Chapter 13 Three Rules
Rolan lay on the ground, stunned as the Arcanist leaped off his horse and landed between him and the Cryptic.
With horror, he noted that the man’s eyes were glowing blue, just like the monster’s.
With barely a glance at the boy, Luc bounded into action, spinning and planting a blade into one of the Cryptic’s legs.
The creature howled and stabbed at Luc with another leg, but the man was ready.
He rolled clear, swiping and missing, swiping again and finding his mark.
His steel flashed and blurred in the moonlight, streaming with the eerie blue light that matched his eyes and the Cryptic’s.
The monster’s screams pierced the forest. Rolan thought they surely must hear it all the way in Crisanth. People would be sitting up in their beds, eyes wide, gripping their blankets.
“Horse!” yelled Luc.
For a moment Rolan thought the man might be summoning his horse into the fight. He looked around, half expecting the gray beast to come charging up with a sword clenched in its teeth.
Instead he felt a hand close on his arm. Luc was pulling him upright, pushing him toward the horse.
“Go!” he snapped. His creepy blue eyes shone directly into Rolan’s.
“I-I can help—”
Luc lifted a sword, blocking another strike from the Cryptic. He hissed as the creature’s barbed leg sliced his arm.
With one hand holding the Cryptic at bay, Luc used the other to lift Rolan bodily, heaving him over the horse’s saddle.
“Home,” the Arcanist hissed, and the horse responded at once, whirling on its hooves.
“Wait!” Rolan called.
His teeth clacked together, biting his tongue as the horse leaped over a log. He spat blood and struggled to grip the saddle. With great effort, he managed to sit upright, only to duck again when a low branch nearly took off his head.
Looking back, he caught one glimpse of the Arcanist rolling over the leaves, drawing the bow from his back, before the horse dove down a bank. The ground rose up, obscuring Luc and the monster from view.
Gritting his teeth, Rolan held on with all his strength, letting the horse find his own way. He was clearly more adept at navigating the woods than Rolan could ever hope to be.
He was just so blasted useless!
What if Luc died back there, because Rolan had gone bumbling into places he shouldn’t?
He bowed his head over the horse’s neck and let himself go numb again, eyes closed.
An eternity later, the woods finally gave way to grass, and the horse slowed to a limping walk. The animal was heaving, his mouth foaming, and Rolan knew that was his fault too. He patted the horse’s neck, murmuring to it until at last, the Arcanist’s house came into view.
When Rolan finally slid off the horse’s back, landing in a heap by the barn, the first pink light of dawn was shining in the east. The sun would rise over the woods, where Luc was either alive or dead.
After a few minutes of lying pathetically on the ground, Rolan forced himself to his feet. What would Luc be doing in his position?
He took the horse’s reins and led him into the stable.
Now that he’d achieved his mission and brought Rolan home, the horse seemed willing enough to let the boy take charge.
In the barn Rolan had to use a block to reach the saddle.
He pulled it off, then the bridle, then hunted for the curry comb.
These were all things he’d seen Luc do after riding.
He wasn’t sure he was doing them in the right order, but he gave it his best effort.
“Water,” he mumbled wearily. “You’ll want water. And oats.”
He fed and watered the horse, then curried him from muzzle to tail.
He even coaxed him into lifting his hooves so he could clean them out, picking out stones and twigs that had gotten jammed in the hollows.
The horse stood patiently through it all, whisking his tail and nuzzling Rolan’s hair with his velvety lips.
By the time he was done, he felt stronger. Not better. But stronger. As if he might not drop dead of sheer exhaustion and fright after all. One foot in front of the other. He imagined he could do it until he could do it.
The horse tended to, he took care of the goats next.
He let them out of their nighttime pen so they could graze, and he filled their trough from the well.
Then he saw to the sheep and the chickens.
He’d seen Luc do it so many times, he almost didn’t need to think about it.
The hardest part was reaching the high shelf where the chicken’s feed was stored, so he dragged over the same block he’d used to unsaddle the horse.
“You really do need a name,” he said, pausing by the horse’s stall to feed him an apple. “You saved my life, you know that?”
He squeezed his eyes shut, hoping desperately that in saving Rolan’s life, the horse had not doomed Luc’s. He thought of all the times he’d wished Luc dead, even if he hadn’t truly meant it, and bit his lip. He took another apple from his pocket, and the horse snapped it up eagerly.
“You like apples, huh?” Rolan fished out his third and final one, handing it over. “Maybe that should be your name. Apple.”
Then he turned around—and dropped the bucket of feed he’d been holding. Grain spilled across the floor.
Luc slumped against the barn’s doorway, hunched over. He was covered in blood and scratches. His cloak hung in tatters. Half his dagger sheathes were empty, and in one hand, he held the boot Rolan had lost. It dropped from his grip, landing on the barn’s hay-strewn floor with a light thud.
The Arcanist looked at Rolan, one eye swollen shut and purple with bruising. The other still gleamed faintly blue.
Just like the Cryptic’s.
“We need to talk,” he rasped. “Now.”
Minutes later, Rolan sat at the small wooden table in the house across from Luc. His stomach churned. He wished he were anywhere else, even back in the woods, stumbling around like a fool.
“Are you… okay?” he asked haltingly.
The Arcanist gazed at him with his one good eye. The light had faded somewhat, but there was still a misty aura about him, cold, icy blue limning his bulky frame.
“Do you need another talon?” asked Rolan, rising. “Will that help?”
He moved toward the chest.
“Sit,” Luc said.
Swallowing, Rolan dropped back into his chair. He sat as still as stone, hands in his lap, and waited.
Finally, dragging in a long, weary breath, Luc stood. He leaned forward, planting his hands on the table. He’d washed off most of the blood, but it still crusted under his fingernails.
“Three rules,” he whispered. “I gave you three. Simple. Rules. And you break all three of them in one night.”
With great effort, Rolan managed to pry his lips apart and work enough moisture into his mouth so that he could speak. “What rules?”
Luc gazed at him incredulously, then snatched the paper nailed by the door. He slammed it onto the table. “Don’t play me for a fool, boy. I know you snooped through every inch of this house. I know you saw them!”
He planted a meaty finger on the paper, sliding it toward Rolan.
Rolan looked down at it, his throat thick.
“What are the rules, Rolan?” Luc asked.
Heart sinking, Rolan said nothing.
“What. Are. The. Rules?” The Arcanist’s furious voice boomed in his ears.
“I-I don’t…” Rolan hated how weak his voice sounded, like the gasp of a dying fire.
A long silence stretched between them. Luc looked from Rolan to the paper, then down at Rolan again, and Rolan saw the moment the Arcanist figured it out. Understanding flashed in the man’s open eye, and pity.
Oh, how Rolan hated to be pitied.
Luc sat heavily, the anger melting from his face. “You can’t read.”
Rolan’s head snapped up. “I’m not stupid!”
“I didn’t say you were stupid. I said you can’t read.”
“So? Reading’s stupid! It’s for fancy rich kids with no brains in their heads, so they got to let some flimsy piece of paper do their thinking for them! I ain’t sorry for that!”
Luc just looked at him in his still, patient way, making Rolan squirm until he couldn’t stand it anymore. Rolan jumped up, crumpling the paper in his fist.
“Just tell me your stupid rules! Why d’you have to go around acting like I’m some kind of freak just because I don’t care about some silly little squiggles on some silly little paper?”
Leaning back in his chair, Luc let his hands rest on the table. He looked so tired, so worn and frail, as if all his muscle and bulk were just a facade, and the real Arcanist were as thin as the paper in Rolan’s fist.
“The first rule,” he said, “is follow every order I give you.”
Rolan scoffed. “Well, that’s the stupidest rule I ever heard. The first rule is follow the rules. Wow. Very clever.”
“The second rule,” said Luc, his voice thinner, “is to never go into the woods alone.”
“I wasn’t alone. You were out there. We were just… separated a bit.”
Luc rolled his eyes. “The third rule: don’t feed the horse any fruit, especially apples.”
Rolan stared. “What?”
“Apples give the horse the most obscene gas you can imagine,” said Luc gravely. “Toxic fumes to rival a Cryptic’s venom. The stench has been known to blight entire fields of crops. There are three duchies from which the horse is banned entirely.”
Rolan looked around, as if someone might leap out of the woodwork and tell him this was all a joke. But the Arcanist looked deadly serious, even more serious than he had about the first two rules.
But then… a quirk of his lips. A twitch of his mustache.
Then all at once, Luc and Rolan burst out laughing.
Their laughter filled the house and disturbed Supper, who’d been sleeping by the hearth. The goat maaed at them indignantly. Luc’s laugh was rumbly and deep, swelling from his belly and making his chest and beard shake.
Rolan laughed until he was wiping tears from his eyes. He couldn’t sit up straight. He doubled over, laughing and laughing until suddenly, he was crying. Curled into himself, his face buried in his hands, Rolan wept until his entire body ached.
He was crying. The one thing he never did, at least not in front of anyone. But he couldn’t help it. All the fear, the horror of the night that he’d kept firmly dammed up now came pouring out of him, leaking through his eyes. There was nothing he could do to stop it.
Luc said nothing the whole time, only waiting quietly for Rolan to collect himself. Eventually Rolan sat up, scrubbing at his nose with his sleeve.
“I’m sorry I went into the woods,” he whispered. “I don’t even know why I did it. I knew it would be awful, and it was. I was just so…”
“Angry,” said Luc softly, and Rolan nodded. “I know. Believe me, I know. And I’m sorry too. I’m sorry I got angry and left like that. You… needed me, and I was too focused on my own feelings to realize it.”
Silence fell again, but this time, it didn’t feel like a noose around Rolan’s neck. He felt calm. Still ashamed and exhausted and a bit afraid. But those feelings were cushioned in a sense of peace, like maybe, if he just waited a little while, he could feel okay again.