Chapter Sixteen Point Seven — Splinters at the Hearth

  Selriph swallowed hard, the question hanging between them like a blade unsheathed.

  “Someone in the tunnels gave it to me,” he mumbled, almost timidly. “Below the city, knew magic.”

  His grip on his sickle tightened, the worn leather handle bending under his palm.

  “A name, boy. Who was this person?” His voice was low, intense.

  “Vick. His name was Vick.” Selriph muttered as his own hands drifted unconsciously toward the hilt of his blade.

  Something shifted—not in Hagan’s stance—but in his face. The tension etched on his brow slackened slightly at the name.

  “Vick?” he breathed. The name escaped him like the groan of rusted hinges of a long-unopened door. Something that had not passed his lips in years. “Describe him. Now.”

  “Older, his head was balding. Deep grey hair. He was muscular and wore a leather jerkin. Brown eyes. He had an ivory wand, smooth, well taken care of.” Selriph’s eyes darted upwards as he tried to come up with adequate descriptions of Vick’s appearance.

  Hagan’s mouth parted slightly, but for a long moment, no words came. The sickle in his hand dropped an inch, his fingers relaxing slightly around the hilt of the blade.

  “Vick... Vickthar.” His tense face softened, the memory washing over him. “He’s still alive?” His voice trembled, a blend of disbelief, sorrow, and longing. Through his eyes, a flicker of hope flashed through the stern visage.

  Only the crackling hearth fire bled through the quietude, emanating from behind the woodsman.

  “Imagine that,” Hagan muttered, “Vickthar, teaching some stray the very arts that condemned him.” His tone was somewhere between bitter amusement and stunned awe.

  In that moment, Selriph saw not the weathered woodsman. He was just a man, memories laid bare in his eyes. “We… bled in the old days. Took many jobs together to scrounge a living. I met him by chance when I was out dealing with a pack of hobgoblins. Made that job a cakewalk…Since then, we became brothers, nay… closer than brothers.”

  Hagan paced forward towards Selriph, the tome outstretched in his hand. “He gave this to you, didn’t he?” Selriph could see the page that Hagan had flipped to. Personal scribbles and notes on a blank page of the tome–in Vick’s hand.

  Selriph hesitated, “I wouldn’t say he gave them to me…he had me study it. But we got separated. A blackguard captain and an inquisitor found me—they tracked me through the ratways. He bought me time to escape. I simply had that tome in my pack when I escaped.”

  Hagan’s face darkened, and any semblance of happiness quickly washed over like a shadow falling across a sunlit field. A deep frown settled on his face, tightened with concern. “Vickthar? You led a Blackguard Captain and an inquisitor to him?! What happened to him? Don’t tell me you just left him to them!” He slammed the tome shut with his hand.

  Selriph, stunned by Hagan’s sudden aggression, placed his hands up in the air. “I didn’t abandon him! He told me to escape through the tunnels he created! The last time I saw him, he was holding his own against them!”

  “And you listened?” Hagan snarled. “You think I care what he told you? You think he wanted to be left behind?” His face now brimmed with anger as he seized Selriph by the collar. “He would have done more than hold his own if you had stepped in to help. Instead, you ran?!” As a crack popped in his voice from the swell of emotion. “A boy with your abilities could have easily turned the tide in his favour, and you left him to fend for himself against those bastards?”

  “I….” Selriph stammered. The weight of Hagan’s accusation struck him like a hammer. The young adolescent had not considered it until this moment; there was truth in his words. He had barely attempted to protest against Vick’s orders. He could have stood with him, fought a retreat with him, or escaped. Together.

  “You are a disgrace. You are a child. You ran when things got hard. And what a shame it is that he gave his knowledge to a coward—knowing that you turned tail when faced with those scumbags.” Hagan spat to the side. Disgust on his face now mixed with hatred and bitterness.

  A wave of anger shot through Selriph as he grabbed the hardened forearm of Hagan. “He was handling them! If I’d stepped in, I would’ve only gotten in the way. He told me to run for a reason—there might have been more on the way!”

  Without warning, Hagan lashed out, shoving Selriph backwards. The impact of the floor against Selriph’s bottom rang through the room. The sheer force of the throw caused his estoc to come clean from his belt, clattering to the side.

  Out of the corner of Selriph’s vision, he could barely make out Relia, who had been drawn by the commotion, peeking out from her room. Her eyes were wide with concern. Hagan’s voice came, not a shout, but a sharp, intense utterance that hit Selriph’s chest like a ram.

  “Excuses! Pitiful excuses! The two of you could have handled it. Say what you will, boy, but you are a coward. You ran from the Templars. You ran from your home. You’re just another runaway—and now Vickthar is the latest victim of your cowardly antics!”

  The silence that followed was crushing. Relia could feel it in her skin, like cold pressing against her bones, as Hagan’s figure towered over Selriph. The boy kept his head fixed on his estoc, refusing to look at the man.

  “You offered payment for your stay in this lodge… now I want to collect,” as Hagan picked up Selriph’s estoc and pouch. “You are going to help me find and rescue Vickthar—wherever he is. “

  Striding across the room, Hagan placed the tome in his satchel. Selriph’s pouch slung over his shoulder, the estoc gripped tight by its scabbard, every movement was deliberate, angry.

  “Consider this insurance. So you don’t scurry off like the rat you are,” as he sealed his pack.

  “You won’t get far without these supplies. You are staying put here. Emmett will make sure of that.” Hagan gestured to the dire wolf outside the window as he paced past Selriph, towards the door.

  Relia rushed over to Selriph as she looked up at Hagan, her voice laced with urgency. “Wait! Where are you going? The sun’s already down—”

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  Relia faltered at the intense glare of the woodsman. “To find Vickthar’s location, the child is going to help–even if it costs him his life to do so.”

  Hagan’s face was an icy mask as he walked through the doors, slamming them on his exit.

  The sound resonated in Relia’s chest. Before, an oppressive silence filled the lodge.

  Relia knelt beside Selriph, her voice trembling. “Are you alright?”

  He didn’t answer.

  All Relia could see was the youth, or rather, a boy. Broken and silent, with tears forming in his eyes, staring at the space where his Estoc had been.

  The fire had burned low. The only source of light was the lantern on the desk in the main room. Hagan had long since vanished into the night—likely headed for Caer Eldralis.

  Outside, the wind was still, a silence in the lodge. A sharp contrast to the storm caused by Hagan’s outburst, something that neither had expected from the woodsman.

  Selriph was sitting near his bedroll, stripped of his items, left with only the clothes on his back, hunched near the hearth. He fixed his eyes on the residual embers, but the heat was barely a comfort to the cold sting that ran across his body.

  Relia lingered near, sat at the table, the half-eaten contents of a plate of cured meats and berries next to hers. She had seen the outburst, and Selriph hadn’t spoken a word since. She stepped cautiously forward. The floorboards creaked beneath her boots in the stillness of the space.

  “Selriph…” Her voice was soft, unsure. “Are you alright?”

  He didn’t look at her. “Yeah…,” he said quietly, though it rang hollow.

  Relia sat cross-legged beside him, a small space between them. She shared his quiet contemplation of the embers, silent for a long moment. She noticed, from the corner of her eye, his hands trembling, clenched tightly, jaws clenched like a vice grip.

  “I… would never have expected Hagan to act like that…” she said eventually. “He seemed so composed, he had a gruff exterior, but he seemed so centred. To think he would…” she said, her voice almost a low whisper.

  Selriph didn’t answer. His face was in a deep scowl, gaze still unmoving.

  Relia glanced at him, then back at the hearth. “But tonight…it was like he snapped.”

  That got a flicker of reaction—just a twitch of Selriph’s brow.

  “I don’t know… what this Vick… this mentor meant to him.” Relia continued gently. “But… when you said his name. It’s like you pulled something out from deep within him. When he heard he’d been left, it’s like something was pulled out of his heart.”

  Selriph finally spoke, voice low. “You don’t have to rub it in…” A hint of irritation flickered in his voice.

  Relia’s expression fell. “No—I didn’t mean it like that,” she said quickly, her voice hushed with regret. “I wasn’t trying to blame you, Selriph. I’m sorry.”

  She turned her eyes away from the fire, her gaze meeting his face for the first time.

  “I just… I was trying to understand what happened. Not to judge you. Gods, I can’t imagine what it was like—for either of you. I just saw the way Hagan reacted and…” she trailed off, exhaling. “I’ve never seen anyone lash out like that.”

  Selriph’s shoulders tensed, but the edge in his posture softened just slightly.

  “I know you didn’t intend to hurt him with what you did,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “I just think... he’s hurting more than he can express.”

  She looked down at her hands in her lap, then quietly said, “Same as you.”

  “He had a very interesting way of showing that he was hurting…” Selriph’s voice was low, bitter. The flicker of memory crossed the boy’s mind—the hard floor, the weight of another man’s fury—was brief. He forced it away before it showed.

  Relia said nothing at first. She just watched him, the guilt flickering faintly in her eyes. Then she spoke, careful and quiet this time.

  “He said they were closer than brothers. Saved each other’s lives, lived together for a time. Fought shoulder to shoulder.” Her gaze landed on the portrait on the table.

  Selriph’s eyes stayed on the fire as he muttered. “How do you…”

  Relia nodded, folding her arms loosely across her lap. “I asked,” she said. “When you were out earlier. I saw the portrait and finally just asked him who it was. He didn’t say much… just Vick’s name. And that they’d been through more than most could imagine.”

  “I always thought it was a family member,” Relia continued, softer now. “Someone long gone.”

  “I never thought to notice it,” he murmured.

  Relia watched him for a moment, the faint amber glow of the coals on his face. “Did you have anyone like that? Someone you’d keep in a frame? Family? A friend?”

  Selriph didn’t answer right away. The words could not escape his mouth, as if they were buried behind a series of locks.

  Relia didn’t push, just waited.

  Eventually, he silently shook his head.

  “No friends. No mentors. No one needed me.”

  He exhaled again, this time shakier. “He called me a coward. Said I abandoned Vick.”

  Relia turned fully toward him. “That wasn’t fair. You didn’t deserve that.”

  “I don’t know…” his lips shaking slightly. “Maybe I did. I didn’t fight alongside him. I didn’t even argue. I just ran… after he told me to, all I said was a half-baked thank you and ran…”

  “That doesn’t make you a coward,” Relia said, a firmer edge slipping into her voice. “It makes you someone who believes in their teacher. He told you to run. You listened. That’s not weakness—that’s trust.”

  Selriph flinched slightly at the word trust. His response was immediate. “There was no trust in that. I did what I thought was the best thing for self-preservation. Hagan is right. I could have helped him escape. We could have made it out together.”

  “Maybe,” she said gently. “Or maybe you both would’ve died in those tunnels.”

  Silence settled between them, heavy and close as the firelight. Selriph’s shoulders sagged beneath the weight of it all.

  Relia gave a sharp inhale before she spoke again. “Hagan–he’s not thinking right now. He wasn’t angry, he was sad, in grief.. I don’t think he meant to lash out like that. You didn’t see his face before he left. He was angry, but also… afraid.”

  Selriph blinked, gaze lifting slightly. “How could you tell?

  The faintest hint of a smile crept across her face. “Call it woman’s intuition. But I think if he didn’t do something now, he’d lose whatever chance he had left of seeing him. He took your gear not to punish you; He took it so that you would not run again.”

  Selriph glanced back at the young woman. “Or he simply doesn’t trust me.”

  “No,” she said softly but emphatically. “He was trying to protect what little hope he had left. He knows he needs you to help find Vick. His only chance to see him again.”

  “If he is even alive….” Selriph trailed off as his eyes drifted back to the fire. He looked hollowed out—drained. Completely still.

  Relia stood slowly, brushing dust from her knees. She lingered a moment longer, watching him in the glow.

  “We’ll figure this out,” she said. “But not tonight. Get some rest. Tomorrow, or whenever Hagan returns, we will decide with cool heads what comes next.” She said as she placed a reassuring hand on Selriph’s shoulder. Lingering for a moment for the boy to register its presence before she pulled away.

  She turned toward the room Hagan had provided her, and as she paused at the doorway, looking back over her shoulder.

  “And Selriph… for what it’s worth—I don’t think you’re a coward. You are the bravest person I have met. You are just learning to carry the weight of everything you have been through.”

  Relia could see his gaze linger briefly on her from the corner of his eyes, red-rimmed but dry. A faint nod. Nothing more.

  She slipped away, the soft thud of the door closing behind her.

  The room seemed larger now. Emptier. Wind curled outside like a ghost. The last of the embers in the hearth faded.

  Selriph lay back on his bedroll, gazing at the dark ceiling above. Day’s end found him weary, seeking sleep’s solace for respite.

  In his dreams, there was firelight in a narrow stone corridor. A man with grey hair stood firm, wand in hand. A shadow loomed behind him. A door closing.

  A boy, back turned, running—the man’s figure calling out to him in desperation.