancer Stazie told me about?”
“His name is Shae,” Arthur says, more sharply than he intended. The young squire doesn’t seem offended, just smirks again. Arthur thinks a little longer, then loops his reins around the pommel and tugs off one of his gloves. “Here, he’s touched this.”
Karis takes his own gloves off, then nudges his mare a little closer to take the glove from Arthur. He sits back in the saddle, touches his earring, and closes his eyes.
A few seconds later, he lets go of his earring and hands the glove back.
“Did it not work?” Anxiety pools in Arthur’s stomach. He’d expected something more, something flashier. Whispered words, or a shimmer of power through the air.
“Of course it worked,” Karis says haughtily. “Yourfriendis in Lanwatch, with a pack of Riverswords, if I’m not mistaken.” His grin widens. “And I’m never mistaken.”
Riverswords. Of course.
“Thanks,” Arthur says.
“Don’t forget your kitchen shift tomorrow.” Karis shakes his finger. He pulls his own gloves back on, then kicks his mare a bit faster, drawing ahead and leaving Arthur with too much space to think.
Shae was right. He found someone else, and he doesn’t need Arthur after all. That should be reassuring. But the knot in Arthur’s stomach doesn’t go away.
***
As the sun sinks over the ink-black treetops, Arthur steps away from camp to pray. He kneels in the soft, giving earth and bows his head towards the west, letting the last rays of daylight caress his head like the loving touch of Vara’s hand. Not a parent but a teacher. A guide.
Arthur is in desperate need of guidance.
“Radiant Vara, brightest god,” he murmurs, hands on his knees. He’s spoken these words a hundred times, but now, they don’t feel like ritual repetition. It’s like he’s speaking them new, straight from his heart on broken breath. “Grant your servant light, that I might see my path forward.”
Behind him, the rest of camp laughs and clatters as they settle in for supper. He didn’t have to walk a warding spell, because Freya and an older paladin had that duty tonight. When everyone picks up a piece, the burden is lighter.
