And So It Begins (16 page)

Kherin drew in a breath and let it out slowly, letting his gaze pass over the Defenders who watched them curiously as they continued to cross the camp, not lingering on their faces long enough to warrant a greeting or a salute. Those from Delfore made up most of their number, and the few who weren’t created a murmur in their wake that was more speculation and assumption than curiosity or questions. Kherin wasn’t surprised he heard Derek’s name mentioned in the hushed conversations, as well as his own.

And he couldn’t say that what little he did catch of their words was entirely wrong, even if the gist of it was inaccurate.

The bath Derek had gently insisted on at the inn had washed the last of his sickness away, and with his skin no longer burning off his bones, Kherin could even appreciate the luxury of the freestanding bathhouse the Harper’s Den boasted. Clever mechanics had enabled water to be drawn from the river and heated in a room housing pipes and a furnace built directly below the baths, which was then piped into the four stone-sided pits that served as the baths themselves. Derek did have to tell him that someone would be in the room below them as well, keeping the furnace lit and the pipes open, though whether an off-duty Defender or someone merely paid by the inn to do their job, he couldn’t be sure. Each of the four baths was separated from the others by narrow stretches of stone flooring, with towels, salts, and soaps placed nearby for use by their occupants, and all of it cast in faint gold light from two lit candles near the door.

“So much for roughing it on the road,” he had said pointedly, and Derek’s gentle laugh had sounded warm and rich.

“Ah, Kherin, this is an exception. Most places, you would be lucky to get more than a tub of hot water in a hopefully private washroom. And the water is not always as clean as what you experienced in Delfore, let alone as pure as this. Now get undressed. It feels better than it looks.”

Derek hadn’t been wrong, and sinking into the warm embrace of the water had soothed his nerves as it leeched the tension from his body—until he had caught sight of Derek stripping as well.

Kherin’s breath clouded in front of him as he paused his steps, and he turned his gaze from the Defenders to the barren northern bank. Though the morning was hours gone, he was still struck by how few times he had seen Derek without clothes. The night at the Crossroads had been little more than a glimpse through the washroom door, while the night at the way-stop had seen them both covered in the shadows born by the storm and multiplied by Kherin’s illness. But neither darkness nor illness had shielded the trader’s body in the bathhouse, and Kherin had felt the heat renewing in his body as he had taken in the open display of flesh Derek had made no effort to hide.

The thin line of the scar at his collar was nothing more than a familiar part of the trader, and his gaze had moved easily to the peaked nipples and lower, grazing over the taut muscles of Derek’s chest and stomach, lingering over the heavy cock nestled in its pool of dark hair—nestled, but not entirely asleep. Kherin felt the spasm of his entrance beneath the water as he traced the thickness from root to tip with his eyes, and he had grown hard as memories of the way-stop twisted into thoughts of reenacting that intimacy here—with the same rough abandonment and brutal intensity that had taken them then, their bodies slicked with moisture and lotions instead of rainwater and sweat. He moistened his lips with his tongue. Derek would be formidable when full.

The hushed speculation that the trader was obviously fucking the prince made it to Kherin’s ears as the bleak northern bank stared back at him. They may have been wrong, but Kherin’s silent answer was clear in his mind nonetheless.
Gods, I wish they were right….

But Derek had kept their bath platonic and cursory, and followed it by seeing that Kherin ate a simple meal ordered from the inn’s kitchens before taking him to the attic room the trader rented. In that warm and spacious room, Kherin’s anxiousness to return to the hospice had emerged, and been calmed only by Derek’s soft reassurances that Adrien would be cared for and the trader’s promise to return to the sickroom to make sure Adrien fared well.

Derek had pressed Kherin into his bed with the gentle reminder of the prince’s ailing health and his need for restful sleep. Sleeping pants had been offered by Derek, and the warmth of the blankets and the lingering scents of oil and leather the pants held had surrounded him in soothing comfort as he gave in at last to the exhaustion he was feeling. Only a vague awareness of the soft kiss to his forehead had filtered through his senses before sleep claimed its due.

The day had nearly ended by the time Kherin woke, and only Derek’s appearance at his side the moment he began to stir had kept the panic from driving him from the bed in a frantic attempt to reach the hospice. Adrien rested peacefully, Derek assured him, and Kherin’s color had returned, as did his appetite once he was awake enough to stand. A second meal taken in the common room of the inn had been followed by a visit to the sickroom, and only the report from the healer of no further seizures had let Kherin give in to Derek’s suggested visit to the camp to see more clearly the place where Kherin would perform his duty. It seemed Derek’s prediction of a message from the Defender Leader had proven accurate, and it had been delivered in their absence. Kherin was expected to begin his tenure the following day.

Kherin sighed again. He had met Gresham within moments of entering the camp, and the meeting hadn’t improved his opinion of the man. Age had very little to do with it, as even those past their prime could be both able and capable in the heat of battle. But Gresham had only recently reached midlife, yet fared far worse than those much older in Delfore. Thinning black hair over sagging jowls topped a girth that was barely contained by the leather Defender armor he wore, and given the pale, pasty shade of his skin, it was a sure indication his time not spent nursing mugs in the taverns was spent nursing the aftereffects in some hidden hole that may or may not be his own bed.

Derek’s quiet comment upon Gresham’s departure―that at least the Leader had been somewhat sober during the unexpected meeting with the prince―hadn’t been lost on Kherin, while the way Gresham’s eyes had flitted warily between Kherin and Derek during the introductions had reminded Kherin of a trapped animal, though one too timid to use its claws. But he had at least given reasonable answers to the questions of patrols and other Defender duties. Kherin had yet to see evidence of those duty requirements being carried out, however.

“Gresham said the Defenders patrol to the midpoint between Gravlorn and Lorn, and midway between here and Oxlan,” Kherin said quietly as they neared the space between the camp and the stables. “So how far is that, exactly?” He glanced at Derek’s raised eyebrow before continuing. “Both of them can be reached in about two days on horseback, but I have a hard time believing the Defenders here are willing to
walk
the distance for a patrol.”

Derek smiled grimly as he followed Kherin’s eyes over the river. “If the king’s policies were followed, horses would be ridden along the bank to the point where Gravlorn’s jurisdiction ends, the same as in other Defender cities. However, since adhering to policies seems to be lacking here, I think you will find that patrols are done on foot and cover only the area that can ensure their return in time for their nightly visits to the taverns.”

Kherin blew out his breath, and he couldn’t keep the irritation from his voice. “And Father allows them do to that?”

Derek shrugged. “Gresham allows them to do that, and your father has had no complaints to make amending the leniency here a necessity. And yes, my prince, I have told him myself of the poor adherence to duty in Gravlorn. But until your father sees a viable reason to change things, it doesn’t seem likely to happen.”

“Viable, meaning the northerners invade Gravlorn and claim it as northern territory.”

Derek laughed quietly, though he didn’t take his eyes from the sweep of the northern lands. “That would be effective, if for no other reason than your father would lose the taxes from the city. But there is little either of us can do to change his actions when loose standards seem to have little effect on the fulfillment of their duties.”

Meaning that, as long as the northerners didn’t cross the river and claim Gravlorn as their own, the camp would remain a poor excuse for defense.

The touch of Derek’s hand started them moving again, and the trader turned them from the direction of the stables to a path circling the Defender camp.

“We should get you back to the hospice, my prince. You’ve been out here long enough. Tempting the Fates so soon after a fever may be more than they can resist.”

Kherin grunted but didn’t argue, and he didn’t shy away from the hand that Derek kept on his back as they moved. His heavy cloak and the gloves Derek had loaned him kept most of the wet chill from his skin, but his cheeks were still flushed with cold, and his nose was threatening to run if he stayed out much longer. The lights of the city had already begun to glow as they neared the entrance to the main street, and Kherin suddenly wondered if Derek would stay once they reached the hospice.

But he had voiced no more than a single word of that question when it was cut off by the sound of sudden shouting, and he turned instinctively in the direction it came from: the barracks, on the east side of the compound. Defenders could already be seen moving through the spaces between the buildings, though a moment passed before Kherin joined the men hurrying toward the sounds. Derek followed close behind.

The shouts coming from the barracks were actually coming from behind it, and Kherin and Derek trailed the others as they rounded the structure to catch view of the narrow field separating it from the trees. The shouting stopped once the field was reached, and there were no sounds of fighting to indicate the northerners had crossed the river yet again. What Kherin saw instead were the Defenders gathered to face the northern bank, some pointing and asking quiet questions of those around them, others staring silently at what they saw. Kherin moved enough to look through them as Derek did the same.

Northerners stood on the other side of the river, seven of them, Kherin counted, dressed in animal skins, their unkempt beards and lanky hair hanging down around them. Six of them held axes, their glares fierce as they watched the Defenders who gathered and milled, though neither side made a move toward the stretch of water that separated them. Only one of the northerners appeared unarmed, and Kherin’s eyes narrowed as the head of this one turned slowly from side to side. This northerner wasn’t watching the Defenders; he was searching them.

“What are they doing?” someone near him asked quietly.

Kherin spared the Defender only a glance before he turned back to the one northerner who had drawn his attention. He was aware of Derek’s stillness beside him, his hand again on the prince’s back, and a second glance showed the trader looking warily on the unarmed northerner as well.

Neither of them missed the fact that, when the unarmed northerner’s gaze finally rested, he was staring at Kherin.

T
HE
words were written in curling, ancient script.

“Once the Destroyer is marked, only the Akhael who harbors the source of the magick may draw it from him. Akhael of proper training, and of the source’s choosing, may accompany him when the drawing of the Destroyer is at hand. The source of the magick shall not carry arms, as it is the duty of the Akhael who are chosen to protect him. The Akhael who are chosen to protect him shall protect him unto death.”

K
HERIN
froze as their eyes met and locked. When the mouth of the northerner began to move, his nerves tingled, the hair on the back of his neck rose, and the feeling of pinpricks danced across his skin as the unheard words flowed quickly and steadily. Derek’s hand tensed where it lay against his back, and the trader said his name quietly, though Kherin only spared him a glance and a brief shake of his head before he turned back to the speaking northerner.

And what he saw was that all of them—all seven of the northerners—stared at him now, and a glance to those on their side of the river found that a number of Defenders had begun staring at him as well. Quiet murmurings began among those on this side of the river, but he couldn’t hear their words any more than he could those from the northerner.

When he turned back to the northern bank, the northerners hadn’t moved.

“T
HROUGH
the drawing of the Destroyer, the Akhael shall protect their magick, and through the transformation of the Destroyer, they shall reap the rewards of seeing their magick increased. But through the utter destruction of the Destroyer, the Akhael may destroy their own means of survival. Magick cannot survive without sustenance. Therefore, the source shall only use magick to draw and transform in dealing with the Destroyer, which will render the Destroyer vulnerable and their own magick sustainable.”

K
HERIN
hissed a curse as he wished viciously for a bow. He was no trained archer, but he had no doubt he could strike the northerner where he stood. Derek didn’t respond to his curses any more than to give him a glance, but Kherin knew he wasn’t the only one, Defender or otherwise, who was growing nervous under the direct northern attention.

“T
HE
drawing of the Destroyer shall require introducing the magick to the Destroyer. The introduction of the magick shall in fact set the target for the magick to be used to draw out of the Destroyer. The strength of the source must be high, as without the target, the magick shall fail. Without the strength to overcome the Destroyer, the drawing shall fail, and the magick of the Akhael shall weaken….”

T
HE
sudden quiet when the northerner stopped speaking was startling, though it was likely Kherin’s reaction to it that threw the attention of those around him back across the river. Even at this distance, Kherin could see the anger that pinched the northerner’s face as he stared in the newborn silence, and the chill of sweat on his skin made Kherin realize the silence was a relief, as whatever it was the northerners had started apparently ended in failure. The northerners seemed to realize that as well, and as one, they turned away from the river and moved back over the plains, never once looking back.