Wicked Hunt

Chapter One, Part III

Rafe: The Gilded Rite

At dawn the following day, Rafe made his way to the dimly lit dining hall in the center of the mountain maze. He was to meet Christopher there, one of his Watchmen who had come to assist him in escorting the new members home.

The Commander had changed his clothes earlier, eager to be free of the sweat laden cloak and garments he'd had to wear during the ritual. Now, he wore the brown leather jerkin with riding pants and boots provided to him by the mountain men. The other clothes, he had shoved into a pack and tied it to Lightly's saddle. When he returned to the castle, he would take them straight home and scrub them clean. First, he had to make it through the meal provided for them.

Rafe turned into a narrow corridor, his fingers running along the rough wall. He emerged at the end of the hall into a rounded dining room. There was a crooked chandelier dangling from above that provided little light, but it was enough to see how to move around. A long wooden table was lined with cushioned chairs in the center of the room. Four pitchers containing sweet honeyed wine sat on the table. Each one was evenly spaced out so that the men would have easy access to them. A small plate of stale bread sat off to the right side of the table.

His eyes focused, instead, on the chair at the head of the table, his place. He was expected to make a speech, to praise the men for their honor and bravery. As it was his duty, Rafe found it easy enough to procure the words. He always kept it short and simple, believing that blunt comments were far more direct than lavishly composed words. As he reached for a goblet on a bare side table, he heard someone come into the room behind him.

"How was it?" Christopher asked. Rafe took a long sip before replying.

"Punishing," he said pointedly. He walked to his chair and stood behind it; Christopher's eyes watching him the whole time.

"I stayed at the church at the base of the mountain," Christopher said, sucking in a deep breath. A sense of defeated heaviness hung about him, cramming itself into the already dimly lit room. "Spent the night there with a holy sister." Now, it was his turn to drink. He sipped the wine greedily, barely getting a drop in his mouth.

"You're not supposed to bed any of the holy sisters," Rafe muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Better that than going to bed alone," Christopher pointed out, taking another, deeper drink. He added a chuckle to try and keep the tone of their meeting light. The chair beside Rafe's was pulled out, chaffing the uneven wood underneath. Christopher sat down in a labored huff. Rafe studied him.

He was younger than the Commander but the streaks of grey in his orange, stringy hair made him appear five or seven years older than he was. He was skinny as a pole with lean, hard muscles that only emerged when he was lifting something heavy or using his sword. He had been a member of the Watch for as long as Rafe had. He remembered coming here for his own christening, Christopher in tow as well, skinner than he was now. That was ten years ago, and so much had changed since their initial meeting at Red Cliff.

"They'll be getting them up now," Rafe remarked, setting down uneasily now.

"If they slept at all," Christopher whispered, hugging his goblet with both of his hands. A low rumbled echoed in the space around them. Dust even seemed to stir at the startled sound.

"Eat," Rafe commanded, raising his elbow up and resting it on the back of the chair so that he could see the door fully. "The food will go to waste. They will not be able to stomach it."

"Will you?" Christopher asked, relenting and stretching a pointed elbow out to retrieve the hard bread before him.

"I don't have much of an appetite." Rafe looked down sharply. Hopefully Christopher would get the hint and not ask anymore. The younger man didn't press, and Rafe was grateful. Christopher had accompanied Rafe to the Gilded Rite for two years now, and it was mainly because of his relaxed compliance and easy conversations with the new recruits. He could calm them and make them laugh while drawing them, unknowingly, to their impending brutal task.