Finn Draycott's Arc

Chapter 1 of 1

Finn Draycott won every fight in Hazelfen's timber arena, and none of it mattered tonight. The crowd chanted his name while he pinned a man twice his size to the mud. But Finn watched the stranger in the front row, not the man beneath his fist. A recruiting captain for the king's guard. Finn had scrubbed pits and cracked knuckles for years to earn a place among those soldiers. Tonight the captain sat close enough to touch. After the bout, Finn wiped blood from his split knuckles and pushed toward the stranger. The captain raised a gloved hand before Finn could speak. "Save your breath," the captain said. "I don't recruit brawlers off the dirt. I take men a noble puts forward. Bring me a sponsor's letter, sealed, and we'll talk." Finn had no noble. No lord in Hazelfen would waste ink on a lowborn pit fighter. He stood there gripping the wolf-pelt on his shoulder while the captain turned away. He left the arena and walked into the woods to cool his temper. Cold air, wet leaves, no chanting. He kicked a fallen branch and swore. A red fox stepped onto the path ahead. It did not run. Its russet coat and white-tipped tail caught the moonlight, and it watched Finn like it knew him. When he moved, it trotted off, then stopped and looked back. Finn followed. The fox led him to a body slumped against a tree. A man in fine clothes, dead a day or more, a broken arrow in his ribs. Bandits, Finn guessed. The dead man wore rings worth more than the arena. Finn crouched and searched him, hands shaking. Inside the man's coat he found an envelope. Thick paper, aged and stiff. A red wax seal stamped with the king's own sigil held it shut. The seal had cracked down the middle. Finn broke it the rest of the way and read. It was a letter of introduction. A lord commending the bearer to the king's service, praising his skill and loyalty. No name was written in the body, only a space left blank. The lord had signed and sealed it and never filled it in. Finn read it three times. He could write his own name in that space. He could walk to the captain tomorrow and hand him a sealed royal letter. No one would question the wax. The fox sat at the edge of the clearing, watching. Finn looked at the dead noble, then at the envelope in his fist. This letter belonged to a man who died carrying it. Someone had killed for it, or would kill to keep it hidden. He folded the letter and slid it into his belt. Tomorrow he would use it. He told himself the dead man had no more need of it. Behind him, hooves sounded on the path. Riders, moving fast, searching. Finn pressed against the tree and went still.