Free Spellscribed Tales: First Refrain by Kristopher Cruz Page A

added. "It is also a powerful weapon. Bringing it shows him that I'm serious about being there."
    Leona stood, walking over to him. She embraced him, Daelen barely needing to bend down to be on level with her. She kissed him firmly on the mouth before parting. "Just be safe." Leona demanded. "Or I swear I'll kick your ghost in the..."
    Daelen rolled his eyes. "It's a hunt. That's safe enough." he replied. "Now, what happens to Talen when I find him after that..." he turned and started walking away. "It won't be safe for him."
    As Daelen left, Leona looked Joven in the eyes. "He's going to be gone for three days, minimum." she stated. "Gurn refuses to  return unless he's had a challenge."
    " Which means I have three days to find Talen." Joven concluded. "And get some answers before dad tears apart half of Balator."
    "You have always been the clever one." Leona said, nodding. "Now go. Find out what's going on here, and bring Talen back."
    "I promise." Joven answered.
    Joven left, heading towards the first and only solid clue he had. Korvos, the one who benefitted directly from his loss.
    * * * *
    Joven walked onto the grounds of the Rathe household and felt a moment of concern. Though the Rathes were more numerous, having nearly fifteen members living in-home and another dozen abroad, their numbers were all apparently too busy to take the time to clean and maintain the fine details of their home. Mountain weeds sprung up between cobblestones, checked only by the cold and the tramping of feet. The walls were intact, but showed wear and a lack of maintenance as the mortar was crumbling around some of the stones, a few of them were even missing.
    To the untrained eye, the house would look fine; but Joven's dedication to his duty and the honor it earned made him feel deeply concerned.  Was this really the people who would guard the Spengur?
    He stopped at the door and knocked. Adjusting his belt to accommodate for the number of new weapons on him, he realized too late that being armed as much as he was looked like he was ready for war.
    The door opened just a crack. "Who're you?" a young voice called out.
    "Joven, son of Daelen." Joven replied. "I wish to speak to Korvos."
    "He ain’t here!" the kid called. "Come back later!"
    "How much later?" he asked. The kid instead slammed the door closed. Joven could hear several locks being engaged.
    Joven growled. He needed answers and the brat just shut him out. He could wait, or he could take a page out of Talen's book and do some slinking about of his own.
    He turned to walk out of the grounds, and just before passing the outer walls stepped to the side. Between the open gate and the wall, there was enough obscurement that no passersby would see him unless he made a lot of noise to call attention to himself. Speaking of noise, he looked down at all the weapons he had strapped to him on harnesses and sheaths. He would need to have his mother make him some armor with sheaths built into certain places. Streamlining his profile would make him able to move more quietly.
    He slipped off the harness holding most of the weapons and laid it on the ground at the crux  where the gate and the wall met. He kept the Rathe bastard sword with him, and he crept along the side of the house. He knew there would be a few walls that broke up the grounds, but he could try to glean some kind of useful information by listening or peeking through windows. He had to be cautious; there were far more people in this house than his own.
    He made it to the first set of windows without incident. He  crouched low, underneath the windowsill. Nothing could be heard, so he slowly raised his head up to look through the window. He saw a dimly lit bedroom, but no one inside. He shrugged, dropping back low and moving forward. The next window also divulged nothing of note, leaving him up against one of the dividing walls.
    He tensed, getting ready to jump, when he heard something that sounded like a conversation. He