The Duke of Randert
A man stood beneath the pale glow of the moon. He was at the very edge of a thousand-foot cliff, a sheer drop with no foothold in any direction — a place no ordinary person would even dream of approaching, let alone climb. Yet there he stood, unmoved by the howling gale, his posture unshaken as he gazed down at the world below.
His hair caught the moonlight and gleamed silver; his cool blue eyes were brimming with worry. Deep, unresolved anguish etched itself into the crease of his brow.
Pat, pat.
How long had he been standing there? Rain began to fall from the quiet night sky without warning. It started as a drop or two, then swiftly came hammering down toward the earth with terrifying force.
The man's body was soon drenched. His clothes and hair clung savagely to his face and skin.
Still, the man did not so much as stir. It was as though nothing but his own will could move him — he stood defiant against the biting wind and the sheeting rain.
The change came with a flash and a crack of thunder. Lightning split the sky, then bolted down into the earth below, and the man's brow twitched.
There was no hesitation. He who had stood frozen like a statue flung himself off the cliff at once — the kind of thing no one would do unless he had resolved to die.
And yet, the thing that should have happened did not. Something stranger unfolded instead: the man was sprinting down the face of the cliff, using it as his footing. At an incredible speed, no less.
Everything in this world falls from above to below. The man, therefore, ought to have been plummeting into the gorge. So what in the world was this?
There was more to marvel at. His body, soaked through by the downpour, had dried completely without his noticing. Moments ago he had been dripping wet, as though he'd just climbed out of a river — now not a single drop of water remained on his clothes or his hair.
His face showed no trace of fear, and his movements flowed with practiced, almost effortless grace.
It was a wondrous, uncanny sight. A man running down a sheer cliff without getting wet in the pouring rain — it made more sense to assume he was not human at all.
Thud!
With a dozen meters still between him and the ground, the man leapt. As though invisible wings had sprouted from his back, he sailed through the air as easily as a bird and landed lightly on the earth.
After performing a feat no one else could hope to imitate, the man's breathing did not falter in the slightest. Only one thought occupied his mind, and he was already running again — toward the place where the lightning had struck.
KRAKOOM!
"Butler Cunning! Butler Cunning!"
The study door burst open and a boy came tumbling in. Water dripped steadily from his clothes and hair — he had clearly been outside without so much as a raincoat.
"What is it, Ched?"
Butler Cunning asked, looking down with disapproval at the soaking wet carpet.
"The Lord has brought back a child!"
"…A child?"
"Yes, sir! I think he was struck by lightning! What do we do?"
The boy trembled violently at the mere thought of it. Butler Cunning rose hurriedly and gave his orders.
"Ched, go bring Father Juan at once. As it happens, he's here to see to Henri's broken arm."
"Oh, really? Right away, sir!"
Ched sprinted off toward the guest quarters. Hard on his heels, Butler Cunning snatched up his jacket and hurried out of the office himself.
A child struck by lightning…
He had a bad feeling about this. It was common enough for his lord to bring an injured resident of the territory back to the castle. But if that someone was a child, the matter was altogether different.
Young Master Bail.
So much had changed since that day. Among them was the way his lord now looked upon children.
Sorrow and rage. And then, the guilt that followed.
Consumed by the conviction that he had failed to protect his son, he had spent every day of the past two years in suffering. Cunning understood the heart of a man who had lost a child as well as anyone could — but his honest wish was that his lord might finally set that burden down.
The living must live, after all. And his lord was none other than Duke Randert.
Lord of Hamilton, the greatest city of the north. The hero to whom the empire owed its very existence.
The young master's accident was a tragedy, but his lord was a man with much yet to do. If only for the sake of the many who followed him, he had to return to the man he once was.
Please, let the child be safe.
If he was not, an even greater torment would come hunting for his lord. Cunning could only pray, desperately, that it would never come to that.
"My lord."
As Butler Cunning stepped into the hall, Duke Randert turned to face him. His expression was as brusque as ever, but Cunning knew — another storm was raging within his lord's heart.
Fortunately, the child lying unconscious on the sofa appeared to be in decent condition. There was hardly a mark on him — it was almost impossible to believe he'd been struck by lightning.
"I heard the boy was struck by lightning. As it happens, Father Juan is already here. I have sent for him in haste, so please do not trouble yourself overly."
"Bring me the Amalun."
"I beg your pardon?"
Amalun was a remedy for internal injuries, made by infusing herbs into holy water. It was extraordinarily expensive — a medicine ordinary people could not dream of obtaining. Most had never so much as laid eyes on it.
"Father Juan will be here shortly. Is it truly necessary to administer Amalun as well…?"
"His organs are damaged."
The duke's voice, cutting off the butler mid-sentence, was grave indeed.
"That is why he came here first instead of going straight to the temple. Holy power alone will not be enough."
"Is his condition that dire?"
His lord's gaze as he looked upon the child was heavy. Cunning had assumed, judging by appearances alone, that fortune had favored them. Apparently not.
Clang!
Butler Cunning's movements quickened. He fished a ring of keys from the inner pocket of his jacket and hurried off to his office. The child had to live. He absolutely could not be allowed to die — for the boy's own sake, and for his lord's. When he returned a short while later, he carried two small glass vials in his hands.
"I brought a second one, just in case."
Amalun was a brownish liquid with a healthy flush of color to it. The moment the stopper came off, a sweet fragrance spread through the entire hall.
The duke's treatment was swift. He opened the boy's mouth, trickled the Amalun in, and stroked his throat to help him swallow. It was at that very moment that Father Juan arrived.
"The boy was struck by lightning?"
The priest came rushing in, gasping for breath.
"A nearby tree took the brunt of it."
"Thank the heavens!"
The priest bowed over the child in relief and checked his heartbeat.
"How is he? Can you save him?"
"…I will do my utmost."
Father Juan's expression turned ominously grim. If a man whose healing skill was arguably the finest in all of Hamilton was making a face like that, it could only mean the odds were bad.
Oh, God above.
Just as Butler Cunning groaned inwardly, the duke gave the order.
"Bring more Amalun."
"My lord…!"
"Would five vials be enough?"
The duke's voice as he addressed the priest was nothing short of desperate.
"The boy lives alone with his ailing grandmother. He is only fourteen. If anything happens to him, the old woman has no way to survive. Please, save him."
"Your Grace, that is…"
Father Juan, too, wanted desperately to save this child whom Duke Randert had miraculously brought back from the brink. But the chances were painfully slim. The boy's insides were such a wreck that the fact his heart was still beating at all felt like a miracle in itself.
"Amalun I can provide in any quantity you need."
"…Then I shall begin."
Shouldering the weight of it, Father Juan closed his eyes. Neither Duke Randert nor Butler Cunning had anything more to offer. They stepped back from the child to allow the treatment — and soon a heavy, solemn air settled over them all.
Woof! Woof-woof!
The moment Duke Randert entered his study, Jasper came bounding up as if he'd been waiting all along. The dog's ceaselessly wagging tail said everything his lord could not: how glad he was to see him.
"Have you been well?"
The duke's hand as he stroked Jasper's head was achingly gentle. Had Bayul witnessed it, he would have found it utterly baffling — yet neither the duke nor the dog showed the slightest trace of awkwardness.
"Woof! Woof-woof!"
"Hungry for a treat, are you?"
He knew that at this hour, his son had always made sure Jasper got his snack. He opened the drawer and tossed a long strip of dried meat to the dog.
Snap!
Jasper sprang to meet it. Planting his sturdy hind legs against the floor, he launched upward and snatched the jerky out of the air with practiced ease. Then he trotted back to his favorite spot and settled in, gnawing contentedly.
"So you still don't trust me, I see."
Only moments ago the beast had been wagging his tail in delight — and now he was keeping his distance. The duke felt a quiet pang of hurt. He knew why: when Bayul was home, the dog had eaten and slept at the boy's feet as though that spot were his very own den.
"Woof!"
Jasper barked at the empty air, jerky still clamped in his jaws. It looked so much like an affirmative answer that the duke couldn't help but laugh.
"Hah. Very well. Understood."
Today made three days since the beast had come to stay at his side. For the first few days, the commotion had been endless — Jasper had torn through the entire castle searching for Bayul. Then, one day, he seemed to give up: he shut himself in Bayul's room and refused to eat, refusing even a single drop of water. That was when the duke had, for the first time, regretted not letting Rita go along with him.
Bayul. My poor son.
He must resent his father terribly by now.
Sending him off to the academy was one thing — but blocking him from taking Jasper along as well? How furious he must be.
And yet, to the duke, Jasper was the last thread. The final thread connecting him to his son — the last strand of hope that Bayul might come see him again.
Out of hatred for his father, the boy might well decide never to return. Jasper was a kind of insurance against that. The boy loved the beast like family; even for Jasper's sake, he would come home. Which was precisely why he could not be sent away with Rita.
It had taken a full four days to talk the starving, water-refusing Jasper down while he waited for Bayul. If the nobles of the court ever learned that the man who could command thousands upon thousands of soldiers with a single word had needed four days to manage one dog, they would surely laugh themselves into a frenzy.
But they would never know. They would never know how proud he had felt when Jasper first accepted him — a thrill greater than any victory he had ever won on a battlefield. His chest had ached, warm and tight, as though he and his son had grown a little closer.
"…I hope you're doing well out there."