Chapter 3. The Lord of Arvene

"So it's here where you grew up?" Jules spoke for the first time in hours, his voice a bit raspy. The town was a labyrinth of narrow, winding streets. Old brick houses crowded side by side, pushing against each other's walls, fighting for space. Buildings, made of white stones and dark wood, soared towards the darkening sky. "It looks so empty."

"Welcome to Stone Town, the capital of the Arvene Fief," John Rogre's voice echoed along the empty streets. "It's how it's been looking nowadays. People are scared. They don't go out after sunset."

"I'll bring the town back to normal," a faint note of nostalgia could be heard Ravin's voice. Sitting on the horse's back behind the hunter, Jules was unable to see his master's face but knew it was impassive, frozen in the usual strict, deadpan expression. "It's no wonder it turned out this bad if there was no hunter here since Pritchard was forced to leave."

Jules muffled a yawn. They had been riding for hours with little to no breaks. It had dawned long after they had left the inn, and now the sun was already setting. Opal, Ravin's black stallion, had kept looking around for the whole day, his eyes searching for the Raimont's horse and the dog who had always trotted by their side. But they were alone now, and even after day turned into a late evening and twilight spread over the sky, the steed didn't cease looking for his animal friends.

"Prichard was your master, wasn't he? Why was he forced to leave?" Jules couldn't stand Opal's anxious whinnies.

Without Sokal running around them, the fief felt strange and hostile. The dog trotting along with the horses was one of Jules' first good memories after his mother and sister had been murdered. The huge, hairy hound had taken to the orphaned boy immediately - barking at Raimont every time the older apprentice had tried to pet him, he would turn on his back and demand belly-rubs at the very sight of Jules approaching.

The question was ignored by the two adults, who only exchanged knowing looks again. Jules didn't insist on getting an answer; Ravin had been gloomier than usual since the previous night and after their hunt turning out to be a disaster, the boy didn't dare to upset his master. The whole day had passed with a heavy silence hanging between them. Even though the hunter had never brought up the night's events, Jules felt them weighing heavily on his shoulder, and with Raimont being away, there was no one to share the guilt with.

They reached the market in the centre of the town, having not met a single man on their way. The streets were quiet, the shutters closed tight, no light escaping from the windows fronting the street. Even the inn was closed; at his time of the evening, it should be crowded and noisy with clatter of beer mugs.

Jules perked his head to look at a doll made of red rags that hung from a baker's trade sign. Similar rag dolls were nailed to the doors and window frames of each house they passed by. Dozens of red cloths and ribbons waved in the wind, like little flags, frayed and tangled.

"Those dolls... Do they mean anything?" the boy reached out and took one in his hands. He grimaced when the wet cloth touched his skin. With the ropes tied over its neck, it reminded him of a hanged man. "They're creepy."

"One of the local traditions," Rogre explained while Ravin gestured at his apprentice to let go of the puppet. "They are to drive bad spirits away."

"Because the Arvers, who rule over Arvene Fief, aren't very fond of us, mages," Ravin dismounted, careful not to buck off the boy who was sitting behind him. He took Opal's bridle and led him across the empty market. "I told you Lord Harald banished Pritchard, my old master, a year after I took the Exam. I doubt there has been a hunter here since."

"There wasn't," Rogre gave a nod. "And only the goddess knows it has been a hard time."

Jules' eyes rested on a little building made of red brick - a strange addition to the white-stone houses. There, no ragdolls hung from the oval windows, but just above the door, in a niche, a woman of stone stood motionless, wrapped in cobwebs. The Goddess Ziva, the Mother of Life.

A cold shiver travelled up Jules' spine when he met the goddess empty eyes. He jumped down from Opal's back. Landing by Ravin, he pointed his finger at the chapel accusingly.

"You should have warned me the Order is here!" he pulled the hood of his cloak over his head to hide his blue eye. He didn't fear for his life anymore, but the thought of the Order being so close made his stomach twist. The priests wouldn't hurt him as long as he stayed by Ravin's side - no one would dare to hurt the hunter's charge.

Jules' blue eye was both his gift and his curse. On one hand, it was an indication of a strong Sixth Sense, and this additional sense was what made him a mage. With the blue eye alone Jules was able to see even the weakest spirits. On the other hand, people believed that bi-colour eyes indicated demonic blood. It was the reason his father had always seemed ashamed of him and suspicious of his mother.

Ravin and Rogre had already debated on whether Jules should cover his blue eyes with a bandage or not. The hunter's friend had warned him that Arvene's people, even if not very religious, were strongly prejudiced. The boy didn't mind hiding his eye if it meant that he would not attract unwanted attention, but as his master planned to settle down in the fief, people would eventually find out anyway.

"Calm down," Ravin put a heavy hand on the boy's shoulder. "Harald banished the Order even before banishing my master. His son, Kedmon, didn't support them either but was a lot more tolerant than his father. Once he's the head of the family, mages will be back to Arvene Fief."

"You speak as if you know him," Jules turned away from the chapel. Ravin's hand pressed on his shoulder, urging him to walk.

"We were best friends growing up," the hunter motioned at the street in front of them. It climbed a hill - the only path without wild turns in the town. "The castle's up there. You'll see it behind these roofs."

They followed the road. On the top of the hill, a stronghold of white stones overlooked the town. Clinging to it, a stout tower rose toward the sky. A black flag flapped on the wind on its roof. By its shaft, like an omen of death, there sat a raven.

A guardhouse barred the way to the castle, and the massive, iron door was closed shut.

"A lot of things have changed here, and not for good," Rogre halted his horse by the gate. He banged his fists against the iron door. "The good thing is, I got promoted. I'm the Captain of Arvene Guards now."

An eye appeared in the peephole. Some voices sounded from behind the gate. Then, heavy chains cracked as an iron portcullis was slowly lifted up. The winches scrunched and scraped, and then, when they finally stopped, a guardsman armed with a halberd opened one wing of the door and greeted Rogre with a bow.

The main yard turned out to be a small square squeezed between the wall and the castle keep. In front of the gate, there was another door - also iron and massive - that must have led to the Great Hall. Above them, on a roof of wooden tiles, there skulked more ravens.

They left Opal in the care of a stableman and entered the castle with an elderly servant. Their steps echoed in the quiet, dark corridors, ringing between the empty stone walls. Ravin walked fast and firmly, and Jules trotted to keep up with him.

"Please follow me, Master Blake," the servant bowed. He opened a door for them; in the dimness of the room behind it, Jules saw nothing but a dark statue of a man sitting with his back to them.

As soon as they entered, the door closed behind them.

"You sent for me," Ravin walked through the room. Only silence answered him - the man remained motionless. The hunter patted his shoulder; the man came to life and jumped from the chair. The sudden move made Jules reach for his knife.

"Gods, I've fallen asleep," the man's voice was muffled by a yawn. "Rogre found you! Good to see you after all these years."

"See? You must have turned into an owl if you see anything," the hunter conjured the magical bluish ball. When the light fell onto the man's face, he raised his hands to shield it. "Or a vampire."

"I feel like one," the man got up from the chair and shook Ravin's hand, then turned around. He frowned when his eyes found Jules who still stood in the deep shadows by the door. The boy watched him from there; he noted his greyish skin, and his grey, hollow eyes, puffed and bloodshot after many sleepless nights. "The boy, is he your...?

"My youngest apprentice. His name's Jules," Ravin motioned at Jules to come closer. The nobleman gasped as he saw the boy's bi-colour eyes. He stepped back, met the hunter's gaze and - seeing a warning sparkle in the stern man's eyes - he said nothing. "The older is travelling to Ree to take the Master Exam," Ravin continued casually, then turned toward the boy. "Jules, this man is sir Kedmon Arver, the future lord of Arvene Fief."

"I want to talk to you in private," Kedmon Arver waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. "You'll wait outside, boy. It won't take long."

Jules gave Ravin a questioning look, but when the hunter nodded, he turned around and walked to the door. His steps were the only sounds in the room, as the men didn't start their conversation, waiting for him to leave. He cast only one last glance at his master and the future lord before opening the door and slipping outside.

His stomach rumbled and he rubbed it, leaning heavily against the wall. The last warm meal he'd had was yesterday's supper. The hunt had left him exhausted, and he had slept for less than an hour or so before Captain Rogre came banging at their door.

Jules closed his eyes, a long yawn escaping his lungs. His focus slowly drifted away, leaving him half- asleep. But then, a chilly gust ruffled his hair. A shiver ran down the boy's' spine. With the bi-colour eyes now wide open, he discerned around the empty corridor, searching for the source of the coldness.

A shadow crept along the walls. A shadow, cast by nobody. It moved slowly, swimming through the air, from one stone on the floor toward another, barely visible in the growing darkness.

The shadow brushed just by Jules, almost touching the tips of his boots. A sharp odour of rottenness filled the air. The boy wiggled his nose, the unnatural coldness piercing through his bones, his eyes following every move of the shadow as it drifted away. It stopped by the stairs, waved, and started to creep upstairs, sneaking up the steps.

Jules followed it hesitantly. It didn't feel like anything he'd seen before - and he had experienced enough ghosts, spectres, and apparitions to make a comparison.

By the time he reached the second floor, the shadow had disappeared. Jules halted, his hand lingering on the bannister, indecisive. He should be waiting by the door, but there were no servants, the castle was quiet, nobody would catch him here.

Making his mind, he walked softly up the corridor. He stopped by each door he passed by; straining both his ears and his Sixth Sense, he searched for any unnatural presence. Having not heard or sensed anything, he moved along.

Jules was about to put his ear to another door when it burst open and banged his head. He jumped back with a hiss of pain, pressing a hand to his sore forehead. Before him, there stood a teenage boy who gazed at him with a mixture of surprise and indignation. Tall, broad-shouldered with blond-hair, he looked like a younger copy of sir Kedmon Arver.

"Who are you?!" he glowered, his voice masterful and commanding. "This floor is closed for plebeians like you! You're the new stable-hand my father hired, aren't you? I'll make sure you'll be sent to pasture pigs!"

"Hey, who do you think you are?" Jules massaged his throbbing head. "I'm not your servant. I'm an apprentice hunter. Your father is hiring my master right now."

"You're a mage?" the blonde boy's face twisted with contempt. He stepped toward Jules, who lowered his hand to face him. When their eyes met, the Arvers' heir halted, his face turning a flame shade of red. "You're one of them! A demon's offspring! Your kind should be burnt on stakes!"

His words struck Jules like lightning. In his memory, his father's face became vivid and menacing, as the man yelled at his wife for letting the boy out without his blue eye covered.

"I'm not a demon's offspring," Jules balled his fists, glaring. "I'm a hunter, and -"

"I'm Arthur Arver, the future head of the Arvers' House and lord of this fief," the blonde looked down at the smaller boy. "I don't care, who you are - hunter or not, your kind is filth. Now leave when you're still allowed."

Jules stood there, rooted to the spot while blood rushed in his veins. He bit his lip, his confidence failing him in contact with Arthur's bossy personality. He inhaled deeply, a retort forming on his lips, but then the air just escaped his lungs with no sound. Looking down, he brushed past Arthur, hurrying towards the stairs.

His hand clenched on the bannister, but then, a loud thump shook the corridor. Jules froze with one foot in the air. He spun around.

The door at the end of the corridor burst open, then closed with a bang, opened again, closed, opened...

"No, no, no..." Arthur recoiled into his room. "Not again, not ag-"

"LEAVE ME ALONE!"

Jules winced. The shriek vibrated in his ears; hoarse and crazy, filled with madness and despair the boy had never heard before.

"LEAVE! ME! ALONE! LEAVE! ME! ALONE!"

"Grandfather!" Arthur gazed at the shutting and opening door, fear shining in his eyes. "Grandpa!"

Goosebumps covered Jules' forearms. The unnatural coldness he had felt following the shadow now hit him with double force. He rushed toward the door. It slammed shut right before his nose. He pressed against it, but some unknown force kept it closed.

"LEAVE ME ALONE! LEAVE!"

"Father!"

Jules looked round. Kedmon Arver had just climbed the stairs and dashed toward him with an unsheathed sword in his hands. Ravin overtook the man. He gestured at his apprentice to get out of his way. Jules jumped back, and the hunter ran into the door, kicked it open and stormed into the chamber.

"LEAVE!"

Jules slid into the room behind his master. He nearly choked at the stench of musty putridity. Inside, an old man thrashed around with a sword in his hand, aiming and swinging madly. Empty eyes, crazed with fear, roamed around. He went still for a split of a second - then, he pounced at the hunter with a wild battle cry. Ravin pushed Jules away and ducked under the sword coming at them.

The boy hit the wall and fell onto his knees. The old man stormed into the corridor. A misty shape whirled in the air, then sank to the floor, formed a shadow and followed him.

Jules only heard a strangled yell. The swords of the current and the future lord of Arvene clashed. Sparks escaped from between the blades. They reflected in the old man's mad eyes.

"Father, it's me!" Kedmon Arver tried to grab the other man's arm but failed.

"LEAVE ME, YOU DEVIL!" The old man pushed his son away.

His face twisted in an expression of terror as he ran down the corridor. He hit into the guardrail. The wood moaned, breaking under his weight. The Lord waved his arms desperately, the sword slipping out of his hand. The fall was short and ended with a thump.

"Father!" Kedmon Arver was the first to reach the stairhead. He fell to his knees, grasping the broken guardrail.

Jules and Ravin joined him a second later. The boy peeked from behind his master's back, as the hunter placed a hand on his old friend's shoulder and pulled him back.

One floor below them, the Lord of Arvene lay still, face-down, at the bottom of the stairs. A pool of blood grew around his body, slowly seeping over the floor.

The shadow rose from the ground like a cloud of smoke. It whirled to transform into a misty figure of a young woman. She looked up, straight into Jules' eyes, and smiled victoriously before she vanished.