The Fall of Lostport

by R. J. Vickers

  Soon he was drifting off to sleep, the wood beams on the ceiling blurring and wavering until they faded to darkness.

  When he woke, Duffrey was standing at his bedside with his thin hands clasped behind his back, the serving girl Iole at his side.

  “What nonsense is this?” Duffrey asked, his face pinched with anger. “How are we expected to keep you safe if you throw yourself into danger?”

  Doran saw out of the corner of his eye that the medic was working in the corner of the room, her head bent over a metal bowl. Her presence was reassuring. “Are you scolding the heir of Lostport, Duffrey?” he said lightly. “I think you may have forgotten your place.”

  Duffrey’s face turned red, and the serving-girl shuffled backward until she was half-hidden behind him. “My lord,” Duffrey said sarcastically. “Perhaps this discussion is better held in the comfort of your own home. This pigsty hardly befits a royal heir.”

  Doran glanced over at the medic, who was looking at him with a curiously blank expression. He widened his eyes briefly, beseeching her to help, and she sprang to his aid.

  “My dear sir,” she said, hurrying to Doran’s side. “Prince Doran needs his bandages changed. Would you please wait outside for five minutes? The smell—”

  Duffrey nodded sharply, putting a handkerchief to his mouth as though he had only just realized what sort of use this place had seen. He and Iole scurried out of the workroom so quickly Doran had to bite his knuckles to keep from laughing.

  “What is it?” the medic whispered, readjusting his bandages.

  “Can you summon a messenger? Someone who can be trusted at their word, who can slip out once they have heard me speak?”

  “You think he might try to silence me?” The medic’s brow creased. “I wouldn’t be surprised, though. I despise that man. Wait right here. I’ll be back in a trice.”

  She let herself out through a back door that had been cunningly hidden behind a shelf of bottles and dried herbs. Doran pulled himself into a more dignified position, half-sitting against the pillows heaped above his head; the movement was so painful he cried out.

  Once the pain had subsided, he was able to take a better look around the room. There was another bed adjacent to his, covered in a black cloth—presumably so the blood stains would not show. Every wall was hidden by shelves crowded with books and metal tools and herbs, likely worth a fortune altogether.

  Then Doran noticed that he was wearing different clothes—his fine silk shirt and cotton trousers had been replaced with simple homespun garments. He was embarrassed at the thought of the medic changing him, wondering if she had gawked at the way his legs had already begun to shrivel up from lack of use.

  When the medic reappeared with a child half her size who could have been a girl or a boy, Doran hurriedly rearranged his face into a smile.

  “Into the corner, now,” the medic told the child. “Take this. Wipe dust from every jar you find.” She handed over a surprisingly clean white rag.

  Raising her voice, she said, “You may re-enter.”

  Duffrey and Iole stumped back into the room, Duffrey looking thoroughly disgruntled. While they resumed their places beside the bed, the medic tucked the blanket around Doran’s legs.

  “You asked why I left the house,” Doran said coldly, looking Duffrey straight in the eye. “I ordered you to bring me any eligible women who were willing to become my wife, and none appeared. I chose to take matters into my own hands and see whether the summons had been given at all.” He turned to the medic. “Had you heard any word of my request before now? Surely the invitation would have been extended to you.”

  “None, my lord,” the medic said, thankfully not pointing out that she was at least ten years Doran’s senior.

  “There you have it,” Doran said. “You have been lying to me and deceiving me, all in service to King Luistan, who sent you to look after me—and prevent me from returning to Lostport, is that right?”

  Duffrey’s face remained blank, though he had gone a shade whiter than before.

  “But you would be required to obey a direct order, isn’t that right? Especially one made in front of a witness?”

  Duffrey gave the barest hint of a nod.

  “Very well. I order you to escort me safely back to Lostport in three days’ time. And before that, I expect to meet every girl between the ages of twenty and thirty who lives in Torrein.”

  The medic crossed to her shelves as though to choose out a new jar of herbs, and as she knelt to read the labels, she gave the child a quick pinch on the arm. Without further instruction, the child dropped the cloth and hurried out the medic’s front door, head down.

  “Well. Consider it arranged,” Duffrey said icily. “We will escort you, of course. We have been charged with keeping you safe, and that extends as far as ensuring you return to Lostport in one piece.” He looked over at the medic, who straightened and gave him an innocent look. “As long as you believe he will be fit to travel in three days, that is.”

  “If he rests until then, yes, he should be just fine.”

  Duffrey gave a stiff nod. “Now, my lord, may we return you to your home?”

  Doran glanced at the medic, hoping she would refuse his request, but she surprised him by agreeing. “That would be best. Would one of you help me with the stretcher?”

  “What happened to my chair?” Doran asked quickly. He didn’t like the idea of being paraded through town like an invalid.

  “I’m very sorry to say that it has been destroyed,” Duffrey said coldly. “It was not meant for our rough streets.”

  Doran swallowed his groan and submitted to being lifted onto the stretcher and carried through the door. The serving-girl trailed them up the sloping main street with a wide-eyed look of bewilderment.

  When they reached the front door of the manor, Doran was able to lift his head enough to see that a small crowd had gathered outside; they broke into applause when they saw him, and one dirty-faced man said, “I saw you crash from my window! I’m glad to know you’re alive, milord.”

  Doran grimaced. So his foolish blundering had been witnessed after all. “I appreciate your concern,” he said with dignity that ill-befit his current position. “You may return home now, knowing I am entirely safe.”

  Clearly Duffrey had a reputation in Torrein, because the townsfolk scattered when he came barging past to the door. Iole scurried around him and pushed open the door, and Doran was whisked into the safety and silence of his clifftop manor.

  Once Doran was safely settled in his bed, Duffrey left him while the medic did one final check to ensure his bandages were secured properly.

  “I hope you don’t expect me to vie for your hand,” she said drily as she examined his knees. “I have no intention of leaving Chelt.”

  “No, of course not,” Doran said, embarrassed once again. “I need someone less intelligent than you, someone who can see only the wealth and status they would gain through marrying me and not the burden I would become.”

  “With all due respect, my lord, I think you may be wrong,” the medic said. “Any woman would be lucky to be your wife.”

  Doran flushed—he knew it was not true, and it was still painful to contemplate his ruin.

  “I’ve enjoyed your company,” she said unexpectedly. “Take care of yourself, will you?”

  “If you mean I should stay here rather than trying that stunt again, I think I’ve learned my lesson,” Doran said with a forced smile. “Thank you for everything. Oh—and do you know what happened to Fabrian, the butler who was working here when I first arrived?”

  The medic’s eyebrows flew up. “He was publically humiliated last quarter. Something about passing information to a foreign power—”

  Doran pressed his mouth into a grim line. That sounded about right. “He was fired for theft, or so I heard. Duffrey wanted him out of the way, because he was passing me information about Lostport.”

  “Be careful,” the medic said. “Please. This sounds very dang
erous.”

  “I will,” Doran said, though he had to admit he agreed with her. What could he do against Duffrey and the forces of Whitland when he was powerless even to leave his bed unaided?

  The medic bowed her way out after that, leaving behind a pouch full of herbs to relieve pain, to slow the bleeding, and to induce sleep.

  As soon as he was alone once more, Doran reached at random for one of the books on his bedside table, searching for what comfort its pages could bring him.

  It was not until later that he remembered he had never thought to ask the medic her name.

  * * *

  “We are a quarter’s brisk ride from Lostport, Milady,” Tenori said, drawing his horse alongside Katrien’s. “I propose we send a forward party to negotiate terms with King Faolan in private. He might be somewhat alarmed if an entire army shows up on his front lawn without warning.”

  “Quite true,” Katrien said. She had her eye on Amadi and Kurjan, who appeared to have resolved their differences with little trouble. “And who should we send in the forward party? I would like to go myself, though I have little faith in my riding abilities.”

  “You’ll learn to canter quickly enough, I believe,” Tenori said. “Why, I can hardly tell you from a Darden horse-master now.”

  “Very amusing.” Katrien patted her horse on the neck; the beast had been reliable and steady, everything she could have wished for. “And who else will join us? I want Amadi with me, certainly, and you could not stay behind.”

  “That could very well be enough,” Tenori said. “If we bring two of the warriors, just for protection, we will be safe yet inconspicuous.”

  When they broke the news to Amadi that night, she immediately said, “Kurjan can fight. Bring him.”

  “I believe your young beau is a scholar, not a warrior,” Katrien said. “He will be a liability and a distraction.”

  Amadi jumped to her feet. “I’ll tell him you said that. He’ll make you change your mind, just wait. He knows things. Secrets, I mean.”

  “Why don’t you bring him here, and I can tell him myself?” Katrien suggested primly. Amadi was becoming too accustomed to her liberty; she would find no home in a civilized land after this if she was not careful.

  “Fine,” Amadi said. She stalked off.

  “She reminds me of you.” Tenori gave Katrien a mischievous sideways grin. “I’ve never seen two women more stubborn than the pair of you.”

  “I forget she’s not my daughter at times,” Katrien said wistfully. “I should have been there for my children. No one should have to grow up without a mother.”

  “Well, at least you know your children are safe and adored even in your absence,” Tenori said. “From what you have said of King Faolan, I’m sure he has been a loving father to your dear ones. Amadi would not have been so lucky, though, if you had never come along. Perhaps your regrettable choice has in fact done some good in the world.”

  “I could spend my entire life trying to repent for one choice made in the foolishness of youth.” Katrien poked at the fire with a stick, enjoying the warmth it exhaled. The nights were growing colder. “Perhaps you’re right. I should stop looking back.”

  Amadi and Kurjan were approaching now, hands clasped together in a gesture of clear defiance.

  Katrien gestured to the two blanket rolls beside her. “I assume Amadi has filled you in on the situation?”

  Amadi and Kurjan seated themselves beside the fire, sharing a cautious look.

  “I’d never try to impose myself on you,” Kurjan said. “Amadi said you’re heading south in an advance party. If you don’t want me to come, I’ll stay here. Gladly.”

  Amadi pouted at him. “You’re not helpful at all. Tell Katrien what you told me.”

  “She might think I’m trying to cause trouble,” Kurjan said.

  Katrien folded her arms and scrutinized Kurjan. He was being far too polite—he was trying to manipulate Katrien’s sympathy with his groveling self-abasement. “Tell me,” she said sharply. “And no more foolishness.”

  Kurjan’s lips twitched. “Fine. But you won’t want to hear it.” He rubbed his hands over the fire. “Officially, the school in the borderlands is a no-man’s-land. It owes no loyalties, and takes part in no schemes. But the professors aren’t that neutral. There aren’t any Whitish among them, aside from a few exiles, and half the students are from notable families in Varrival or Dardensfell or Ruunas. There are even a few odd ones from Cashabree.”

  When he paused, Amadi reached over and gave his shoulder a squeeze.

  “Anyway, the professors are probably the most politically involved schemers out there. They have lots of young royals—third children and bastards, of course—under their care, and they can’t help but meddle a bit. And they hear plenty of secrets while they’re at it.”

  “Including something that involves Lostport?” Katrien prompted. Despite herself, she was intrigued.

  “Yes. You know about your son, right?” Kurjan asked carefully. “What happened to him?”

  “I know something dire has happened to him, but he still lives.” It pained Katrien to admit that she did not know more.

  Kurjan’s brows drew together. “He was injured in a boating accident. He’s paralyzed from the waist down. From what I’ve heard, he’s in Chelt now, as you know, recovering and living like a king.”

  Katrien felt numb. Her beautiful son, unable to walk ever again? It was a long moment before she could bring herself to nod.

  “But King Faolan isn’t that wealthy,” Kurjan said. “Your son is living in one of the nicest cliff-side manors in the entire kingdom, with servants waiting on him all the time and an endless supply of the rarest and most valuable manuscripts at his disposal. Someone’s been paying his way, and it’s not your husband.”

  Katrien drew in a sharp breath. “You mean someone wants to keep him away from the throne. Someone who wants Lostport to find itself without an heir.”

  Kurjan nodded. “The source is well-concealed, but everyone knows it’s King Luistan who’s been financing your son’s comfort. He wants Lostport to descend into chaos, so he can regain his hold on the throne just in time for the Port Emerald revenue to start pouring in.”

  “Nine plagues!” Katrien said. “Do you think they could have arranged the whole thing? My son’s injury, I mean. They tried to kill him and failed, so they are doing the best they can to keep him out of the way.”

  “The professors think that’s a good possibility,” Kurjan said gravely. “King Luistan certainly has been scheming against Lostport from the moment word of the gemstone beach got out.”

  “Do you have proof of this?” Tenori asked. “Is this a fact, or just speculation?”

  “It’s speculation grounded in fact,” Kurjan said. “We know King Luistan wants more power over Lostport, we know the heir was nearly killed, and we know King Faolan isn’t paying for his place in Chelt. Just ask your husband if you want proof of that.” He nodded at Katrien.

  “You win.” Katrien prodded the fire again, staring at the flames. “You will accompany me to Lostport and help us sort this mess out.”

  They left in the morning, Katrien and Tenori flanked by two warriors, with Amadi and Kurjan at their rear. The entire procession rose early to see them off, and Katrien hoped desperately that this would not be the last she saw of her loyal followers. Katrien was dismayed by how gleeful Amadi was to have Kurjan accompanying them; she seemed unaware of the gravity of their mission.

  When Tenori kicked his horse into a canter, Katrien hastened to follow suit, nearly jolting out of her saddle when the horse broke into a pounding, furious rhythm. Recovering herself enough to experiment, she realized that the ride was less jarring when she stood in the stirrups and raised herself a hair’s breadth off the saddle. This was hardly more comfortable, though, as her legs quickly tired of the odd angle.

  It was not long before the entire procession vanished amidst the grasses behind them. Again Katrien was struck by how vast a
nd unending the Darden plains were, and how empty, as though she and her five companions were the only humans in existence.

  By the time they stopped for lunch, Katrien’s legs were about to fall off. No longer caring for propriety, she massaged her calves and the backs of her knees while Tenori spread a thick layer of goat’s cheese on their way-bread.

  “Why did I agree to this?” Katrien groaned, walking back and forth to ease her stiffness.

  “It’s fun,” Amadi said. “Way better than plodding along all day with everyone else.”

  Katrien shook her head. “When you are as old as I am, you will not think so highly of being jolted around all day.”

  “I feel the same way,” Tenori said. “And unlike you, I cannot profess myself a novice. Despite years spent in the saddle, trading and exploring and the like, I’m stiff as a rusted hinge.”

  “Our children learn to ride sooner than walk,” one of the warriors said. “You can’t teach that sort of familiarity. It must be as natural as breathing.”

  “I wish I was a Darden warrior,” Amadi said. “I’d know all of Dardensfell by heart, and I’d get to ride around all day hunting and fighting and exploring.”

  “Not exactly,” the other warrior said, with a fleeting smile. “It’s true that women help us hunt, but most of our life is filled with less-pleasant tasks, like tanning hides and setting up camp and drying meat. And if you had spent your childhood among us, you’d have an intimate knowledge of buffalo pies.”

  Amadi wrinkled her nose.

  “We have ten days to ride,” Tenori said. “If you’re still this enthusiastic about horse-riding once we reach Lostport, we can find a clan to adopt you.” He grinned at the warriors.

  “That’s a sight I’d pay to see,” Kurjan said. “Amadi all suited up like a Darden warrior.”

  “Oh, be quiet,” Amadi said.

  * * *

  The unexpected visitor who had torn Laina away from her father’s scrutiny was Jairus, here without Swick for the first time. His eyes were swollen and bloodshot, as though he had not slept in days, and he was drenched from the rain outside.