The Defender

by Rachel Rossano

  Screams and shouts cut through the air half an hour later as we approached the outer circle of tents. Movement and shifting lights assured me that the camp was still occupied. If I hadn’t been forewarned by the boy’s information, I would have thought the cries were that of wounded from the battlefield. But as we drew closer, I spotted no men among the rushing bodies, only the slighter, more graceful forms of women, and clusters of children.

  “Who goes there?” a familiar voice asked out of the darkness. Candra, armed with a long dagger and looking like a warrior princess, stepped out of the shadow of a tent and challenged our approach. A willowy boy, thin and gangly with the sudden growth of teen years, stood at her shoulder holding a bow. He took aim at my chest and waited without moving a muscle.

  “Candra,” Zez cried, jumping from the horse and running to greet her friend. Her energy shield remained with me. I quickly followed her movement with my own energy, erecting a barrier between her and the overly enthusiastic young archer as he tried to track her.

  “Zez!” Candra sheathed her weapon and welcomed her with both arms.

  * * *

  Chapter XVIII

  Zezilia

  Candra led us confidently through the hordes. Children were everywhere. They huddled in masses under blankets beneath the open tent structures, peered up at us over rims of steaming bowls of food, scampered underfoot, and cried in the arms of still more children. I had never seen so many children in one place.

  I moved to follow her but then paused. The children’s emotions hit me in a wall. It was strange. I had never picked up so clearly and consistently each individual’s feelings as their eyes met my gaze.

  It must be because of their breeding, Hadrian suggested. I have read where particularly strong Talents projected emotions randomly when distressed. Most of these children are strong adepts even at this age because of the inbreeding their fathers sought.

  I nodded my understanding. It was almost as though I walked through a sea of people, each screaming their distress at me at the top of their lungs. I struggled to filter it out, to concentrate on only one child at a time.

  “Are you coming or not?” Candra demanded in her usual manner. She stood a few feet away, hands on her hips, and surveyed us in irritation. She was deaf to the mental sobbing around her. However, the children near her seemed to calm some in her presence.

  Hadrian stepped forward to follow her and the child nearest him, a small boy of perhaps two, broke into tears. Startled, Hadrian stepped back again, concern flowing over his connection with me. “Did I hurt you?” he asked, crouching down to the child’s level.

  The little boy’s eyes grew even wider, and he stopped crying with a gasping choke.

  “Arnie!” A slender girl-woman of perhaps seventeen or eighteen appeared from beneath a nearby tent. She rushed to the child’s side, gathering him to her body in a way that clearly marked their connection. In response, the dark-haired tot buried his head in her chest. Tucking him close with tender care, she turned her attention to Hadrian, now standing over them. “How dare you touch my child! He has done nothing to hurt you.”

  “I didn’t…”

  “Not only have we been dragged here and forced to live in these circumstances, but now big hulking men are appearing to trample our little ones. You should be ashamed.”

  Hadrian’s astonishment at being dressed down by the mother of the tot who couldn’t be more than a child herself rendered him speechless.

  The slip of a girl watched him warily, clearly expecting a reply. Hadrian slowly lifted his hand palm up in friendship. The woman stiffened, clearly expecting a physical response to her words. The agony, horror, and anger that ripped through Hadrian must have shown on his face because she suddenly lost her nerve and retreated a few steps.

  “He didn’t touch, Arnie,” I said, stepping out in front of Hadrian. “He was only trying to comfort him.” The girl’s eyes focused on me for the first time. She looked very skeptical. “Honestly, it is true.”

  She frowned. “Then why did he look angry just now?”

  “He was reacting to the fact that it is obvious you and your son have been abused before.”

  She really looked at me then. She scanned my face, taking in my dark blue uniform and then Hadrian’s even darker tunic. “Who are you?”

  “I am Zezilia Ilar.”

  She recognized the name. “I once knew an Ilar, but…” Her voice drifted off into doubt.

  “But you don’t remember when,” Hadrian supplied. “It is the after image of a memory that has been removed from your mind.”

  She frowned up at him, but there was no hostility in her stance now. “Is that why I sometimes remember half-things that don’t make sense?”

  He nodded. “Your mind has been picked clean of things that your husband didn’t want you to remember.”

  A harsh infant’s cry suddenly emanated from the tent behind her. “Aleco is hungry,” she murmured, almost as an afterthought. “I need to go feed him.” She studied us for a moment longer before turning and reentering the tent.

  “A second child?” An intense anger, slow and simmering, hung in Hadrian’s aura. I was almost afraid to look at him and possibly set off the explosion. “She couldn’t be more than eighteen. These men are monsters.”

  Candra, oblivious to the lava boiling beneath Hadrian’s surface, broke through his thoughts. “So, are you ready to follow me now or not?”

  “Give Hadrian a moment,” I said.

  “Why?” Candra frowned up at him. “Is he ill?”

  “No, Candra,” Hadrian replied. “I am incredibly angry.”

  Candra’s escort’s eyes grew wide, and every child within hearing distance of us backed up.

  “He won’t hurt anyone,” I reassured them.

  At least not at the moment.

  Hadrian’s thought flashed through my mind as Candra’s escort asked, “Are you sure, Donellea? He looks like he would be able to tear a head off…”

  Hadrian stopped the boy with a pointed look. “I think perhaps you and Candra should escort us to her mother.”

  “Yes, sir.” The boy did an abrupt about face and strode deeper into camp. Candra followed on his heels and Hadrian, and I brought up the rear.

  The children gave us wide berth as we walked. Their fear was tangible in its strength as it focused on Hadrian, not because he was the sept son, but because he was an adult male. I grieved for them. What had their lives been like up to this point that would instill such a terror of men?

  * * *

  Hadrian

  Zez’s sympathy for the refugees flooded all my senses, warring with and tempering the rage that burned within my chest.

  What will happen to them? She asked.

  I don’t know.

  They can’t go back to their families like this.

  I hope that we will be able to heal some of them, but not all of their wounds are physical. I looked fleetingly into the eyes of another mother, balancing a small infant on one hip while a toddler clung to her skirts. Only time and the Almighty can heal them of those wounds.

  I want to help them. Her impulse came from her very core.

  Me too. We will. If nothing else comes out of this, we will help them.

  “So, you finally showed up.” Adreet greeted us with a weary smile. “Now maybe you can give us some direction. Those men have left us without so much as a farewell. They just herded in all these women and children and marched right out again.” She wiped her hands on her apron front and looked from me to Zez to me again. “Please tell me you at least bring news.”

  “News I do have, but not much. There is a battle taking place about two miles southeast of here. My guess would be that you will have casualties coming in from the lines within a few hours. Do you have the supplies and help to manage?”

  “We have the supplies.” Adreet nodded toward three wagons standing in the center of the camp still loaded. “And once we get these children corralled and bedded down, we should ha
ve willing hands.”

  “Are you sure they will be willing?” I asked.

  “They had a run in with Lynneta on their way in,” Candra explained.

  “What are you and Torence still doing here, girl?” Adreet demanded. “You have left our border unguarded.”

  “Someone had to…”

  Her mother cut her off. “Go now. And next time leave Torence behind when you bring news.” A pouting Candra left with Torence following at her heels like a loyal dog.

  Adreet shook her head. “I think she has finally found her match. That boy thinks the sun rises and sets with her. Ah, well.” She smoothed her stained skirt. “Now, to attend to those children.”

  “Ma’am. Ma’am.” The boy we had found outside the camp came charging up. Korneli, leading his horse with one hand and carrying a bucket in the other, followed. “How is me Mum?”

  Adreet answered the boy. “You mother is resting. You have a little brother.”

  Joy flashed across the boy’s features for a moment. “I wanna see her.”

  “She is resting, but I am sure she will be happy to see you,” Adreet agreed. “However, once you see her, I need you to come back here. There is a great deal to do, and I will need your strong arms, Vito.”

  Vito glanced back at Korneli and nodded before heading off toward a nearby tent.

  “Good to see you, Korneli.” Adreet greeted Korneli with a welcoming hug. Korneli hastily set down the water bucket to receive it. “How is Eldivo?”

  “Dead.” The word hung in the air for a moment.

  Adreet lowered her head. “Eloine will be heartbroken.”

  “He had a message for her in the end.”

  She nodded grimly. “You will find her on the northern edge of the camp, organizing the bedding. Perhaps sooner is better than later. I have a feeling that we are in for a lot of similar news this night.”

  Three hours later, when the night was completely dark, the children were strictly instructed to stay within the tents. The mothers and oldest children, those over eight, gathered in the center of camp. Adreet, with the organization of an army commander, handed out orders and tasks.

  Although I volunteered to help, Adreet waved me off. “You are going to have more than enough on your hands in a few hours when we know the outcome of the battle. Go to bed.”

  Lynneta, the young mother we had encountered upon our entrance to camp, showed me to a pallet in a very meager tent and left me to sleep. I lay down and closed my eyes, not expecting sleep to come, but I must have been more exhausted than I thought.

  * * *

  Zezilia

  The next hours passed in a blur. While Hadrian’s presence quietly rested in the back of my mind, my own whirled with the many duties that needed performing. There were bandages to prepare, wounds to dress, water to fetch, names to record, and items to gather, while I struggled to filter the pain and grief that permeated the air around me.

  “Zezilia!” As I retied a poor man’s dressing for the second time, I barely registered that someone had called my name. My fingers grew less dexterous with every passing quarter hour. I tucked the binding ends beneath the edges just as a hand closed over my shoulder.

  “Oh, Zezilia, you are alive!” I looked up to find my brother, Clovis, leaning over me. Within moments, I was engulfed in a male hug of sweat, blood, and mud. He squeezed so hard that my ribs hurt.

  “Clovis, I can’t breathe.”

  “Sorry.” He immediately released me. “It is just so good to see you. I thought you might be lost or dead.”

  I stared up at him. This was Clovis, my silent brother. He had always been a physical communicator adhering to the creed that actions speak louder than words and the sword most elegantly of all. But he had never been one for open displays of affection. My surprise must have been portrayed in my face because he frowned down at me.

  “Don’t tell me that those Elitists addled your brain too,” he growled.

  I shook my head. “You have seen Blan?” I managed to say once my tongue started taking directions again.

  He nodded, a glimmer of grief in his eyes. “At least he is still with us.”

  My heart froze in my chest and ice coursed through my veins. “Who?”

  “Janus died three months ago. Poison.” He spat the word. “His wife, too.”

  “Who…” I couldn’t even speak the words. My strong, vibrant, oldest brother was dead, his lovely wife with him.

  “Those vile Elitists.”

  The hatred in his voice sent a chill down my already cold back. I weakly lowered myself to the ground as the world began to waver.

  “Are you all right?” Clovis grabbed my shoulder. “Hey, boy! Bring us some water.”

  I waved him away. I would be fine in a minute. I just needed time to process everything. “What happened?”

  “Father made a deal with the devil. He traded information and access to the high king to the Elitists for promises of power. Then, when he realized that the Elitists were killing off the kings, he fought back. He warned Janus and his wife too late.”

  “And Manvel?”

  “Right over there.” Clovis gestured off somewhere to the left. “He had the gall to catch a ferrum with his arm, stupid boy.”

  “Where?” I struggled to my feet as Vito arrived with the water, leaving a trail of droplets behind him.

  “Not until you have had a drink,” Clovis insisted. “You look white as a sheet. When did you last eat?”

  “She’s ate nothing yet,” Vito supplied importantly.

  “Then fetch her something. We will be over in that direction.”

  Vito scampered off to obey, obviously enamored with the warrior at my side. I glanced up at Clovis as he steadied me with a hand on my elbow. He was an impressive sight, six feet, broad shoulders, uniform, and his usual collection of weapons. Even with his scruffy face and sweaty hair, he was what Galatea would call “masculine and attractive in a barbaric way.” I obediently drank the half cup of water, and then he guided me to Manvel.

  “Where is father now?” I asked.

  Clovis scoffed. “Playing god. The mesitas has disappeared with his sept son, the Elitist leader too, and most of the kings are dead. I wouldn’t be surprised if Father is setting himself up as high king in the capital even now.”

  “But he has no authority.”

  “Apparently the fact he is the oldest living member of the royal families is enough in his mind.”

  I frowned. Hadrian needed to know this. I reached for my link with him only to find him awake and busy. He was discussing something intensely with someone I didn’t recognize.

  My father is setting himself up as high king.

  He paused in his actions. I know. I am going to need you in a few minutes. I am needed on the battlefield.

  I am going to see my brother, Manvel. He has been wounded.

  His sympathy was warm and genuine. I will come find you in a short while. Then, he returned to his conversation.

  “What were you doing?” Clovis asked.

  “Speaking with Hadrian.” I let him believe I was sending, not communicating via commisceo. Clovis was a trained Talent, but he had chosen a different path from the traditional venues of a trained Talent. As the second son of royal blood, no one had challenged his choice.

  “Hadrian Aleron?” Clovis’ face registered disbelief. “I knew you were trained. That uniform speaks for itself.” He gestured toward my stained, deep blue tunic. “But to be on speaking terms with Sept Son Aleron is something else entirely.”

  Suddenly, I remembered Clovis’ strong defense of Hadrian when Vander had attacked him all those years ago at Hadrian’s swearing in ceremony.

  “So, you follow him as the true sept son?” I asked.

  “Of course! Any blind idiot could see that boy didn’t have half the power of Aleron.”

  I smiled. Yes, Clovis would respect Hadrian’s power. I wondered what he would think of mine, once he knew.

  “Hey, Manvel, guess who I
found.” Clovis guided me through the maze of pallets. Manvel looked much better than most of the men around him. His upper arm was splinted and bandaged, but his coloring was slightly pallid beneath his dark tan.

  “Zez!” Sitting up abruptly, Manvel struggled to his feet. Out of the corner of my eye, Lynneta frowned in his direction and started making her way over to us before I was embraced again. “Where have you been keeping yourself? Don’t tell me that you were caught by those Elitist monsters.” His features turned stony.

  “Of course not, you idiot.” Clovis punched him in his good arm. “Can’t you see her uniform?”

  Manvel’s eyes widened. “Defender?”

  “Not just any defender either. She is on speaking terms with Sept Son Aleron.”

  Just then Lynneta appeared at Manvel’s side, hands on her hips and scowl on her face. “Master Ilar, if you don’t lie down on that pallet and stay there, I am going to have to tie you to it. I told you that you were not to move until Donelle Silas had looked at you. Now, down!”

  Clovis’ eyebrows rose with each sentence and Manvel began to look slightly sheepish.

  “I suggest you do as she says, Manvel,” Clovis advised.

  A sudden awareness of Hadrian’s closeness was all the warning I received before his voice broke through our group. “I am sorry, gentlemen, but I need to borrow your sister for awhile.”

  Clovis straightened, Manvel swung around to face him, and Lynneta visibly stiffened as the color drained from her face. Then, all three spoke at once.

  “I have an apology…” Lynneta began.

  “Master Aleron…” Manvel added.

  “I would like to offer my services should you need an escort,” Clovis finished, his deep voice winning out over the others. “Manvel and I have a debt to repay to you for taking Zezilia under your wing. Besides, having someone from the defeated side escorting you would strengthen your position as you are arriving to negotiate our surrender. That is what you are doing, right?”