And So It Begins (19 page)

But Derek wasn’t here to chastise him. Derek was the Gods only knew where else, doing the business he had been unable—or unwilling—to do yesterday. Not that he had gone the entire day without seeing him, as Derek had come to the hospice early enough to bring a morning meal and had joined him in the camp during Kherin’s first—though extremely limited—stretch as an active Defender. Watching the northern bank was all it had amounted to, with his area of patrol shortened to only the length of the camp from east to west. Derek had commented that his recent illness had perhaps made Gresham reluctant to allow him to wander too far from the safety of the city, but that hadn’t stopped Kherin from growling in disgust as he paced the frozen ground. Derek had only chuckled as he matched Kherin’s steps.

Kherin let out his breath as he leaned back in his chair, idly rubbing the handle of the beaten silver mug. Neither of them had mentioned their conversation from the Harper’s Den during any of their time spent together today, but there was nevertheless a sense of awkwardness between them that had never been present before. Derek had tried to smooth the waters between them, he would give the trader that, but more than a little resentment remained on Kherin’s part that wouldn’t go away, and not even the gentle smiles and frequent touches Derek had offered throughout the day had changed that.

And not even the torn expression in the trader’s eyes when he had finally had to choose between staying with the prince and doing his own work had made Kherin offer him anything more than curt words of parting.

He grimaced as he drained his mug of the last of its sour ale, then let out his breath as the brazen reality presented itself again. What had happened in the way-stop wouldn’t happen again because Derek wouldn’t allow it to, no matter how much Kherin wanted it, and no matter how badly Derek did.

And all because his father was king

It was almost secondary that Adrien had made it through the night
and
the day without another seizure, because it was such a bittersweet feeling to hope that the seizures had come to an end at last, while the hope of moving beyond friendship with the trader slipped through his fingers.

That thought was enough to churn the ale in his stomach, and a blatantly sultry look by another tavern whore was enough to make him reconsider ordering another mug. He tossed a few coins on the table as he stood, and drunken laughter followed him as he made his way to the door.

He had almost reached it when he was forced to stumble back, barely avoiding the man wearing Defender armor that burst through. Kherin didn’t recognize the man, though he froze the instant he saw Kherin, his breathing heavy.

“Northerners have been spotted, my lord!” he panted, recovering enough to speak but not enough to salute. “They’re across the river!”

It took less than an instant for his Defender instincts to take over, and the ale and the trader were immediately forgotten as he seized the Defender’s arm. “Which way?” Kherin demanded. The Defender pointed toward the stables, and Kherin spared the room only a glance before he shoved his way past him and broke into a run. He no longer wore his Defender armor or his sword, but his responsibility to the border and the kingdom wouldn’t allow the time for him to retrieve them. He would make do without if battle was what it came to.

The camp was in an uproar as he neared, the shouts of the Defenders coming from all sides, and the Defenders seemed to be running in all directions. Darkness had fallen, and the lit torches the Defenders carried flew like firebirds everywhere Kherin looked. He saw the mass of bodies crowding the bank of the river as he neared the stables, the light of the torches clearly showing their number and the confusion surrounding them.

“Put those torches out!” he yelled loudly.

Defenders turned to stare at him, the nearest even leaning their torches in his direction.
What the hell are they thinking?
Kherin thought disgustedly. Those torches did nothing more than show the northerners clearly where they stood, and blinded the Defenders in the process.

“Put the torches out!” he shouted again, entering into their midst and pushing his way toward the bank. He squinted through the smoke and light, and he saw them, as he knew he would. Dark shadows lined along the far bank, not many of them, but enough to make themselves known.

“Put those torches out, damn it!” He turned to find Gresham at his heels, and the uncertainty was clear on the man’s face, while no orders came from the man’s mouth.

Kherin hadn’t been impressed when he had met the man earlier, and his sheer lack of action now made him an even poorer excuse for a Defender Leader in Kherin’s opinion. But Kherin would wait to take him to task over it. “Do you have any bows?” he asked the man sharply.

“We have no archers here, my lord.”

“I know that! I asked about bows, not archers!”

“Here, my lord.” Jarak, a Delfore blacksmith, came up behind Gresham, a bow in one hand and a handful of arrows in the other. “It’s the only one I can find.”

Imagine that, Kherin thought darkly. He took the bow that Jarak offered and again shouted for the torches to be put out. Then he turned back to the blacksmith. “Are you better at this than me?”

“I believe so, my lord.”

Thank the Gods for Delfore honesty. Kherin returned the bow. “Any one of them.”

“I will do my best, my lord.” Jarak moved off immediately to the edge of the milling Defenders, continuing upriver from where Kherin stood.

Kherin caught the arm of the nearest Defender. He was a man from another kingdom city, and someone Kherin didn’t recognize on sight. “Find me six men from Delfore. Now!”

The Defender ran off without saluting, and Kherin moved to get out of the confusion. He slipped behind the others, keeping the mass of their bodies between him and the river, and then he moved downriver, away from where Jarak loaded the bow. Gresham followed.

“My lord, what are you planning?”

“We’re crossing the river,” Kherin answered flatly. He broke his gaze from the northerners to search for Jarak. The plan was a risky one, and one that had appeared on the spur of the moment and without any of the preparation that was needed for success, but it was an answer to the problem he had yet to fully understand.

He needed a northerner—
Adrien
needed a northerner—and he wasn’t going to turn down the opportunity to capture one.

Jarak was in position. Kherin watched him, making out his dark shadow as he crouched on the bank. The Defenders had finally put out the damned torches, and they’d actually had enough sense to pull away from the river, leaving nothing to block Kherin’s view of the blacksmith. A glance at the northerners showed they stood out clearly now as well, darker shadows against the dark plains behind them. If they were aware of Jarak’s arrow, they gave no sign. Six Defenders from Delfore appeared at Kherin’s side, men Kherin recognized and trusted. One of them extended a sword. Kherin shed his cloak as he spoke softly and quickly. They would cross when Kherin gave the signal. And the signal Kherin waited for was the flying of the arrow.

The bowstring snapped as Jarak took his shot.

Kherin moved a heartbeat after, the Defenders a step behind, each of them raising their swords above the water flowing past them. This part of the river was shallow, but the water was dark and the current swift. Kherin knew the water could hide any number of dangers, but he took his chances and moved as quickly as the current allowed. The deepest part barely rose to his waist, but he fought more than he had anticipated as they neared the center, and only his anger at the water and the northerners alike served to increase his speed crossing the other half. They were downriver from the northerners, and Jarak was upriver. Hopefully the arrow would make them look in the wrong direction.

Sudden shouts startled him, nearly causing him to lose his balance. It was the Defenders on the Llarien side of the river. Jarak’s shot must have been true, but Kherin didn’t look back. He just prayed that Jarak kept the arrows flying.

He waded through the shallow water on the far side, then pulled himself from the river through the muddy ground of the northern bank. He paused only long enough for the Defenders who had come with him to do the same, and he felt more than saw them surround him as the northerners pulled together. They had yet to be seen, and Kherin glanced at each of the Defenders in turn, giving them a small nod as he met their determined gazes. They would deal with the northerners as they could, but they would take only one—and take him alive.

Kherin moved first, staying low and stepping slowly and quietly. He wanted to keep the element of surprise as long as possible. The dark shapes of the northerners grew larger as he got closer, and the shaggy heads remained fixed on the southern bank. None of them had fallen.

Kherin’s vision spun wildly, suddenly, with no warning. The soft, wet ground rushed at him full force, and then it became darkened sky, the black clouds roiling in angry silence. He fell, racing shadows blurring his vision, and the violent currents of the river roared in his ears. The dying grass sticking out of the wet mud came into sharp focus, and then was banished by black shapes that sprang from nowhere and flew past him with sickening speed. He couldn’t breathe in the confusion, the shapes and the shadows changing so fast he could understand nothing of them. Shouts from the Defenders around him sounded distantly, and panic seized him. He didn’t know if he stood or lay sprawled on the ground. He couldn’t feel if the sword was still in his hand. He closed his eyes against the maelstrom, and still saw flashes of white, gray, and black with fierce intensity.

Then, with a sudden explosion of silence, it was gone.

Kherin sank limply into the mud.

H
E
OPENED
his eyes to see the river sweeping under him. He legs floundered as he stumbled between two Defenders, who were holding firmly to his arms as the current moved around them. They said nothing, and the group of Defenders who waited for them stared as he was pulled into the Llarien mud. The six who had gone with him were still being pulled across, and Kherin was vaguely aware of their struggles behind him.

He sank to his knees once he was out of the water, paying no heed to the mud that oozed under his weight, but unable to ignore the cold air cutting into his skin. Shivers racked him, and he still fought against the swirling visions of light and shadows. After a few torturous moments, he looked up to see Jarak a few steps away. The blacksmith moved toward him once Kherin’s eyes found him, and the cloak he had left was thrown around him as Kherin pulled himself to his feet. Jarak stood beside him.

“What the hell happened?” he panted. He struggled to focus, catching the motion of the Defenders moving in the darkness both toward and away from the riverbank.

“The arrows were useless, my lord,” Jarak answered evenly. “They fell into the river. Not a single one made it across.”

Kherin cursed forcefully under his breath, following the shadows milling around him.

“We tried to warn you, but you didn’t hear us.”

The shouting. He had heard them shouting. But they hadn’t been shouting in victory; they’d been trying to warn him.

“We saw you reach the other side and watched you try to approach the northerners.” He paused. “Then you started stumbling and falling, and twisting around like you were fighting some invisible monster—”

“The northerners?” Kherin cut him off with gasping sharpness.

“They didn’t move until you started falling. They just stood there, staring at you.” He paused again and ended it with a shrug. “Then they turned and left, back across the plain, and that’s when you collapsed and we crossed the river to get you.”

Kherin growled his curse this time, loud enough for those around him to hear. The northerners were gone, when he had almost had them—they were
right there
. What
the hell
had happened?

“Patrols are being stepped up, my lord,” Gresham said hurriedly, standing just behind Jarak now, saying words that shouldn’t have been needed, promising actions that should have been a given. “We’ll know if they come back.”

“They will,” Kherin muttered through his teeth. He wasn’t sure how he knew that, but he didn’t doubt it.

He glanced at the river and the darkness of the empty plains beyond. Then with another growl of frustration, he started back toward the healer’s quarters, his staggering steps gradually growing steadier. Jarak and Gresham followed him, walking behind him rather than with him. He felt the heat of the central campfire as he passed, but he didn’t stop to absorb it, and he didn’t stop to speak to the Defenders who moved around him or acknowledge the abrupt silence they gave as they stared. He turned again as he neared the beginnings of the city proper, abruptly stopping the Leader and the blacksmith on his heels.

“Jarak, find as many bows as you can. Get some made if you can’t find any. They may not have worked on them tonight, but they may work on others later. Requisition them under my father’s name on the authority of a royal prince, me or Adrien, your choice.” He looked at Gresham. “Keep the patrols along the river heavy. And let me know the moment more northerners are seen.”

“Yes, my lord,” they answered together.

Kherin didn’t watch them depart, but turned to the floundering Defenders who had followed him to the northern bank. Nods and weakly given salutes accompanied the quiet words he exchanged with each, with similar exchanges taking place with those helping their comrades. Assurances were given that each would be tended to, though none seemed wounded or injured.

The sharpness of the words he gave to the others, however—those Defenders who had circled the camp in a frenzy of panic and reduced themselves to uselessness by their own actions—stopped any similar shows of deference before they could start. Kherin wouldn’t mince words when the safety of the kingdom was at stake, and the silence was nearly complete by the time his final words were spoken. Then he turned with a scowl to Gravlorn itself, and the camp was left behind as he stepped into the city.