“I’m sorry m’lord. There’s been no sign of him.” Ser Bryant Crewall, the captain of the city guard, said as he knelt on the ground.

  Imrell sat beside his father’s seat, the Petrified Throne, on a far more modest chair padded with green pillows. He rubbed his temples to alleviate his growing headache but failed.

  Osken, where are you?

  The young lord turned his attention towards Sage Kelmor, “Have we any word from Carrefour?”

  “No, my lord. Our birds regarding your brother go unanswered,” the Sage reported.

  Imrell stood and said, “My father accepted my proposal to increase the reward to five thousand gold Talaks to anyone that can return Osken to Greenbridge or lead us to his whereabouts. Let it be known immediately.”

  Sage Kelmor and Ser Bryant left the great hall to spread the news. His advisor, Rulliko Za Zivik, remained behind.

  The Setrian knelt before him, giving Imrell full sight of Rulliko’s long and pointed ears. When standing, Rulliko was six feet tall. His onyx face showed more folds than when he first arrived at Greenbridge twenty years before, and his face was lined with the wrinkles years of smiling leaves on a man. He wore a large grey robe that covered him from his ankles to his shoulders, hiding his athletic build from most that saw him. Gold thread was spun into the robes in the form of a quatrefoil, symbolizing the union of the four spirit covens.

  “My lord,” Rulliko said in a deep, resonating voice, “please allow me to inquire of the river spirit for information on Osken. I am confident the spirit will have answers.”

  “Rulliko, you know how the people feel about your spirits.”

  “The people’s feelings do not make the spirits any less powerful.” He replied.

  Imrell sighed, “Make your inquiries, but do it discreetly. What will your rituals cost you?”

  “I only require a strand of your hair. The bond of brothers is powerful and will help the spirit to remember.”

  Imrell nodded. He unwound his dark black hair from its bun and proffered a section. Rulliko took a small knife from his robe, cut a strand, and placed it in a cloth.

  “Thank you, my lord. I will complete the ritual by morning.” Rulliko said, bowing again.

  “If your spirits can help me find Osken, then we shall reward you beyond what you have known before.”

  Rulliko smiled, “It would be reward enough to serve you and your family, as it always is.”

  Imrell watched the man go. Father would be upset I’m allowing this ritual. The lords of Gallmont grow ever tired of the ‘heretic Setrian.’ If only they would delay their judgement to know him first.

  Imrell put his hair back in a bun and left through the back door of the chamber. Two guards followed him up the stairs to his wing of the keep.

  He entered his suite and found his wife, Veronika, tending to his sons, Uthwen and Caiden. Her rich golden hair flowed like two shining rivers down her back. Her grey eyes locked with his and she looked relieved that he was back. Veronika held Caiden, their youngest, at her breast. Uthwen saw him and jumped up from playing with his toy soldiers.

  “Father,” the young boy exclaimed, “come play with me!”

  Uthwen was tall for being six and shared his father’s black hair and blue eyes.

  “Later, I promise.” Imrell said while turning to Veronika. “There has been no sign of him.”

  Veronika placed Caiden in his crib while she said, “I am sorry, dear. Surely someone will find him soon enough.”

  Caiden laid there, content for a second, before he made a move to roll onto his stomach.

  The boy failed, but Imrell scratched the boy’s belly and said, “Keep trying, little one. You are so strong for your young age.”

  He turned back to Veronika, “Well, I am glad you are certain. I am not. It has been three weeks. He should have reached the Keep of Stars by now if that were his goal.”

  “Perhaps he is using an alias?” She suggested.

  “I would not put a clever ruse like that past him. He has always been too smart for his own good, but our contacts would know him. His birthmark is too distinct.”

  “Then trust that they will find him and put Osken out of your mind for a moment. Uthwen has been waiting for you so patiently.”

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  “I will try.” Imrell said earnestly.

  Veronika kissed him on the cheek and picked up Caiden again to feed him.

  “I see you are playing with your toy soldiers.” Imrell observed.

  “Yes, I am playing war.” Uthwen answered.

  “Ahh, war, is it?” Imrell asked while surveying the rows of knights and spearmen set against each other.

  “Who will I be?” He inquired.

  “You will be the bad men.” Uthwen said, pointing at the side opposite him.

  Uthwen’s twin rows of knights were distinguishable by their colors alone. His ‘good men’ bore the green and silver of House Greenbridge, while the ‘bad men’ wore twisted, jagged armor. Those knights looked like men masquerading as devils.

  “I see,” Imrell as he moved to take his place, “and how will the battle go?”

  “The bad men attack first, and they will seem to win, but then the good men will beat them. Just like in the stories.” Uthwen explained with an intense certainty in his words.

  If only that were always true.

  The battle went as Uthwen predicted. The boy’s army won the day and defeated the ‘bad men.’ During the game, he noticed a servant deliver a bundle of letters to his study.

  “Do you want to play again?” Imrell asked him.

  “No.” Uthwen said, bounding off towards some new interest across the room.

  Imrell stood from the toy battlefield and surveyed the carnage. It reminded him of days long gone when he had played similar games with Osken.

  “Veronika, I need to see what news I received. Please have the servants bring my food to my study.”

  “I will, good night, love.”

  Imrell went through the doors to the sound of his children giggling. The sound pierced through his gloom and set him to smiling as he into his study. There he found the bundle of messages lying neatly on his desk with a note from Sage Kelmor.

  It read, ‘My lord, herein is your correspondence for today. I am prepared to make replies when called upon.’

  Imrell sat and undid the twine which held the bundle together, spilling the loose messages about the desk. He organized them to one side and selected the smallest to read first.

  ‘Reports of Grain Production,’ it read. He laid it back down and found his headache from earlier returning.

  Father, you should be here reading these and worrying over Osken. At least then I could be out searching for him, instead of stuck here acting in your stead.

  Imrell resolved himself and set to his task. Twenty messages in, and not halfway through the stack, he took a break to watch the last remnants of sunset stretch across the Petrified Forest. His balcony, high in Elson’s Keep, had a commanding view of the city, the forest to their east, and the countryside to the north.

  Elson’s Keep was a small castle compared to those of other High Lords, but so was House Greendbridge compared to their peers. However, their family and their keep were the center of the city and found strength in their position if not their size.

  As the sun dipped below the horizon, he found himself looking for Rulliko along the riverbank. He could not see him, but knew he would be there.

  His spirit worship may well be the death of him one day, but he seems to hardly care for all the warning I give him. Even after the beating he received for performing his rain ritual, he smiled when I told him the drought had broken. But was that power, or coincidence?

  Imrell waited until the sun’s light had fully disappeared before he returned to his desk and lit a candle to continue reading his messages. One caught his eye and he opened it.

  ‘To Lord Imrell Greenbridge, acting High Lord of Gallmont,’ it read. ‘I plan to visit you and discuss marriage pacts between our families. My father has sent me on a tour of the kingdom for this purpose, and my journey will bring me to Greenbrdige soon. I am traveling by way of Pourculturrs from Cliffside and should arrive within two weeks. My you fare well. With respect, James Anseon.’

  The Anseon’s grow more ambitious by the day.

  His father often spoke of High Lord Viktor Anseon’s ambition. Always seeking to position himself in the midst of the kingdom’s problems and offering a solution that vastly depended on him or his kin. From the walls of Auramar, to trade deals with Argan, to giant raids on the southern border, he sought a sliver of it all.

  Now he seeks a piece of Gallmont itself.

  Ser James had not thought to mark the letter with a date, so he had no idea of when the man would arrive. He placed the letter aside and continued his reading. He read well into the night, eating a simple dinner of sliced turkey and vegetables alone.

  Imrell, found himself uncomfortable and stretched his neck from side to side to ease the tension achieved from a night of reading over a hard mahogany table. His physical discomfort relieved, he turned to his spiritual.

  Lord, hear my prayer, and keep my brother safe if you find him in your domain. May the beasts leave him be, and the trees grant him shade from the sun.

  Mistress, may you lend your favor to Osken, so that he may escape peril.

  Wanderer, may you guide his path back home, and help him to know we love him. Vas Der’Athan.

  His prayer complete, he stood and walked down the stairs with the goal of his bed.

  Perhaps Rukillo’s spirits will have given him an answer…

  He did not arrive. A knock at the door waylaid him, and he went to see who would disturb him at such an hour. It was Rulliko, and he did not look cheery.

  “Rulliko… was your ritual a success?”

  “I am afraid it was, my lord. The news great Angand gave me was full of sorrows.”

  Imrell felt a chill run up his spine, “Speak, I will not hold you liable for the river’s response.”

  Rulliko nodded and said, “Angand told me your brother left the city more than a half-moon ago. He carried a heavy burden, both of mind and body, but found his troubles’ end at his joining with the spirits of the land.”

  “What do you mean?” Imrell asked fearfully. “Speak plainly.”

  Rulliko’s could not meet Imrell’s gaze as he said, “I am sorry, my lord, but your brother is dead. Buried without even a stone to mark his rest.”

  Imrell felt dizzy but held himself steady by grabbing the door beside him. “How can you be so sure you are right?”

  “Spirits do not lie. They are not plagued with falsehood as mortals are.” Rulliko explained.

  “You are mortal, perhaps you misheard.” Imrell said as his throat tightened and the words became harder to pronounce.

  “Mortal yes, but a good servant to you and the spirits. I did not mishear and I would not break the faith of either and mislead you.” Rulliko replied.

  Imrell took a breath and regained control of his voice, “Leave me, please.”

  “Yes, my lord.” Rulliko answered before he walked away.

  Imrell shut the door, and collapsed on the other side in a fit of tears and quiet sobs.