“Is it really true you killed a Crawler?”

Eric looked up, slightly confused, distracted from A Brief History of Ahya, which he’d been reading. The day of his official questioning was here, just two days after their return to Milagre and his official check-in with the Guard’s Guild. Moran had discouraged him from taking any more work, official or otherwise, as it could cast a suspicious light. He’d taken the advice to heart, and had spent two days within the confines of the Heron Tavern, plied with excellent food and drink by Mandra. She’d finally been able to make good on her promise of a week’s worth of free stay for his help in rescuing Mari.

Now here he was, staring blankly up into the pale face of a young woman with jet-black hair and golden eyes. Her uniform was official-looking, with some livery that looked like it belonged to the Tyrman military. Her clothing was undecorated, however, meaning she was either new, or involved only in administration duties. That would lend credence to her pale skin, he thought. A small badge was attached to her chest, bearing her name and official title. Irena Ciayol, Senior Aide to the Quartermaster. So, he thought, probably not new.

“Sorry,” He asked hesitantly. “What was that?”

“Is it true you killed a Crawler?” She asked again. “On your own? Just gutted it with your sword?”

“I… I didn’t do it alone,” he mumbled, wondering where she could have heard that. “Moran, I mean Sergeant Moran, he did the most work, and the others helped out. It almost killed me, actually, before they intervened.”

He expected her smile to switch to a frown of disappointment, but to his surprise, it only widened, causing her eyes to crinkle. “So modest. That will suit you well in your line of work.”

Eric opened his mouth to try and correct her again, but she spoke over him, her voice sounding crisp and rehearsed. “The Captain is ready to see you now, Apprentice Breeden. Step into the Quartermaster’s office, please.”

Feeling as though his boots had been filled with cement, Eric complied. His wounds had been more or less fully healed since the fight with the Crawler, but he was still sore from where it had thrashed him around. At least, he thought with a sigh of relief, he’d been able to take off the thick bandage that morning. There was a thin jagged silver scar on his forearm to show that a wound had existed, and he wondered idly if it too would fade in time, or if it would be there forever.

He did wonder, as he followed Irena to the office door, why the Captain was involved in such a small matter. He’d already cleared the first line of questioning from the Guild, and now just had to appear before the general military administration. Johan had assured him that this was just general bureaucracy, something that they had to endure if the Guild was to keep its licenses. But the normal procedure was to stand before the Quartermaster, not the actual Captain of the Queen’s Guard and general military.

Irena knocked twice on the door to the office, then, when a voice called from inside, she pulled it open and stood aside to usher Eric in. He stepped through, feeling out of sorts with the austere efficiency, and peered inside the office. It was simple enough, considering that its owner was one of the highest-ranked individuals within the military. A simple, unadorned wooden desk took up most of the space, with two small bookcases set on either side of a moderately sized window overlooking the training grounds outside. The only other decor was a portrait of a man with shaggy black hair hanging down to the shoulders and holding a massive scythe. He looked oddly familiar.

Behind the desk, with his back to the door and staring out of the window with hands clasped at his waist, was evidently the Captain of the Queen’s Guard. All Eric could make out in the dim light was a tall and slender frame, with silver hair tied into a short ponytail at the back. He wore a long coat, with a very ornate-looking rapier sheathed at his left hip. As Eric offered a polite greeting, too nervous to sit, he turned around.

His face was relatively young, Eric noticed. It was sun-tanned and smooth, save for a small scar along the right side of his cheek. If he had to guess, Eric would have put him at twenty-five, maybe twenty-six. But he stood tall, his simple leather armor showing obvious signs of use. He reminded Eric of a swashbuckler, built for speed and grace. And he seemed to radiate an aura of utter self-confidence and power, like Ehran or Samuel. His blue eyes were like chips of ice above his cordial smile, missing nothing as he studied Eric, lingering for a fraction of a second on the silver scar he’d gotten from the Crawler.

“Welcome, Apprentice Breeden,” he said. His voice was a bit deeper than his slender frame suggested. “I am Captain Enri Ciayol. Please, have a seat.”

Eric took the seat as instructed, nervously swallowing as he glanced around the office. There were no other people here, he noticed. Shouldn’t there be some kind of witness, in case he actually was a criminal and attacked? But then again, this man clearly earned his title through skill in combat, and could easily deal with him. He pushed the thought away, as if afraid that Enri could hear it.

“Thank you, sir,” he said quietly, hoping he sounded as cordial. “If I may ask, why are you meeting with me, instead of the Quartermaster?”

“The Quartermaster is otherwise occupied,” Enri replied, moving gracefully to sit in the heavy wooden chair behind the desk. He laced his fingers and rested his chin, peering unemotionally at Eric from across the infinite expanse of the desk. “I have stepped in to assist with your interview.”

“Ah,” Eric said. He wished he could come up with a more interesting reply. “I see.”

“Furthermore,” The Captain continued. “It is interesting to see an Apprentice such as yourself with a sponsor, let alone a respected one such as Master Tokugawa.”

“Master… Tokugawa?” Eric asked hesitantly. “Do you mean Ehran Tokugawa?”

“The very same,” Enri replied, frowning slightly. “Do you not know him?”

“I do!” Eric said hurriedly. “I’m currently trying to become his apprentice. But I had no idea he was sponsoring me.”

Enri’s frown persisted for a few moments as he considered his words, the bright blue eyes still narrowed slightly. It was clearly a shock to hear Eric deny having an official sponsor. Was he considering a harsher punishment now that Eric had admitted to the fact? Would it have been smarter to play along, and pretend that he was already a student of Ehran’s? No, he told himself. Lying wouldn’t do him any good, especially when such a flimsy lie could be deconstructed easily, and then he’d surely be expelled from the Guild, or worse, imprisoned.

“Well, nobody really knows what goes on in the head of a Tokugawa,” Enri said suddenly, abandoning his strict posture and leaning back in the chair. “You must have drawn his interest somehow, but that’s between you and him. He’s an expert warrior. You’ll learn a great deal if you pass his test.”

Eric breathed a quiet sigh of relief. “Thank you, sir.”

“Just call me Enri,” the Captain replied at once, waving his hand dismissively. “I know I’m Captain, but this is an informal meeting and no place for any of that. Would you like some coffee?”

What was it with the people of this world and coffee? “No thank you, sir, I mean, Enri. I’m not very fond of coffee.”

“Really?” Enri asked, arching an eyebrow as he poured himself a cup. “Living at the Heron, and you don’t drink coffee? Mandra’s got the best brew in Tyrman.”

“That is what they tell me,” Eric agreed. “But I prefer tea. I particularly enjoy her strawberry tea.”

Enri Ciayol pursed his lips thoughtfully, propping his boots up on the desk and surveying Eric over the cup of dark steaming liquid. He’d added no sugar or milk to alter the taste, he noticed with a shudder. If he didn’t like coffee, he definitely disliked it black. Too bitter. But Enri evidently enjoyed it, letting out a sigh of contentment after the first sip. Feeling as though the conversation had stalled, Eric leaned forward, attempting to drive it forward.

“So you know that I’m staying at the Heron,” he said. “Have you investigated that far into my life?”

“Oh, not at all,” Enri said. “I often visit Mandra. She gave me free food and plenty of work when I was young. She was a sort of surrogate mother to me. She even married my best friend, despite the difference in their ages.”

There was something odd about that statement, Eric thought, but he couldn’t quite place it. Shrugging inwardly, he pushed on. “I see. She has been very generous with me, allowing me to stay a week at no cost. I hope to repay the favor as soon as I can.”

“She won’t accept repayment,” Enri told him firmly. “I’m sure you get what kind of a woman she is. In fact, she considers the week of board to be a returned favor, for what you did for little Mari.”

“You… know about that?” Eric asked, feeling an uncomfortable twist in his gut. “I thought that would have been kept a little quieter.”

“Oh, it’s been kept very quiet,” Enri assured him. “But when the family of one of the Rajlen is involved, the news is very quick to reach my ear.”

Rajlen. Just the casual mention of the name still sent a shiver down Eric’s spine. He tried to hide the fact that the mere mention of that family of killers scared him, but he didn’t think he was very successful. The Captain seemed to realize his discomfort and offered a sympathetic smile.

“The Rajlen family are a scary bunch,” he said. “Only one man is known to have won a fight against their members.”

He must mean Samuel, Eric thought. The Archmage had said something similar when he’d appeared to rescue him from their clutches. I’ve defeated you once before, Matthias. Just how legendary was the man that had summoned him to this world? He pushed the question to the back of his mind, where it would lay, unanswered, until he plucked up the courage and found the time to ask Samuel directly.

“So,” he said, finding his voice after a short while. “I’m here for questioning. Is there anything you’d like to know, to be sure that I’m not complicit?”

“Yes,” Enri replied, seeming to snap out of his own thoughts. He set the mug of coffee down and grabbed a nearby sheaf of parchment, pulling out one sheet and reading crisply. “You were on contract with one Marvin Rainhall, escorting him to and from Sheran, once per week?”

“Yes,” Eric said simply.

“On your most recent excursion, the Queen’s Guard served out a Writ of Arrest, and upon searching his caravan, found stolen materials that he possessed, with the intent to sell?”

“I believe so,” Eric confirmed. “I don’t know all the details myself, as I’m still very new. I only know what Sergeant Moran has shared with me.”

“Do you know what the package Rainhall was carrying consisted of?”

“No.”

“Are you employed by, partnered with, or leading any men who deal in the trade of stolen or illegal merchandise?”

“No.”

“Very well,” Enri said, returning the parchment to the sheaf. He set it down and leaned across the table once more, those intimidating blue eyes boring into Eric with a burning intensity. “One final question, then. Do you have any knowledge or information that may prove to be a threat to the Queen or the safety of her realm?”

The question took Eric completely by surprise, as did the hyper-focused method in which it had been asked. Perhaps this was just Enri’s way of performing his job, springing that question on people he interviewed, hoping to catch them off-guard and illicit a damning admission.

“No.”

The instant the word left his mouth, Eric felt cold, as though a bucket of icy water had been doused over his head. He gasped at the sudden sensation and whirled to look behind him. There was nobody there, but he definitely felt colder suddenly. Then, just as suddenly, the sensation faded. Shaking himself slightly, he turned back to face Enri. The blue eyes had hardened until they actually resembled chips of ice, and the face was set in a deep frown of suspicion.

“You just uttered a lie in my presence, Apprentice Breeden.”