And So It Begins

by R. G. Green

  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.

  His scowl turned hostile as he glared at the staggering Defenders who still stumbled in the street, their eyes wide and wild as they twisted about, looking drunkenly for danger in the skies and alleys this far from the river. Shouts still sounded, though most were from the whores still sober enough to taunt them from the doorways and windows of the now abandoned taverns. Kherin shoved men out of his way as he passed, angry enough not to care if they fell on their faces, and he ignored the sneers and laughter that followed in his wake as he took the wayward path back to the hospice. Maybe it was too many years of nearly token duty, or maybe it was the city of Gravlorn itself, but either way the disgust he felt at what he saw both in the camp and out of it was palpable.

  He could make a report to his father, and would do so if he truly thought it would do any good, but the likeliness of that was almost nonexistent. Complaining to Gresham would be obviously pointless. And while he may be a royal prince, he was still a second prince, and relegated to Defender status here at the border, even if it had only been hours since he had taken up the official mantle of duty. Which meant the Defenders would defer to Gresham long before they would to him when it came to the particulars of their duty. Judging by their behavior tonight—and every other night, if what Derek had told him were true—the Defenders were no doubt overjoyed about that. Kherin was fuming by the time he reached the hospice steps. The door he shoved open took the brunt of his mood, and he stepped inside with the urge to slam it shut.

  The scent of the aromatic candles hit him almost immediately, unsettling the mixture of battle lust and anger that coursed through his blood in appalling measure. He still believed taking a northerner alive was what they needed, but judging by what had happened on both sides of the river, it may prove more difficult than even Derek had promised. He leaned back against the door and let his eyes close, breathing the scented air deep into his lungs and letting it settle there…

  Until he became suddenly aware of the muted voices drifting into the hall. He turned his head with a snap to the door of the sickroom where Adrien lay, and he saw the seam of light slicing its way underneath it, proof of a candle lamp lit within. Though the words were too low to be made out, the tones were serious, and the sound of one was achingly familiar. Not Adrien, but Derek. Suddenly alert, he moved quickly to reach for the handle and froze as the door swung open.

  Derek sat on the edge of Adrien’s bed, leaning on one arm set over the prince’s legs, dressed in the simple black he always wore, his cloak tossed haphazardly across the bed behind him. But Adrien… Adrien lay much like Kherin had left him, though Kherin’s heart clenched when he saw his eyes were open now, and his breath nearly stopped when Adrien raised his head just enough to prove he was awake. Dear Gods… Adrien was awake!

  “Kherin!” Derek was on his feet as the word came out, but Kherin surged past him as the trader stepped forward, and he slipped into the place Derek had vacated as Adrien’s eyes followed him, focused and alert.

  “Adrien!” he breathed, reaching for his brother’s hand. “You’re awake!”

  “I’m awake,” Adrien repeated softly. He looked tired, but his eyes were clear under the tangled fall of his hair, clearer than they had been since Kherin had entered this Gods-forsaken city. The strength of his fingers as they closed around Kherin’s hand was also surprising and encouraging, as was the fact that his skin remained both cool and dry. “What happened?”

  The quiet urgency of the question snapped Kherin’s thoughts back to what happened at the riverbank, and he glanced down quickly, suddenly aware of exactly how he looked. His clothes were wet and dripping with mud, his hair sticky against his scalp, and the shouting in the streets could still be heard even this far into the city, leaving little doubt that Adrien—and Derek—had heard them too. If the news of what happened hadn’t yet reached the hospice, it would soon enough, one way or another.

  “Northerners were seen at the river,” he answered cautiously. “We crossed to capture them, but….” He paused to consider his words. “We didn’t do it. I thought you would still be sleeping.”

  “What do you mean you crossed the river? Who?” Alarm made Adrien’s voice harsh, and he struggled to sit up, only to be stopped as Kherin grasped his shoulder to push him back. Two matched gazes locked. Then Adrien shifted, and both looked up as Derek stepped to the bedside.

  “I’ll go for a bit,” Derek said quietly, one hand coming to rest on Kherin’s shoulder as he bent over Adrien. He touched the elder prince’s arm lightly above where Kherin held him, but his tone was heavy, saying more than the words he spoke aloud. “I won’t be gone long.”

  Adrien hesitated only a moment before nodding weakly, and then Derek swept a hand through the damp hair at Kherin’s temple as he turned to meet the younger prince’s eyes. Kherin understood the trader’s meaning as clearly as Adrien did, though he couldn’t think of any words to say as he watched the mix of urgency and worry filter through the trader’s gaze. The trader had a job to do, and though hearing the story from Kherin was necessary, it wasn’t immediate. Derek would learn more from the streets right now than he would from the prince, and Kherin finally nodded, settling the uncharacteristic indecisiveness that seemed to hold the trader and keep him there.

  The brief touch of the trader’s fingers against his cheek was all Derek offered before he retrieved his cloak, and Kherin watched him until the door closed behind him. Then his lungs eased enough that he could finally draw a breath, and he let it out heavily as he turned back to his brother.

  “So how long have you been awake?” he asked, forcing what he had seen in Derek’s eyes in the last moment to the back of his mind. The question sounded awkward, and the slight twitch of Adrien’s brow indicated he was aware of it, even if he had the decency not to acknowledge it.

  “For some time, believe it or not,” Adrien answered, his voice quiet, but steady enough to send the hope Kherin felt soaring higher. Adrien’s fingers twitched against his hand, and he knew it was a warning his brother wouldn’t be put off for long.

  “Derek was here when the shouting started. What happened at the river?”

  Kherin’s heart caught at hearing Derek had been here while he had been at t
he tavern, though he sighed inwardly an instant later at the bluntness of the question Adrien asked. Adrien had no more patience than he did when it came to the safety of the kingdom, and so, with the stoic air of a reporting Defender, Kherin told him the tale. He saw the tension in Adrien’s jaw when the story turned to crossing the river, but he plowed on, his voice hardening in his determination to finish. Adrien was bound to have his own opinions of what Kherin had done, but Kherin wasn’t going to apologize, not when he would do it again if it remained the only answer he had.

  “I don’t know what happened on the northern bank,” Kherin told him plainly. “I didn’t smell anything odd, so I doubt they were burning incense to cause the dizziness, and the plants are the same on both sides the river, so it couldn’t be any pollen or fungus they give off. Jarak said the Defenders who crossed the river after us didn’t have the same reaction.”

  “Only you and the Defenders you took with you,” Adrien repeated quietly, his rasping voice firming the point for both of them.

  Kherin nodded. He understood what his brother was saying, though neither one said it aloud. The northerners had been there when Kherin crossed; they hadn’t been when Jarak’s Defenders did. Kherin waited for more, but the silence stretched until at last Adrien drew a breath, and with it drew Kherin’s eyes to meet his own.

  “Be careful, Kherin,” he said, the warning mimicking what he had heard from Derek hours earlier. “You need to know what you’re fighting before you can have a chance at winning.”

  Kherin almost snorted at how those words could have come from either them, his brother or the trader, and he felt a mild irritation that both of them felt he needed the warnings to keep his actions from turning rash. In fact, the echo was so clear, he knew with sudden certainty exactly what Adrien and Derek had been discussing when he walked in.

  “I need to catch a northerner alive,” Kherin said evenly, watching Adrien closely to see if he was right. The lack of surprise in Adrien’s eyes confirmed he was.

  “I know Derek has already told you the difficulties surrounding that,” Adrien answered evenly.

  “We covered the obvious.” Kherin sensed where this was going, but had no more idea how to accomplish the task than he’d had earlier in the inn.

  Adrien studied him for a moment. Then as his strength began to fade, Adrien said, “What do you think you’re going to learn from them?”

  And there, simply put, was the core of the matter. Kherin let out his breath as his gaze darted around the room, returning to Adrien with the frustration clear on his face.

  “Anything,” he answered sharply, gesturing helplessly with the word. “Anything they can tell us about why you’re having seizures, and what we have to do to stop them. And why this is happening now.” He watched his brother grimly. “The northerners haven’t been this active since before either of us was born, and to find them suddenly crossing the river should raise alarms all the way to Delfore. But it’s not, and ignoring them is a mistake.” He let out an exasperated sigh. “Driving them back is what we do, but we should be trying to find out why they’re here to begin with.” He narrowed his eyes. “What?”

  The hint of a smile had begun to mark the elder prince’s face, and Kherin was sure that, had his brother been healthy, he would have been laughing. “You’re prepared to defend your arguments,” he mused softly.

  Kherin grunted. “I’ve had years of practice defending my arguments.”

  Adrien’s smile faded, and he brushed the damp strands of hair from Kherin’s cheek. “I know. And I think you’re right.”

  Kherin stared at him, wariness creasing his face.

  “Father may not agree, but he isn’t here to see things.” Adrien’s arm dropped heavily as a labored breath escaped. “That’s why the Defenders are here, and why the Defender Leaders have the ability to act independently of the king. And why they don’t need the king’s permission before they make decisions.”

  “I know the politics,” Kherin stated flatly, “and I know Gresham said he would increase the patrols at the river—”

  “But that will do little against the northerners if we are no more prepared than this to meet them,” Adrien finished. “I know, Kherin. We have grown so sure of ourselves in the protection of the border that we are failing in preventing them from crossing, and simply beating them on the shores is not the way to learn what they are after.”

  It was a long speech for someone as recently ill as Adrien, but the words so closely echoed his own that Kherin gave a sudden small laugh. “You sound so much like me, I’d think you’ve already had this conversation.”

  Adrien smiled, a difficult effort, but his eyes took on a look so like he had been prone to give before Gravlorn that Kherin felt a surge in his spirits that maybe Adrien’s recovery had truly begun.

  “Derek already argued your points, and he’s on your side,” Adrien told him quietly. “We don’t speak their language, but we can still learn from them. And maybe we should.” Those could have been Derek’s words, and probably were. “Just be careful, Kherin. We agree on that point, as well.”

  Relief swept over him with Adrien’s words, and he was thankful he wouldn’t have to argue his plans again, and grateful that Adrien stood with him as well as Derek. With a certainty that grew with every beat of his heart, he knew he had Derek to thank for that.

  “I will be,” he told Adrien quietly and confidently, and added with a warm grin, “I already promised Derek I would.”

  Adrien laughed, the sound brittle but encouraging. “I’m sure you did. And I doubt you would want to explain yourself to him if you break that promise.” His laughter faded to a weary smile. “Willum will be here soon, and you are in definite need of a bath. Go.”

  Kherin wanted to wait longer, but the reminder of his condition made him aware of how his muddy clothing clung to him even in the warmth of the room, and how it had grown stiff and scratchy in the places where it had dried. He gave Adrien’s hand a final squeeze before rising to dig a clean set of clothes from his packs and pull his spare cloak and razor out as well, though he couldn’t remember if the bathhouse had a mirror in which to shave. He then looked at Adrien lying in his sickbed, and wished the healer would return so Adrien wouldn’t be left alone.

  As if the words had bid his appearance, the door opened and the healer stepped inside. The medicinal smell from the tray he carried made Kherin’s nose wrinkle, and though Willum nodded at Kherin as he passed, his steps never faltered. He set the tray on the bedside table before turning his attention to Adrien. Kherin caught his frown at the stains he had left on the linen, but the healer didn’t comment on them as he began his silent tending to Adrien. The tension he hadn’t realized he had lost returned as he watched the healer work. The mere act of Willum’s examination was a stark reminder that, although Adrien was awake and the seizures were thankfully absent, the danger was far from over.

  “You should visit the baths while I tend to his highness,” Willum said shortly over his shoulder. “I will see that he eats before he sleeps.”

  Kherin’s jaw tightened at the abruptness in his voice, but he didn’t respond to it. The subject of Kherin’s continual questioning of Willum’s abilities as a healer remained a sore point between them, and so the coolness between them hadn’t yet dissipated. He caught the wry smile Adrien gave him over the healer’s shoulder, and that was enough to prod him to don his cloak and shift the clothes more comfortably in his arms. Adrien had turned away by the time he reached the door, and neither of them acknowledged his departure as he finally pushed through it. A breath both calming and invigorating slipped out of his lungs as he closed the door quietly behind him.

  The air was far cooler in the hall than it had been in the room, and the shouting had diminished considerably, though that was more likely because the excitement had been taken inside the tavern walls rather than continuing on the streets. Little surprise there, Kherin thought darkly as he moved to the outer door. Derek had told him there were severa
l baths located in the city of Gravlorn, but he had already decided to make use of the ones at the Harper’s Den. His having been seen with the trader would likely prevent a denial of his request now.

  More importantly, if he were going to be honest, choosing the inn meant there was the chance of seeing Derek, though it would be minimal, and would likely be only in passing. It was still a better chance than he would have bathing elsewhere. Knowing what Derek had done—before the attack, during it, during every moment he had been in this Gods-forsaken city—he wanted to put an end to the distance that should never have developed—that he should never have allowed to develop—between them in the first place. He just hoped the attendant hadn’t let the furnace that heated the water go out.

  The hospice door opened suddenly, letting in a swirl of cold air that swept under his muddy clothes and sent chills across his skin. Derek stepped quickly through, but stopped short as he saw Kherin. There was a moment of stillness as both were caught by the surprise of unexpectedly coming face to face, and then Derek stepped into the hall and closed the door behind him.

  Kherin watched the flickering light reflect in the dark fall of hair as the trader approached slowly, and noticed the tense line of his jaw cut by the shadows. His breath seemed to stop when Derek finally stood beside him, and though the trader reached with one hand, he stopped just short of touching.

  “Are you all right?” Derek asked, speaking first though keeping his voice quiet, and the concern in his words was as clear as the wariness in his eyes. The wariness that told Kherin what Derek must have heard on the streets, though how badly distorted the stories had been, he couldn’t be sure. But even the bare truth would be bad enough, and he nodded slowly as he watched the trader’s eyes.

  “Only wet and tired,” he answered, more or less truthfully. “And I’ve been told I need a bath, so that’s where I’m going.”

  Derek’s expression didn’t change, but he let his hand fall as he accepted the answer. Kherin guessed by the lines on Derek’s face that he had more things he wanted to say, though he let them go rather than risk saying them now. And the reason for that was his own fault, not Derek’s.