And So It Begins (22 page)

The other man’s appearance was much the same as the first, though perhaps a little stouter and a bit rougher around the edges. A bodyguard, perhaps? Neither was particularly old, though the first did have a spray of gray in his dark hair.

“And more of them have been spotted out west, if what the talk about it is true,” the second added. “How the hell are they getting inland?”

“They’re getting through the border Defenders, is what they are doing,” said the first with disgust. “Though I don’t know how. The Gods know the kingdom sends enough people there.”

The tone of his voice rankled Tristan’s nerves. What would these men know about guarding the border? Had they ever done it? He flushed a heartbeat later, having to admit that of course they had. No one in the kingdom was exempt from the duty of a Defender. Except for the women, the feeble, and the traders. But at least
they
didn’t condemn the Defenders. This was the kind of talk Kherin had told him about, the kind that took place in darkened taverns when the drink flowed too easily.

Tristan then smiled a small but sincere smile, directed at the empty table in front of him. By the talk of the town, he was not the only one willing to throw in their lot with Sethan Alderson, though what Sethan didn’t know was that he had already increased his ranks with Tristan himself, even if they had yet to meet face to face.

But that would change soon enough. Because like so many others in the disgruntled streets of Dennor, he would be there when Sethan gave his next speech.

And this time he would make his presence known.

G
RESHAM
hadn’t bothered to knock. He was older than either of the princes, and larger, though well enough away from royal blood in his veins that the expression he wore was one caught between duty and deference, despite the fact that he outranked both princes in this environment. Kherin merely looked at him from his seat on his brother’s bed as he paused just inside the sickroom door, and met the man’s eyes without offering a greeting, let alone a salute. Gresham had apparently been elected spokesperson when it came to taking issue with the youngest prince.

Adrien, however, remained oblivious to his presence. Although it was nearing the end of his second day without a debilitating seizure, Willum refused to discount the dangers of exhaustion, and so his treatments continued accordingly. Adrien’s sleep may be as much drugged at it was natural, but Kherin wouldn’t argue it wasn’t necessary. Not this time.

It was the only matter he hadn’t argued against, however.

“The Defenders are creating quite a commotion in the camp,” Gresham said, following the prince’s lead of foregoing greetings of any kind. “I understand their training and abilities are lacking, in your opinion, but as they are the Defenders assigned to this city, I would appreciate you treating them with a little more respect.”

Kherin looked away without answering. He had spent the last six hours patrolling the riverbank with one of the said Defenders, a young man named Geril, a native of Elgren, a city far to the west of Delfore, and the son of a horse breeder who would follow his father’s footsteps into the stables. Geril may or may not have been among those waving torches on the banks of the river the night before, but he hadn’t been among those dragging the Delfore Defenders back from the northern bank either. Jarak had told him that. As to whether or not he had actually been in the city during the attack….

Gods, it almost didn’t matter. The northerners were attacking these people where they lived, right here at their own doorstep, while more Defenders than not spent their time too engrossed in their activities in the city to even know it was occurring. Even those of the kingdom who had been at the river last night would have been of little use had the battle moved to Llarien soil, at least if their actions before battle had been any indication of their actions during it.

It had been so very easy during the battle to discern the Defenders trained in Delfore from those brought in from other parts of the Llarien kingdom. Skill and discipline—and plain fucking
common sense
—were apparently demanded only when the king was no more than a loud shout away, while the cities outside of his father’s hearing seemed to demand little more of
their
Defenders than the strength to bear a sword.

Nobody had died last night, despite the sheer stupidity he had seen in and out of the camp, but he knew of at least six who may have lost their lives to it already: the men he had seen buried in Delfore days before his own arrival in Gravlorn.

Derek had listened patiently when he brought these things up during the time the trader had joined him during his second patrol as a Defender, though his words hadn’t been as controlled when he took the Defenders to task in the aftermath of last night’s battle.

They had, however, perhaps been louder than was appropriate for a subordinate in a Defender camp, and Gresham’s very presence now apparently meant the Leader—if not the Defenders themselves—thought them also more cutting than was deemed necessary. Kherin wouldn’t wager on whether Gresham had been put up to smoothing the waters between the prince and the Defenders, though he knew it was only his status as prince that stopped the request for respect from being a direct order. He didn’t need Derek to tell him that.

“I know many of them lack the skills obtained in the royal training yards, but they are the best Defenders we’ve got, and the only ones we’re going to get,” the Defender Leader went on, his face tightening as his words gained confidence. “You don’t outrank them, and you have no choice but to do your duty beside them. They deserve respect as much as you, and failing to give it is not an option.”

Kherin let out his breath slowly, but nodded enough to show his acceptance of the reprimand without needing to force the words out his mouth. At least Gresham hadn’t demanded he make an apology, though Kherin could almost hear Derek telling him the Leader was being generous in that aspect, and he knew he would probably hear the words later, given the trader’s skills at learning what went on around him. At least Kherin could claim he hadn’t argued with the reprimand.

Gresham nodded in return. Then, after a quick glance at Adrien, he continued. “Good. But that isn’t the only reason I came here. A messenger arrived from Lorn.”

Kherin looked at him sharply, though Gresham’s nerves had apparently settled now that the dreaded part of his visit was over, and so he didn’t flinch under the prince’s glare.

“Northerners have been seen there as often as they have here,” he went on evenly. “And they have been trying to cross more often there than here. And they may have succeeded.”

Kherin stood now, staring at the Defender Leader. “What—?”

“It seems one of the Lorn Defenders has been in league with the northerners. Maybe more than one, but the one is known for sure. What they are not sure of is how much help the northerners have been given.”

“How do they know this?” Kherin demanded, and he didn’t miss the nervous tic that twitched in the Leader’s jaw.

“He was caught speaking to the northerners. In their own language.”

Kherin was stunned. “How?”

“A second Defender followed him out of the camp and saw the traitor Defender, a man named Korlon, standing in the middle of the river, speaking to the northerners on the far bank in their northern tongue.” Gresham paused and faced Kherin squarely. “The Defender who witnessed it said they were engaged in conversation, not passing threats.”

Kherin continued to stare in silence, so the Defender Leader went on.

“The Defenders in Lorn don’t understand the northern tongue any more than we do, so they don’t know what was said, but they are sure it wasn’t a confrontation. The only thing that was said enough times for him to remember was the word ‘Akhael’.”

Kherin’s eyes narrowed. “So what does it mean?”

Gresham shrugged. “Nobody knows. No one has ever heard the term.”

Kherin straightened, causing Gresham to do the same, and their eyes were level as Kherin met the Leader’s squarely. “I want to talk to Korlon. If he can’t be brought here, I’ll go to—”

“He’s dead.”

Kherin froze.

Gresham sighed, losing his posture as the nervousness he had shown earlier returned. “He knew he had been caught in the act of treason, and so, rather than be taken alive, he killed himself. Thrust his sword through his heart right there in the river. He was dead when the Defender who had seen him fished his body out of the water.”

Kherin felt the frustration welling up again. “What about the northerners?”

“They retreated when the second Defender appeared. That area of the river is wooded on both sides. Probably the reason they met there, thinking the trees would hide them. I don’t think they considered how the trees would hide any Defenders who happened to be approaching. The northerners vanished into their plains before Korlon finished thrusting his sword.”

Kherin turned away from the Leader, then sat on the edge of the bed. They had been betrayed by Llarien men—by his
father’s
own men. Was that why the attacks had only just begun here at Gravlorn, because the northerners had already found help at Lorn? But why would the Defenders do it? What could the northerners possibly offer them to make betrayal of their own country possible?

“Who is he?” Kherin demanded then, swinging back to face him. “The Defender who caught them. What’s his name?”

Gresham flushed as he broke eye contact with the prince. “The message didn’t say.”

Kherin hissed out a curse as he turned away again, but spun back when Gresham cleared his throat.

“There is one more thing. They believe Korlon was actually a northerner himself.”

Kherin’s stare turned frozen.

“There is no telling what those animals look like under all their fur,” Gresham went on hurriedly. “Chances are they could pass for Defenders once they shaved it all off. But mostly, they believe he was a northerner because he spoke the northern tongue. Korlon would have been the first Defender I’ve heard of that could speak it.”

A hollow feeling developed in Kherin’s stomach, quickly filled by a twisting feeling of nausea. It didn’t take an incredible leap of wisdom to see how it could happen. Defenders were rotated regularly, with men from the inner kingdom coming and going from the Defender cities every three months. All the northerners had to do was learn the rotation, then slip one of their own in when the new companies arrived. He himself didn’t know all of the Gravlorn Defenders, other than those from Delfore. It would have been so
easy
….

“How is it that this northerner knew the Llarien tongue?” The thought came so suddenly to Kherin that Gresham recoiled at the snapping of his voice.

“They don’t know that either,” Gresham answered hurriedly.

But Kherin did. Because northerners were
already
in the kingdom, and had been for a long time. Long enough to learn the language. Gresham was right on one count, however. It was just an assumption they wore their hair long and dressed in animal skins as some sort of sign they were northerners. If they shaved off their hair, dressed in Llarien clothes, and spoke the Llarien tongue, would anyone know the difference? It was a chilling thought, but the only explanation.

“I’m spreading the word to all the Defenders here and sending the message on to Oxlan,” Gresham said after a moment, shifting his stance and drawing the prince’s gaze back to where he stood.

“How do you know the Defenders here aren’t northerners in disguise?” Kherin demanded. His tone was deadly serious.

Gresham’s face colored again. “We don’t, my lord.”

No, we don’t. The twisting in his stomach increased, leaving him feeling as helpless as the Defender Leader no doubt did.

“I need a messenger,” he told Gresham, suddenly and bluntly. “I will send a message to the king and inform him of the situation here. Meanwhile, tell the Defenders to gather in the compound. All of them. I’ll save you the trouble of spreading the word by speaking to them myself.”

Gresham looked at him a moment, then slowly nodded. “As you will, my lord.” He saluted before turning to leave, and the sickroom remained utterly still until the door closed behind him.

Kherin waited until he was sure the Leader was gone, then sank once more onto his brother’s bed. He leaned his elbows on his knees, rubbing his face.

“What will you tell them?”

Kherin sat up sharply. Derek leaned on the doorframe, watching him calmly. Kherin hadn’t even been aware the door had opened a second time.

“You heard?” he asked, shifting so he faced his brother rather than the trader. He leaned over when Adrien moved slightly, and grasped his shoulder until he stilled. He felt, rather than saw, Derek move to Adrien’s other side, but avoided looking at his face as the trader adjusted the pillows beneath Adrien’s head.

“I heard enough.”

“I don’t know,” Kherin answered, letting out his breath. “If northerners are here, the Defenders need to know. But telling the Defenders will also warn any northerners in the city they’ve been found out.”