Poison Air
The history room was a dim, hazy place, and Master Ullune was prone to droning on about what he thought the ancient generals should have done, regardless of their actual battlefield decisions.
It did not make for an interesting class, and Jad couldn’t keep his attention on the Master of History. He already knew more about this war than most, and now all he cared about was the time candle, steadily dripping its way down to their free hour.
Zaire nudged him with his elbow and nodded at the far end of their table, concern in his eyes. Jad followed the nod and saw Dafen watching Caden worriedly.
Their youngest friend was tucked into the corner as he usually was, but the normally-alert grey eyes were glassy, and Jad could see him panting for air, breath wheezing harshly for all that he tried to silence himself.
It wasn’t working.
Caden’s eyes fell closed and he collapsed out of his chair. Dafen was only just able to get to him in time, and managed to catch him before he hit the ground.
The master paused in his lecture to stare at them as Jad and Zaire threw themselves out of their chairs to form a protective circle around their friend.
Caden was conscious, but only barely, and in between wheezes he was mumbling a steady stream of protests in what Jad thought was probably Elvish as he fought Daf’s hands. His guess was proven correct when Zaire answered clumsily, words hesitant. He didn’t speak much Elvish, but whatever he said was enough to ease some of Caden’s fear.
“He’s delirious,” Zaire said quietly. “He thinks Dafen is his brother. Older brother I think.”
“What is he saying?”
“Something about not taking him back to… I don’t know the word. I think it’s the name of a city? Something about their father. I don’t understand most of it.”
“Take him to Rhaine,” Jad decided, waving a hand to cut off the master’s protests. “Master Ullune, I’m sorry to disrupt the lesson, but would you send a message to Withas please? Caden is not well.”
The master looked like he wanted to protest, but Master or no, Jad was still the prince, and he could still overrule their teacher if he had to
Dafen gathered Caden into his arms, wordlessly glad that their young friend was thin, but worried at the same time.
“Jad, we need to make sure he actually eats,” he grumbled, holding their friend protectively. “He’s light, even for him, and he didn’t have much to lose before.”
That was worrying on its own, but they couldn’t afford to care about that right now.
Jad held the door for the other two and followed them out. Caden was still protesting weakly in Elvish, and Zaire sighed, edging closer.
“Take the back way,” the young Trader insisted. “He won’t thank you for making a production of it, even for his own good.”
Dafen nodded and did as ordered, turning into the side corridors that only the servants took.
The Healer’s Halls were quiet, but at the sight of their little huddle, Masterhealer Rhaine hurried over and took Caden from them, hands already glowing with magic.
“What happened?” he demanded quickly, and ran his hands over Caden’s chest professionally. “Jad?”
“He collapsed. We don’t know why.”
Apparently that was all it took. Rhaine vanished into one of the private healing rooms, already yelling for his apprentices.
After that, all they could do was wait.
Jad settled on the stone bench beside the door, feeling Zaire settle next to him, and Dafen at their feet, leaning his shoulder against Jad’s knee.
Zaire looked down at his hands after a while, lost in thought.
“I wish we knew more about Caden,” he admitted quietly, drawing their attention. “I’ve been thinking, and… and we don’t know anything about him.”
“Yeah? He’s quiet,” Dafen said, and looked up at them. “What of it?”
It’s just…” Zaire said slowly, working his way through the thought. “It’s just that the Elvish he’s spoken to me before now, it has a different accent. A Border accent, I guess. But what he was speaking just now, it was totally different.”
“Different?”
“At a guess, educated. And we never knew he had any family at all, let alone a father and a brother. I don’t even know the name of wherever he’s from, and I talk with him more than anyone but Jad”.
That was a sobering thought, and Jad realized Zaire was right. They really didn’t know anything about their young friend. Caden was good with plants, better with animals, but didn’t ride well. He spoke Elvish, as well or better than he spoke Common, and at least two other languages including Common.
He had magic, but no one was really sure how much, only that he’d never once slipped his control and the healers trusted his word about any injury but his own.
He could handle a spear, but not a sword, and no one in the palace could outshoot him with a longbow.
Of his past, they knew little. As far as almost everyone was concerned, Caden popped out of the ground, fully-grown and trained in his chosen weapons. His appearance at the palace was understated, as Withas simply showed up one day with the quiet lad in tow.
“He doesn’t eat much meat,” Zaire offered slowly. “Only if he knows how it was killed and even then, not often, and not every sort of meat. And he knows more about the Human-Elf war than anyone I’ve ever met.
Zaire was the next-best with a bow, and he and Caden often spoke of tactics, which interested Zaire, and of history, which Caden was forever reading about. Dafen didn’t care, and Jad couldn’t keep up with their conversations, and didn’t often try.
Jad was next. “He’s fast. Faster than anyone I know, and when he’s upset, he climbs. We’ve all caught him on the roof when something spooks him. When we spar in the forest, he hides in the trees and picks us all off one by one. We never even saw him last time.”
The few little gems they knew about their friend connected in Jad’s mind and he bit his lip as he came to the single, damning conclusion.
“I think he’s part Elvish,” he decided carefully, mind already whirling with ways to keep their youngest friend safe in this court of people who would take badly to his true nature. “Maybe even a half-blood. It would explain a lot.”
“Like his tendency to hide up high, and the bow.” Daf muttered. He was always the first to fall, when they sparred in the forest, easy prey for a sneak with a longbow and pinpoint accuracy. “And the sneaking.”
Zaire nodded uncomfortably, unable to disagree. “He’s more than fluent in Elvish. He has an accent in Common, and it’s Elvish, but it’s not like any elf I’ve met. Father has a few friends among their people, and none of them sound like him.”
“He doesn’t look Elvish,” Daf noted, and closed his eyes. “I mean, he’s slight, but they’ve got the ears, right? And the weird eyes?”
“He hides it very carefully.”
Rhaine appeared through the door and regarded them thoughtfully.
When they all tried to speak at once, he raised a hand to quiet them. “Caden is fine. Ullune’s incense didn’t agree with him. He didn’t know the scent or he would have slipped out.”
“So he is Elvish?” Zaire asked, reassured that their friend was recovering but worried at the conclusion. “A half-blood?”
“I’ve never asked.” Rhaine said quietly. “But there is little one can hide from one’s healer. He has Elvan blood, yes, and he goes to incredible lengths to hide it so that he may remain here and safe.”
Jad looked between his friends and saw the same determination in their eyes that he carried in his own.
“How do we keep him safe?”
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The Mistlands:
A prince in exile hides among his own worst enemies, and reluctantly joins the fight to bring peace between his lost home, and his new one.
Poison Air
Foolhardy Errand
Letters Sent
Pinecone Negotiations
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