Brodin was a mountain of a man, his well-cut military uniform of deep blue and gold only served to highlight his muscular frame and dark black skin of his hands and bald head. Though huge and well experienced, Brodin wore the face of youth. His boyish features often caused uninformed opponents to underestimate him.
King Yadin stood up from the stone bench as Brodin approached. The top of his head barely reached the Sergeant’s shoulder. He looked up and said, “Sergeant Brodin, you’ve come with a report I assume.”
Trebor clicked his heels together and sharply placed his fist over his heart, the perfect military salute. The King returned the salute and Brodin began his report. “My Lord, your father’s body is now being prepared for the burial ceremony. The assassin is in custody in the dungeon. I have a squad of guards posted outside his cell.”
Yadin nodded. “At ease, Sergeant, I imagine you’ve had a long day. Have you eaten supper yet?”
Sergeant Brodin shook his black shaven head. “No, my Lord. I wanted to report to you as soon as our caravan returned. Sir, about your father’s death, I… I…”
The King reached up, placed his hand on Brodin’s shoulder, and addressed him informally. “Don’t blame yourself, Trebor. I can think of no one else I’d rather have protecting this royal family. You’ve always proven yourself to be loyal and faithful in all your duties.”
Brodin’s dark-skinned face fell in sadness. His eyes began to water as he spoke. “Sir, if only I could’ve been the one to die. I wish there was some way I could turn back time, some way I could change what happened.”
Yadin removed his hand from Trebor’s shoulder and took the Sergeant’s large hands into his own. “You’re not to blame. Tomorrow will see justice done, I assure you. And the position of Sergeant is still yours to retain – if you’ll have it.”
“Thank you, Sir. Of course, I’ll accept…” Yadin saw Brodin’s eyes grow wide when he glanced downward. “Lord Forsythia – your hand – it’s bandaged! What happened to you?”
Yadin looked at his hand; he’d completely forgotten the blood pact incision given by Merik earlier. “Oh this – this is nothing to worry about.” To prove his point, the King unwrapped the bandage and held his hand open, palm up.
Pointing at his right palm, he began, “See here, I…” He stopped mid-sentence when he saw his palm. Where an open, bleeding cut had once been was now only a faint scar.
Though Yadin was amazed at how rapidly his hand had healed, Brodin seemed interested in something else. The Sergeant had a puzzled expression as he held the King’s hand. He stared at it intently as though working out some great mystery in his mind.
Trebor spoke softly, “This is odd.”
“What do you mean,” asked Yadin.
“The assassin,” Brodin replied. “His right hand has a scar also. In fact, his scar looks exactly like yours.”
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