And So It Begins by R.G. Green

the torches were the first sign they were nearing the western edge of Gravlorn camp, and the vague shapes of scattered structures was Kherin’s first view of the Defender camp itself. Only after they had drawn close enough to garner notice could Kherin see the tall, burning stakes were shielded against the rain.
    He recognized rough-hewn walls of the Defender stables even in the dim glow. Shadowed figures appeared briefly and then vanished from the light, but Kherin couldn’t stifle the welling of relief as they passed the first of the torches. They had made it.
    Two figures appeared outside the stable, and a third joined them as the horses drew near. The three stepped forward as they came to a halt, and two continued to close in to reach the horses’ heads. The salutes the Defenders rendered were given without delay, proof they recognized the second prince of Llarien, no matter the weather and his current condition. Kherin could attest that Defenders, as a whole, learned to see well in the dark.
    The long, grueling ride, combined with the fever and coughs, had left Kherin weaker than he would have expected, and he gripped the saddle even after his booted feet were on the ground. Derek appeared at his side, and a supporting arm took his weight as a young Defender stepped forward to take the reins from his hands. Derek’s reins had already been taken, and the horses were led away without comment, the whole process routine. Only the senior Defender lingered.
    The man introduced himself as Ronel, hailing from Appas, a city south of Delfore in the foothills of the mountains. Though he could have been anywhere between thirty and fifty, he stood straight and firm, with little to separate him from the younger Defenders save for a few strands of gray visible in his dark mustache and neatly trimmed beard. Like all Defenders on the border, he wore the boiled leather armor preferred over chain or plate. The freedom of movement granted by leather had long been considered an advantage over the protection of metal. A rain cloak covered the armor now, though the hood remained down to give full view of his features. Though Derek and Ronel exchanged acknowledging nods, the Defender addressed Kherin alone.
    “We were not informed of your coming, my lord, so I’m afraid preparations have not been made. But I will send a summons to the Leader to let him know you have arrived, and I will personally see to your lodging.” He spoke with the slight burr born in the southern mountains, and though he maintained the deference due the prince, it was tempered with more than a little quiet concern as he added, “Our healer is in the city, but he will be summoned immediately.”
    Kherin fought to keep from scowling. “I’m here to see my brother, Prince Adrien Rhylle.” His throat was scratchy, and a deep cough rattled in his lungs with the effort of speaking. Derek’s hold kept him steady, and both the trader and Ronel were watching him when he recovered, though neither spoke. The concerned assessment he had been subjected to from Derek throughout the day now appeared on two faces, and Kherin averted his eyes, turning instead toward the burning light of the camp’s central fire.
    A large circle of river stones had been constructed in the center of the camp, identical to the circles built in all Defender camps. Kherin had once been told the purpose of the fire was to serve as a beacon to fellow Defenders on nights such as this, when visibility was anything but clear, but he knew it had more to do with tradition than functionality. The nearness of the city made it nearly impossible to not know where the Defender camp was located, and the torches that were lit every night, in every camp, led the way better than any beacon could possibly accomplish. That the central fires served as beacons more to the northerners than the Defenders was an opinion he had voiced before, but one that had fallen on deaf ears during his previous duties. A roof had been