And So It Begins Read online

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  Dreamspinner Press

  5032 Capital Circle SW

  Ste 2, PMB# 279

  Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886

  USA

  http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  And So It Begins

  Copyright © 2013 by R.G. Green

  Cover Art by Paul Richmond

  http://www.paulrichmondstudio.com

  Cover content is being used for illustrative purposes only

  and any person depicted on the cover is a model.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Dreamspinner Press, 5032 Capital Circle SW, Ste 2, PMB# 279, Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886, USA.

  http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/

  ISBN: 978-1-62380-602-6

  Digital ISBN: 978-1-62380-603-3

  Printed in the United States of America

  First Edition

  June 2013

  To all those who offered unending support,

  an endless supply of encouragement,

  and an incredible amount of patience:

  saying thank you isn’t enough, but it’s a start.

  Thank you!

  Prologue

  “…. BANEBERRY can be found in richly wooded areas, and can reach heights of up to three feet. The leaves are large and spreading, with sharp-toothed edges. Small white or blue flowers decorate the topside, while fine hairs trace the veins on the bottom. The berries themselves are shiny and black, found most often in summer or autumn. Small doses of baneberry produce a burning stomach and dizziness, larger doses, nausea and convulsions. Milk or egg whites are given to nullify the poison, though fluids…”

  The parchment crinkled as the page was turned.

  “… are often depleted through bloody diarrhea.”

  Kherin snorted. He leaned his head back to work out the crick stiffening his neck, then let out a deep sigh of resignation as he watched the all-too-familiar dust motes float through the late-day sunlight breaking through the equally dusty windows. Although there were undoubtedly more boring things he could be doing with his time, he would be hard-pressed to name one at the moment.

  The rare coolness of the late summer day was a welcome relief from the stifling heat that had blanketed the Llarien kingdom and its capital city of Delfore during the last few weeks, but the pleasant enjoyment of the outdoors was lost to him for the time being. Not that he wouldn’t have enjoyed spending time outside the castle walls, maybe even wandering into the city itself, given that the angle of the light said it was still early enough to make it to the bustling square before dark. It would take almost an hour on foot, but he would have enjoyed the walk. He would have enjoyed the gait of a horse even more, with the feel of the muscles working beneath him and the race of the wind through his hair… hell, he would have enjoyed saddling the horse. He would have enjoyed anything but the forced idleness he was faced with now.

  But the two linen-wrapped splints bracing the leg stretched out beneath the table in front of him put a definite end to those flights of fancy, even without the crutch leaning haphazardly at his side emphasizing the point. A broken leg was certainly not conducive to walking or riding, or apparently anything else of interest inside the walls of this castle. And it would remain that way for at least a few more weeks, or so the castle healer predicted. Kherin wondered if his sanity would hold that long.

  At least the break wasn’t terribly bad, and it had been an accident, and one that had been mostly his own fault, he conceded willingly enough. A sparring match with Adrien, the Crown Prince of Llarien and his elder brother by three years, had resulted in Adrien first gaining and then pressing his advantage, and Kherin’s back-stepping into a hole in the training yard. Startled and thrown off balance, he had twisted in an effort to deflect his brother’s blow and dislodge his foot. Instead, the bone had snapped. That had been three weeks ago, and it would be at least another three before his leg would be declared healed. The boredom already chafed as much as the stiff bandages. He let out a soft growl as his gaze fell back to the book in his lap.

  Bloody diarrhea. Wonderful.

  At twenty-one years of age, he wasn’t used to sitting idle in his father’s dusty library learning the intricacies of the code and conduct of poisonings. He may not have the right age or status to assume any grand responsibilities of running the kingdom, but he wasn’t one to grow fat and lazy while the world went on around him either. And while it was true his reputation wasn’t quite the drinking, gambling, and whoring his father seemed convinced it was, it was close on occasion. It was also made worse, in his father’s estimation, by the sheer fact that those who did end up falling into his bed didn’t need wealth or noble standing to get there. They were, however, required to be male—the Gods and the castle staff could attest to that—and not even the scathing lectures from his father were going to change that particular preference, regardless of whether it was becoming or not of a prince of the kingdom, or a suitable attribute for a Defender of its border.

  A Defender who was even now failing to fulfill his duty.

  A sharp pain arced through his leg at the reminder of that particular failure, and he shifted irritably as he forced himself to focus on the words in front of him and not on the camp where he should be completing his tenure.

  “Defenders” was the old and simple name for the men who served in the Defender camps that stretched across Llarien’s northern border, lining the river that separated this land from the plains of the northern tribes. There were thirteen Defender camps in all, with thirteen Defender cities having inevitably grown around them in the generations since their founding. Those assuming residence in the adjoining cities earned the unofficial title of Permanent Defenders, while the men who lived elsewhere in the kingdom were obligated to three months of service every year to augment and relieve the permanent guard.

  The practice had been in place for centuries, and tradition said it began for every male the moment they reached their seventeenth year and ended the moment they reached their seventieth. That was how the arrangement had been written, and that was how it remained through the generations. Even today, there were few exceptions to this law. And the son of the king was not one of them, especially not the second son.

  But while they were intended to meet the hostilities of the north, truth be told, it had been years, if not decades, since the threat of attack had proven anything but empty. A skirmish now and then perhaps, but pitched battles had ceased long before Kherin’s birth.

  Even so, the Defender camps remained.

  Kherin was sure somewhere in the castle was a clerk whose responsibility it was to know the whos and whens of each and every Defender and assignment rotation, but he would be first to admit he didn’t know the details of the alternating and assigning of Defenders. Like every other Defender, he knew only when and where he was supposed to be. And “when” was now, and “where” was the camp at Gravlorn, nearly centered between the eastern and western borders. Nearly two weeks into his tenure. Adrien was already there.

  Another heavy breath escaped as his gaze drifted from the book in his lap to the cluttered shelves around him, each one packed with at least a dozen copies of every original tome his fat
her owned. Kherin had no idea why his father wanted so many copies of each and every book, but in truth, he didn’t really care, and his gaze continued to circle the room, sliding past the shadows and flickering lamps, until his eyes at last rested on the face of his mother. And as he had done every day he had spent here, he paused long enough to meet the soft, direct stare that so mirrored his own.

  A deft brush had captured the luster of the queen’s chestnut hair and the intensity of her deep brown eyes, the only two traits that were inherited by both her sons. But where the queen’s face was soft and round, Kherin and Adrien bore the sharper, angled features of their father, and while the queen appeared small and fragile, the princes had taken their father’s height, if not quite his girth. And while the queen seemed to watch him with maternal warmth, Kherin found it difficult to summon anything more than curiosity.

  The queen had died shortly after Kherin’s birth, leaving her youngest son with no memories of his mother, just an artist’s rendering on tightly woven canvas. The woman in the painting was a stranger, and while it tended to make the courtiers of his father’s court uneasy, Kherin couldn’t summon it within him to miss something he had never known. At least any comments concerning his lack of feeling toward his mother’s death had long since ceased, although he was sure it remained yet another mark against him in his father’s eyes.

  He let out another huff of breath as he broke away from the portrait, and raised a hand to massage his neck under his own fall of chestnut hair. While his mother might have never existed, his father did, though he hadn’t been one to garner the deep affection of his second son. He had never truly tried, as least as far as Kherin could see, though whether he was naturally distant or driven to it by the death of his wife, Kherin had long since stopped wondering. Adrien had clearly been deemed the favored son, and the gap between father and second son had only widened as Kherin had grown older—or grown wilder, as most would describe it. Not even Adrien had managed to change that, and the Gods knew how often he tried. Even if the Gods themselves had never intervened, on his side or opposed to it.

  Perhaps that was why he paid them so little heed. Or perhaps he was simply the wastrel his father thought.

  The chair creaked as he shifted uncomfortably, and he winced as the accidental movement of his leg sent another arc of pain around the bone. He exhaled sharply as he readjusted the book in his lap, returning to the page in front of him with a determination to focus on the words. The Record of Deadly Poisons had sounded infinitely more exciting than it turned out to be.

  “My leg only encourages me to do what I should be doing anyway,” he muttered darkly, covering the words in dripping mockery as he drew the book closer. “The world is full of things unlearned and knowledge unfound. Who am I to ignore the collected wisdom of the elders?”

  A footstep sounded behind him.

  “Well said, my lord,” cheered a familiar and laughing voice. “Knowledge is the cornerstone of societies great and small, and the one true power that can topple empires, and destroy kings and kingdoms alike.”

  Kherin tilted his head against the straight-backed chair he was slouched in as his sudden wash of surprise slipped quickly into a full and encompassing warmth. A smile played on his lips as he met the dark, amused eyes of the figure crossing the library toward him. Derek Resh, master trader and Kherin’s closest friend, could be found more often wandering the country than haunting the halls of the castle, though he walked across the room now like he’d been born here.

  And the man was indeed laughing.

  Tall and lean, the combination of clean, aristocratic features and the traditional black clothing worn by all traders made him look more like a bandit or thief than an employee of his father. The equally dark hair pulled into a tail at his neck also went against everything his father’s court would consider proper, though Kherin couldn’t deny he liked what the tail brought to the trader’s already handsome look. In fact, his hair was even longer than usual, which meant his last venture into the kingdom had been a busy one. He had, however, managed to shave any growth of beard, which meant he hadn’t just arrived in the city. Kherin’s smile slipped as he suddenly wondered why it had taken until now to learn of the trader’s presence in the castle, even as the bitter weight of confinement seemed to evaporate with each step the trader took.

  Derek’s laughter had subsided to a wide smile by the time he stopped at Kherin’s shoulder, and the wink he gave was full of mischief and teasing as he touched the prince’s chin affectionately. “Besides, who knows when some of this stuff might prove useful, eh?”

  “Happy to meet your approval,” Kherin returned flatly, but the effect was lost as Derek stooped and gathered him in a warm and welcoming hug. The smell of leather and saddle oil swirled around him as he felt the rugged scrape of skin and cloth against his cheek, and the feel of hard muscle under the tailored clothing never failed to surprise him, even as his awareness of it grew more intense with each passing year. Kherin returned the hug with his own genuine warmth.

  Seven years Kherin’s elder, Derek had been a presence in the castle since Kherin was a child, first as an apprentice to one of the few trade masters allowed to conduct business inside the castle walls, and now holding the rank of a trade master in his own right, though a young one by comparison to others in the field, and one that dealt in information rather than tangible wares. He had nevertheless maintained the same privileges as his former master, and had in fact all but replaced him in the position of royal favor, and yet the genuine smiles and sincere warmth that had won over a six-year-old prince all those years ago hadn’t changed in all the years since.

  “Welcome back,” Kherin breathed when the trader stepped back. Then he tossed the book on the table as he eyed his visitor skeptically. “And since when did you start calling me ‘my lord’?”

  “Since you became old enough to learn lordly manners,” Derek replied archly, perching on the edge of the table. He picked up the book and examined it with a curious studiousness, flipping the pages at random. “Interesting choice of reading material. I suppose you have already perused the strategies of assassins and the methods for recruiting spies?”

  “Very funny,” Kherin grunted. “It just so happens poisons sounded more interesting than the religious edicts of some church that vanished a thousand years ago.”

  “Tax accounts would be more interesting than the religious edicts of some church that vanished a thousand years ago, and would likely be more informative,” Derek returned bluntly. He dropped the book back to the table and regarded the prince with a returning smile. “So how is your leg? I won’t ask about your temperament, since I assume boredom is a poor companion.”

  Kherin groaned as he stretched his back. “I’ve spent more time in this library in the last three weeks than I ever planned to my entire life,” he stated firmly, drawing Derek’s smile into a laugh. Derek hadn’t been at the castle when the accident had happened, though that was all but irrelevant when talking about how much information made it to the trader’s ears.

  “Ah, and here I was approving of your newly found academic endeavors,” Derek managed, forcing a sobriety that didn’t quite make it to his eyes. “Llarien always has use for well-educated scholars.”

  Kherin snorted. “And not enough use for its traders, or so it would seem if you’re back already. I wasn’t expecting you for at least another month.”

  “Oh, how little you know of the trading business, my prince. Predictability can be the death of a profitable business.” He laughed again when Kherin rolled his eyes. “Actually, I had business to discuss with your father, which, I am relieved to say, is now happily concluded.”

  Kherin didn’t miss the bait thrown out by the mere mention of his father, though he frowned slightly as a different question formed in his mind. “So how long have you been here?”

  “Just since this morning,” Derek assured him. “And I will be leaving again tomorrow. Not as long as I would like, but long enough to rescue
a certain young prince from a life of idle laziness for one night.”

  “You mean call on the rules of hospitality and force me to entertain you,” Kherin amended shrewdly, though his heart leaped at knowing he at least had Derek for the evening.

  “View it as you will,” Derek conceded teasingly with a short and formal bow, though his smile was warm when he straightened. “Care for a game of Merels?”

  Kherin readily agreed. He suggested summoning wine as Derek located the board and pieces from somewhere among the cluttered shelves, and let his amusement play out as the trader assumed the role of royal blood by sending the summons to the kitchen, rather than insisting the order be issued by the prince. A second chair was then dragged to the table, and Kherin finally gave in to the curiosity he felt nudging him.

  “So what did you want to talk to my father about?”

  “Hmm?” Derek didn’t raise his eyes as he swiftly arranged the board with its red and black pieces, although the twitch of a suppressed smile gave away the fact that he had been expecting the question. Kherin resisted shaking his head as he waited.

  “Very little, actually,” Derek answered casually after a moment. “There seems to be some activity happening east I thought your father should be aware of.”

  Kherin raised an eyebrow. “Enough ‘activity’ for you to come in person rather than send a messenger?”

  Derek’s eyes glittered above his smile. “Messengers are less than reliable in the port city, my prince, and far too expensive for a simple trader.”

  Kherin snorted in answer. “Port city” obviously meant Dennor, the only port large enough to be known by that simple two-word title. But as for the expense of a messenger—traders reaching the rank of “master” were rarely short of funds, and Derek was far more than “simple.” His position of royal favor, combined with his close relationship to both princes, had seen to that. Kherin had no doubt a messenger would be a minor expense for someone of Derek’s standing, so as to why Derek hadn’t chosen one….