And So It Begins (24 page)

“Wonder what they were talking about?”

That’s what every Defender in Llarien would want to know.

“Do you think it’s really possible that northerners are living here? I admit I don’t know half of the Defenders I take duty with.”

That was a man was named Orland, a castle guard from Delfore. Derek was surprised to find him in the group, but not so at the statement he made. Were the Defenders from Delfore the only ones to realize most of those they served with were strangers?

“How would we even recognize them?”

And that is the root of the problem, Derek wanted to tell him, but he remained silent.

“This is liable to get us all jumping at ghosts.”

Very likely. But Derek was now at the front of the line, and he requested two plates from the cook. Slices of tough roasted beef, soggy vegetables, and pieces of bread baked that morning were being served. Leftovers, in other words. Adrien may or may not be up to a full meal, but he would not return short on offerings just in case. He balanced the plates in one hand in such a way that would make any tavern server proud and retrieved two mugs of the camp’s weak ale with the other. He then began to maneuver his way back to the city streets and the hospice.

Adrien was asleep when Derek returned to the healer’s quarters, but the wave of concern he immediately felt faded when Kherin grinned at him from where he sat on his brother’s bed. Adrien opened his eyes at the sound of the door closing. At least this was a natural sleep. He placed the food and ale on the table as Adrien sat up with Kherin’s help, and he steadied the elder prince’s other arm as he swung his legs to the floor. Derek moved one of the servings to the edge nearest the elder prince and handed Kherin the second plate before he sat on Kherin’s bed.

“Well, you certainly started the rumors flowing,” he said easily, looking from one brother to the other when Kherin glanced from the food he held to Derek’s empty hands, and gave him a wink, forestalling any questions.

“It usually doesn’t take much,” Adrien answered quietly. “Kherin told me what happened in Lorn.” He made no move to eat the food Derek had brought, but instead rubbed his face wearily, then reached for the bandages on his back.

Kherin noticed instantly. “Is it burning?” He put his plate on the table and then frowned when Adrien shook his head.

“It’s not… burning, just itching,” Adrien told him, his voice strained.

Kherin frowned as he glanced at the trader and then reached for the bandages himself. “Let me see.”

Derek rose to help him shift Adrien to his side, and when the edges of the bandage were pulled loose, they saw the reddened skin that surrounded the jagged cut and the darkened surface of the cut itself. It had begun to crust over, Kherin realized. The cut was healing.

Derek caught Adrien’s wrist as he reached back to scratch, but Kherin saw the surprise on the trader’s face as he looked at Kherin over his brother. The seizures had ended days ago, the cut was closing at last, both of which should have been recognized as good news.

But what Kherin felt when he saw it…. Gods, mere relief wasn’t strong enough to describe it.

“Willum will need to see this,” Derek told him quietly, re-covering the wound as Kherin turned to his brother.

Healing or not, Adrien looked pale and weak, and his eyes nearly closed as his strength slipped away. That would return in time if the seizures were truly over, Kherin didn’t question that, but still….

What he saw in Derek’s face mirrored his own as the trader helped ease Adrien down to the bed, and what he saw in Derek’s eyes as he brushed his fingers through his hair before slipping out of the sickroom filled him with more relief than the closing of the wound on his brother’s back had done. Half the damn camp would tell him to count his blessings and plan for his return to the capitol once his tenure in Gravlorn was over, but Derek had realized the same disheartening fact he had.

The seizures may have ended, but their cause was still unknown. As was the reason the cut had begun to heal at last and the reason it had remained open for so long,
how
it had stayed open, and why; what it was the northerners had been after when they had attacked the camp that day, what they were still after, what they would be coming back for; what had happened on the northern bank once he made it across, what the northerner had been saying when he had aimed his words at Kherin over the muddy water; how a Defender in Lorn could be in league with the northerners with no one in Llarien being the wiser.

A glance out the window to the darkened streets of the city brought the unpleasant reality very clearly to his mind.

Adrien may be out of danger at last, but little else had changed.

“L
ERIC
, Nestev, and Rian.”

Derek nodded, knowing the names but giving no hint as to whether he approved of the prince’s choices. He had given no hint so far as to whether he approved of the plan in general, though he hadn’t made the objections Kherin expected, and the questions he
had
asked concerned only the broadest points: when they would cross the river, where, and what they might expect on the other side. Derek had in fact been completely unsurprised when Kherin knocked on his door before the sun was fully risen, despite it being late when Derek finally left Kherin to find his own bed at the Harper’s Den.

The trader, bathed and fully dressed, had nevertheless ushered Kherin in and relinquished the remains of his breakfast, then settled with his back against the wall to listen as Kherin relayed the plan he had made. At another time, Kherin’s nervous energy would have brought a smile to the trader’s face, along with the gentle teasing that the presence of the food was the only thing preventing the prince from pacing the length of the room, and only then because it kept him busy rather than satisfied his hunger. But Derek did neither, and Kherin went on with few interruptions.

“They’re good men, and they have all been trained at the castle,” Kherin added calmly, spearing the last of the sausage with his fork. The bed creaked softly under his weight as he faced the trader. “My father wouldn’t accept anything less than the best from the Arms Trainer, so you know their training wasn’t lacking.”

“I don’t doubt they are some of the best, if for no other reason than they
were
trained in Delfore. It doesn’t mean they are invulnerable.”

That went without saying, and though it would have been patronizing coming from anyone else, Kherin wouldn’t take offense at the words coming from Derek. He returned the fork to the tray and reached for a nearly empty mug of steamed milk, usually served warm but having grown cool since the time it was delivered. Kherin didn’t particularly care for it, but it was offered freely so he wasn’t going to complain.

“I’ll talk to them today, see if Gresham is willing to relieve them of duty so they’ll be prepared to cross tonight. I think he will, but I know he’s not going to be happy about it.” He would demand it if it became necessary; his royal standing would be good for that.

Derek gave him a humorless smile, aimed undoubtedly as much toward his rambling words as his fidgeting as he voiced the plan he had made. He hadn’t slept as much as any would have thought once left to his own devices in the hospice, though he had yet to feel the lack of sleep.

“To have a prince of the royal house usurp his authority contradicts the laws regarding the rights of the Defender Leaders,” Derek told him calmly, seeming to hear what Kherin hadn’t said as clearly as what the prince had. “It’s most likely the fact that Adrien’s illness happened under his watch that has made him hold his tongue so far rather than recite to you the decree. Especially since he will be relieved of duty in less than three weeks’ time.”

Kherin snorted at that but didn’t argue with the trader’s insight. Adrien’s contingent of Defenders would be departing Gravlorn soon, and Gresham, along with every other Defender from the kingdom, would be returning to their resident lives for the next nine months. For Gresham, it would look particularly bad if he were replaced before the issue of the northerners had been resolved, and even worse to leave while the heir to the Llarien throne still suffered an inexplicable illness that had not been reported to the capitol. Adrien may have forbidden it, and Willum may have only been following a royal edict, but it would be the Defender Leader held responsible for withholding information, if not outright dereliction of duty. The rights of the Leader came with the responsibility of shouldering the blame.

But that was an issue of the past. Adrien was entering his third day without seizures, and if his strength continued to return, the elder prince would ride home, rather than be carried on a stretcher or confined to the hospice. Gresham could consider himself lucky if that was the case, though Kherin would only be grateful.

He left off the depleted breakfast once the mug was drained, and positioned the pillows behind his back before reclining comfortably against them. He studied the trader where he leaned against a wall, noting the raised eyebrow at the liberties he was taking and the quirk of the lips that said he was being teased rather than accused. Only the trader’s eyes didn’t hold the usual good-natured humor that was so much a part of his character. The lack was not so drastic Kherin was alarmed, but curious was another matter.

“You look like you’ve got reservations about this whole thing, more than what you’ve actually said. Do you really think this won’t work?”

Derek chuckled at hearing the question asked so directly, but it sounded more forced than usual. “Your plan is sound, at least as much as it can be at this point, and taking only those from Delfore with you is a wise decision. But be careful, Kherin, even after you learn what it is you’re fighting against.”

Kherin frowned and turned to lean on one elbow. “I will be. You know that. And I won’t be alone. But we’ve already been through this. There’s something else you’re not telling me.”

Derek’s smile softened, and when he caught the prince’s eyes, his own held a measure of sadness. “I’ll be leaving Gravlorn tomorrow morning.”

“What?”
Kherin jerked upright, nearly coming off the bed at the unexpectedness of the trader’s words. His stomach lurched wildly and threatened to heave what food he had eaten, but the resignation and regret he saw in the trader’s face told him Derek was serious. “Why?” he demanded harshly.

Derek moved slowly from his place by the wall and sat on the bed, close enough to where Kherin lay to sweep the hair from his face. Kherin’s gaze never wavered.

“Because while Adrien may be on the road to recovery, the activity of the northerners is still a question that needs an answer, and Gravlorn may not be the only place to find it.” He smiled sadly and gave Kherin’s hair a gentle tug before he dropped his hand to the prince’s arm. “Capturing a northerner may be a credible option, but it can’t be the only option we take. Northerners are crossing in more places than here, and what is happening elsewhere may tell us more than what we see in Gravlorn.” He paused again and stilled his hand as he met the prince’s gaze. “Activity such as this is unprecedented, even in your father’s and grandfather’s lifetime, and ignoring the reasons behind it can be dangerous.”

Derek smiled as Kherin’s scowl started to form at the standard-issue explanation, but the trader went on before the prince had a chance to speak.

“You yourself asked the question of ‘Why now?’, my prince. I think it’s time we answered that, and I may know where that answer can be found.”

Kherin’s scowl calmed but didn’t quite fade. He didn’t want to hear Derek say he was leaving him, even for reasons such as this, because he was too afraid the words would be true. “Where?” he asked harshly, and Derek gave him a smile as his fingers moved again.

“Dennor,” he told the prince simply.

“Dennor?” Kherin repeated, eyeing the trader skeptically. “Dennor is a port city, not a Defender city. It’s on the coast, not on the northern border.”

Derek laughed quietly and raised his hand to tug the prince’s hair lightly in gentle chastisement for stating the obvious. “There is a man in Dennor by the name of Salandar Krept, though he will only answer to Dar these days,” Derek explained, watching the prince’s confusion play across his face. “Dar used to be one of the wealthier citizens of Dennor. He was a scholar and a tutor of history, and there was once a very high demand for his teaching by the other wealthy citizens of Dennor.”

“What does this Dar have to do with what is happening here?” Kherin asked impatiently, sounding angrier than he would have liked but unable to form the words calmly.

Derek sighed as he dropped his hand, but it was only to rest it again on the prince’s arm. “When Gresham spoke of the Defender—or the northerner—who had taken his life in Lorn, he mentioned the one word that was repeated in the encounter: Akhael.”

Kherin’s impatience threatened to erupt again, though Derek silenced him with a touch to the prince’s chin.

“It is one that I have heard on occasion in Dennor,” Derek went on, “though Dar is one of the few history scholars who would truly recognize the word. The Akhael, it seems, were an ancient people who are said to have inhabited both sides of the river long before Llarien was founded. Dar had done extensive studying of them and their culture, though he has long since stopped teaching about them.”