Caste had never known such darkness. He was not just surrounded by it. He could feel the bleak blackness soaking into his soul, drowning him in terror. He was frozen to the spot, chest clutched in his arms, waist deep in water that was continuing to rise as all the run off of the storm found its way into the basement…

…alone…abandoned…

…trapped.

He was so frozen in fear that he couldn’t even muster a scream or move.

He’d been buried alive in a watery grave…

He couldn’t work out where he was or where the hatch had been.

No one knew he was there.

No one would come looking for him.

“Come on, Caste,” he squeaked brokenly, “walk…”

Lifting his foot was like lifting a mountain, each step painful and terrifying in its blind advance.

He was shaking, the cold infiltrating his body, turning his bones to ice. He couldn’t even feel his toes anymore. He could have been walking on lava or broken glass and he wouldn’t have been able to tell.

Minutes passed like hours.

He was going to die here.

Suddenly a faint line of light appeared, growing larger and wider until it was a rectangular shape on the other side of the basement ceiling.

Caste’s breath stalled.

Was it some cruel delusion of his addled mind?

“Caste? Are you there? Caste!”

He whimpered and sloshed his way forward, desperation forgoing all care as to where he was stepping. He nearly tripped up the steps that would lead him out.

Peering down from the open hatch was the cherub beautified face of Giordi Gavoli. He reached out his hand. “Come on, Caste! Let’s get you out of there!”

Caste grabbed his hand and was half pulled up as he clambered clumsily, his legs numb and his feet felt like they weren’t even there. Giordi hauled him onto the floor of the storeroom, shutting the hatch behind him. Caste was almost insensible, shaking violently, unable to stand on his frozen legs.

“We’ve got to get you warm. Come on.”

Giordi half dragged Caste through the fort. The steward, probably alerted by a servant, ran towards them, asking if he could be of any assistance.

“Fire and liquor…now!”

The steward didn’t stop to think or argue. He spun around, gesturing for Giordi to follow him, heading for rooms that Caste didn’t recognise. He would have protested or asked but every time his toes struck something, he was hard pressed not to screech in agony.

“Cleric Severo always has a fire going and plenty of liquor. He will be asleep. You won’t disturb him.” The steward explained. “In here!” The steward opened the doors. Without thinking about the rudeness of not knocking, Giordi barged into the rooms that were almost blisteringly warm as a fire roared in the hearth. He heaved Caste into a chair was close to the fire.

“We need hot water in a pan for his feet. Hurry!”

Giordi wrestled the chest out of Caste’s arms, not caring two hoots about what it represented even though it was clear Caste had risked his life for it though he mightn’t have realised just how precarious its retrieval would be. He manhandled Caste without a drop of mercy or decency, pushing him forward and yanking his tunic over his head, finding the blasted toggle that tightened the neck under the layers until he was able to strip Caste out of anything that was wet. The skinny little cleric sat shivering in his undergarments, every freckle standing out starkly against the pallor of his frosted complexion.

Giordi wrapped a blanket around Caste then darted to the sideboard where an array of liquors stood reflecting the dancing light of the flames. He grabbed one and brought it and a glass to the cleric.

“I hope you haven’t taken a vow of abstinence.” Giordi poured a small glassful and grabbed Caste’s head. “Too bad!”

He tipped the shot down his throat, Caste spluttering and coughing, wheezing as the strong brew could be felt going all the way down. Giordi managed to get another one down him before Caste began to comprehend enough to protest.

“I…I don’t need…anymore.” He stammered.

The steward arrived with two servants following, a basin in one hands and a jug of hot water in the other.

“Will Severo mind the wet spot on the floor and the missing liquor?” Giordi asked as the servants set the basin down at Caste’s feet and poured the water into the basin.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

“I shall inform him personally of what has happened.” The steward promised before ushering the servants out.

Giordi grabbed Caste’s feet and dunked them in.

“It’s too hot!”

“Caste, I’m trying to keep you from getting frostbite!”

Tears streamed down Caste’s face as he tried to keep his feet in the basin. His body was going through every variation of shock and now he was shivering so hard his teeth were clattering. Giordi knelt and rubbed his legs, trying to get the blood flow back into them.

“What…why…”

“I followed you.” Giordi said, already knowing the questions. “I told you, this fort isn’t kind to vulnerable individuals. But…I did get a little lost on my way and when I finally figured out where you were…”

“You shut the hatch?” Caste whimpered.

Giordi looked up, hurt in his expression. “We may have our differences, Caste, but I am not the kind of person to do that to another.” Caste’s bottom lip quivered, tears falling down his cheeks. Giordi handed him a handkerchief. “When I got to the storeroom you were already down in the basement…but there was someone else in the room.” Caste’s teeth chattering prevented him from asking who for a few minutes until he was able to bring his teeth under control. “Though I’ve never met the man, he bears his father’s resemblance uncannily. It was Jerom Kenet.” Giordi closed his eyes and shook his head. “I think he followed you to the storeroom and when he saw an opportunity…”

“Jerom Kenet?” Caste rasped painfully. “Why…”

“I didn’t stop him to ask. I hid, waiting for him to leave so that he couldn’t trap both of us in there. I’m sorry, I would have opened the hatch sooner…”

“Thank you…” Tears flowed anew down Caste’s face, his eyes red and filled with gratitude. “Thank you.”

Giordi chuckled, ruffling Caste’s red hair. “No thanks necessary, Caste.”

Suvau put the finishing touches on the blade, sharpening the curved edge until it was proven against a cow bone, a tree branch and even cut through the body of a pig in the kitchens where they were preparing to roast it.

“Sorry!” Judd chuckled at the incensed expression on the cook’s face as he and Suvau escaped back to the forge. “I take it you’re not well liked in there?”

“It’s a blade for cutting heads off monsters,” Suvau insisted, “it needs to be proven to do that or else you cannot trust it in battle.” He watched Judd grasp the hilt, testing its weight and nimbleness. “How does it feel?”

“I’m a little scared to wield it,” Judd admitted, “it’s so light compared to my other sword.”

“I promise it’s just as strong.” Suvau assured him, gathering the materials to take to the leather craftsman in the village. “The sheath should be ready for a fitting by now. Let’s head down.”

The leather worker made some adjustments on the sheath, wanting to make sure the curve of the blade was accommodated and took the metal piece that would be made the top of the sheath which the hilt of the sword fit perfectly into. He promised it would be ready the following day.

“I think I’ve earned an early knock off today.” Suvau remarked as they climbed the slope, coming close to his house. He watched Judd swipe the sword through the air. “You be careful with that. Without a sheath, it’s damn dangerous.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” Judd laughed and rubbed the back of his neck, “it’s just…all my childhood dreams of the grandeur of becoming a knight have been whittled away on this quest. But I feel like I got one of them back today. Thanks, Suvau.”

“A custom blade in the hand of a man who is as kind as he is brave? It was my pleasure, Judd LaMogre.” Suvau’s big hand pushed open the door to his home, revealing the kitchen draped with sodden clothing that were dripping onto the floor. Caste lifted his bleary eyes, a hot drink in his hands, a blanket around his shoulders. Giordi was just mopping up some of the puddles. “What…happened here?”

“Get caught in a sudden downpour, Caste?” Judd asked.

“If by sudden downpour, you mean attempted murder.” Giordi muttered.

“Say again?” Judd put the sword on the table, looking between the two of them.

“We don’t know it was attempted murder,” Caste shivered, “he might have just been trying to scare me.”

“What?” Judd was stunned. “Who?”

“How?” Suvau couldn’t fathom why Caste looked like a drowned rat. “By throwing a bucket of water over you?”

“No,” Giordi flung the cloth aside, “that bastard, Jerom Kenet, trapped Caste in the northern basement which was flooding from all the rain we’ve had.”

Judd’s body went cold. He stared at Caste in horror. “Wha…why?”

“We’ve yet to ask him.” Giordi rapped on the table and pointed at Caste who dutifully drank the warm milk. “I thought it was more important to keep Caste from freezing to death or losing limbs to frostbite than to immediately seek out justice.”

Judd shook his head and looked at Suvau’s whose expression was like thunder.

“What possible motivation could he have had to harm Caste?”

“I can think of one.” Suvau muttered.

Giordi closed his eyes. “Of course…Emeri.”

“Emeri?”

“Your cleric has been a constant presence in the library since Sir Fereak returned from his patrol, of which Jerom Kenet was one of the assigned soldiers,” Suvau’s jaw tightened, “he either sees Caste as a threat or an obstacle.”

“He had to be near the library to be able to follow Caste to the northern corner of the fort.” Giordi agreed. “Skulking in the darkness. Have you seen him there before, Caste?”

Caste shook his head even as he recalled the figure in the shadows only last night.

“It seems a ridiculous risk to take,” Judd murmured, “attempted murder of a cleric, no less! Is Jerom Kenet out of his mind?”

“He has no restraint upon his impulses,” Suvau’s knuckles cracked, “he probably saw the opportunity and didn’t think anything of the consequences.”

Judd pushed his hands through his hair. “Well, that’s it then…we’ve got to do something about this. Your family can’t stay here.”

“You think we can just leave at will?” Suvau demanded. “You think I wouldn’t if I could? The only reason I was in Quarre was because Ermo gave permission for me to go. I thought if Lord LeMewn was happy with my work, he might arrange for my transfer, with my family, to Quarre in trade for something with Sir Fereak…”

“I take it if you just left, they’d chase you down?” Giordi asked.

“With the same fury they would use upon monster incursions,” Suvau sighed, “even if we got away, it’s my people who would suffer.”

Judd ground his teeth. “I…I could appeal to Sir Fereak…” He looked at his sword sadly. “If we hadn’t used most of the gold Lady LeMewn gave you on my sword, I could have bought you from Sir Fereak…”

“It wouldn’t have been enough for all of us,” Suvau said sadly, “but I could have let Emeri go if it meant her safety.”

“I’m not sure it’s much safer with us. You know we’re monster hunters.” Judd growled, frustrated. “Think, LaMogre, think…”

“What if we…”

But Giordi’s thought was never realised when the door to the house was flung open and Emeri darted into the kitchen, throwing herself at her father.

“Emeri? What’s wrong? Did he hurt you?” Suvau was on tenterhooks.

“Father, it’s Aalis,” Emeri’s face was grief stricken, “she had this terrible fit up at the high lake…”

“Aalis?” Judd stepped forward. “Where is she?”

“She’s still up there with Verne,” Emeri grasped her father’s arm, “she’s barely breathing…”

“Show us the way.” Suvau ordered and Judd was right behind him.