The Lynx
Ramsay heard the cry for help a split second before he saw the boy coming in his direction at full speed, chased by half a dozen heavily armed men, bright sunlight reflecting off their metal breastplates. Dropping the dipper from which he'd been drinking water at the well, he drew his sword and ran forward with a roaring cry.
The men fought tenaciously, and if they had not been so strung out while chasing the boy, they might have stood a chance. Six against one should have been an easy victory for them, but they were scattered and tired from running in the exhausting heat, and Ramsay had not lost his edge, despite his unexpected and extremely early retirement.
He was still panting heavily when he finished. Kneeling, he cleaned his sword on the robe of a dead man, then sheathed it. He used his own sleeve to wipe the spatters of blood from his face. Turning, he sought out the boy and found him hiding behind the well Ramsay had only just abandoned. "Ho, there," he called, taking care with his Tavamaran. "You all right there, lad?"
"Y-y-yes," the boy stuttered, visibly shaking and crying as he slowly stood up. "T-t-thank you."
"You are welcome. Why is a boy so young out here all alone, being chased by dangerous men?"
The boy looked guilty and afraid, but only shrugged and looked at his feet.
Ramsay examined him. Despite sweat and dirt and grime, the boy was clearly of noble breeding. The clothes were high- quality linen, dyed expensive colors, and he wore a plain gold bracelet that plenty of people would certainly see as sufficient motivation for killing.
So likely taken for ransom, or wandered off following something curious and found himself in over his head. "Were they trying to kidnap you?"
The boy nodded, looking guiltier and more miserable by the second. Ramsay rested a comforting hand on his shoulder. "It will be all right, lad. What's your name? We'll see you home safe."
Rather than give his name, the boy went from scared to terrified, and tears began to stream down his face in earnest.
Ramsay had a sudden awful realization. No noble's son would fear giving his name to a complete stranger—especially not one as glaringly foreign as Ramsay. But even a foreigner was likely to recognize the name of royalty, and the king had only one son, a boy of about eight years.
Kneeling, gripping his shoulders, Ramsay said softly, "You are Prince Kajan, aren't you?"
The boy started to sob then and appeared ready to bolt. Ramsay scooped him up and hugged him tight, holding him as he had once held his own little brother. He spoke soft, soothing words, switching between Tavamaran and Tritacian, until Kajan's tears finally calmed.
"It will be all right, Your Highness," Ramsay said. "I promise, I will not hurt you. Neither will I let another harm you, understand? I promise I will see you returned to your father. Come, come," he said, and finally let Kajan go. "No, you do not need to see that," he said when Kajan tried to look at the bodies.
He guided Kajan to his horse, Feather, and settled him on it. Then he went carefully around the rest stop, removing all signs of himself from the area that he possibly could. After that, he went to each of the bodies and removed anything useful. Many said it was bad luck to take things from the dead, but the dead had no use for coins and food and a headwrap for Kajan.
Their clothes were unremarkable, but their swords and armor were all of good quality. Those metal breastplates were an odd choice, uncommon in Tavamara. Even the royal guards wore leather armor for the most part. The swords were also high quality. Whoever these men had been, they were either good at their job or had thought they were.
The way it had taken six of them running about like angry chickens inclined him toward the second option. Smart, competent criminals were the exception, not the rule.
Once confident he would not be easily traced, and that he had all the information he could gather from the bodies, he swung up onto Feather behind Kajan and rode off into the thin forest that eventually would spill into the mountains that much later on formed the border between Tavamara and its northern neighbors. They traveled as quickly as he could manage, while stopping frequently to cover their tracks and ensure they were not followed.
By the time they reached his home, he was exhausted. He had not felt this sort of tension, this awareness, for a very long time. He thought he had left it all behind. He had intended to leave it all behind.
Pain twisted in his chest, a wound that would always be raw, as painful now as it had been seven months and six days ago. He would never forget how it had felt to hold his brother's dead and bloody body in his arms. The light forever gone from brown eyes, so much like their mother's. Dead because Ramsay had been too busy guarding a prince and had trusted his brother to others.
Making a rough sound, he dismounted, helped Kajan down, and then led Feather into the stable he had built himself shortly after arriving. The house had already been here, if only barely. He had gotten it for a pittance from a man who had been delighted to have the old cabin—shack, really—off his hands. But Ramsay had nothing but time on his hands now, and so had used it to make the house respectable and add a small stable to the property.
Now, buried in the thin forest, with a view of mountains all around him, he had found a reasonable imitation of peace.
Kajan examined everything curiously, eyes wide, the tears drying on his cheeks momentarily forgotten as he took in what must be shockingly humble surroundings to him. Feather played with his hair, making Kajan giggle. Much like Ramsay himself, Feather had been impeccably trained, and he'd always seemed to genuinely enjoy children while having little patience for most adults.
Kajan would likely never know how fortunate he was that it was Ramsay of all people who had come to his rescue. Soon, hopefully, this would all be a distant and largely forgotten memory for him. Though as he was the crown prince, more and increasingly dangerous problems would be coming his way. Hopefully his new bodyguards would be better at their job.
"Stay out of the way for a bit, Your Highness, while I take care of Feather, hmm?"
Kajan laughed. "That is a silly name for a horse."
Ramsay smiled and patted his horse affectionately. "Yes, I suppose it is, but he runs as light as a feather, even when I am on his back."
"Well, you're not very big," Kajan said, looking as though he were trying very hard to be nice, especially under the circumstances, but the truth was the truth.
Ramsay burst out laughing, leaning against his horse as he attempted to regain control of himself. He reached out to tousle Kajan's hair. "No, I am not very big. But I am fast and very tough, and I weigh more than you might think." He winked.
Kajan giggled.
Grinning, Ramsay finished ensuring Feather's comfort. Locking the stable door, he led the way out of the stable and across the way to his small, humble but sturdy cabin. Inside, he hung up his face and head wraps, then washed at the basin he always kept filled with fresh water. "Ah, that feels much better. I still am not used to the heat in your country, hmm? Where I come from, it is most often very cold. Would you like some tea?" He walked over to the stove, looking over his shoulder for an answer.
"Y-yes, please," Kajan said, looking suddenly uncertain.
Crossing back to Kajan, he knelt and hugged the prince tight. "It's okay, Kajan. We will get you home safe, I promise."
Kajan started crying again and hugged him so tightly that Ramsay struggled to breathe for a moment. "I want papa! I w-w-want to go home!"
"Shh, shh," Ramsay soothed, hugging him tight. "You will see your father again, Kajan. I promise."
Kajan just cried harder.
Ramsay drew back slightly and smiled. "Do you know what I used to be?" He smiled more brightly when Kajan only looked at him in confusion.
Standing, he crossed the room to his bed and drew out the small wooden chest he kept beneath it. Inside were the few precious objects he had taken when he left Tritacia behind forever. Picking out the small velvet jeweler's bag he wanted, he strode back to Kajan and knelt again.
Opening the bag, he dug out the only ring it contained. "Do you see this ring, Kajan?"
"No…" Kajan said, sniffling, tears drying as curiosity overtook fear.
"Once upon a time, it was my duty to protect a prince. I trained for it for a very long time—I was not much older than you are now, in fact. Every day for ten years I protected that prince. He is still alive and safe because I protected him. Once he was almost stolen, just like you. I stopped the men who tried to take him and got the prince safely home. That is what this ring means—that I am a guardian. What my people call a Holy Protector. I promise on my own life, Kajan, that I will get you safely home, all right? So you do not need to be afraid."
Kajan looked at the ring. "Papa has rings like this." He frowned. "But not like this too."
Ramsay smiled. It turned a bit sad as he looked at the ring himself. It was beautiful—made from white gold, set with a deep blue sapphire. Over the sapphire was more white gold molded into the royal flower of Tritacia. The ring of a Holy Protector.
He had given them so much, until they had taken the one thing he had begged them to protect for him while he guarded their prince. Then they had not even been sorry. He had raged and raged, all to nothing.
So he had buried his brother, dead at only eleven years. Then he had packed all that Feather could comfortably carry and boarded the first ship with room for man and horse. He had left Tritacia and the life of a Holy Protector behind forever.
Except it seemed the Three Goddesses were not done with him yet, not if they had guided him across the ocean to await the arrival of another prince. His father was right, it seemed. But he always had been. One could not escape their fate.
"There are very few rings like this one," he finally said, then reached into the velvet bag again and extracted a silver chain. He threaded it through the ring then looped it over Kajan's head to let it fall against his chest. "You wear it until I have returned you safely to your father. My promise to you, all right?"
Kajan nodded and smiled. "I am glad you found me."
Ramsay smiled, keeping his sighs to himself, and hugged Kajan. "Me too." Then he turned more serious. "Kajan, the first rule of being protected is this: you must obey me. I know that can be hard—"
"I didn't listen to papa," Kajan said sadly, shamefully. "He was always yelling at me, telling me not to run off, not to hide. I didn't listen to him."
"Well, so long as you have learned now that you should listen."
"Yes."
"Good." Patting his head, Ramsay stood and strode back across the room, putting a kettle on for tea. As Kajan sat at the table, he pulled out bread, honey, and some dried fruit. "Eat up, Kajan."
"Papa calls me Kaj," Kajan said shyly, then began to shovel in food as if he were starving.
"Kaj. My name is Ramsay."
"Ramsay."
"That's right. Eat up. I need to figure out how to get you home safe. Tell me what happened, Kaj. How did you wind up all the way out here?"
Kajan wolfed down another slice of bread drowned in honey, then said, "I-I was playing. Father was busy with some men, always talking talking." He frowned briefly at this obviously old complaint. "He told me not to wander too far when it was so crowded, but I did, and some men grabbed me when I went out into the gardens. It was scary. I was in a bag and couldn't see, and that was forever, like days and days. "
Probably more like hours, a day at most. If he'd been starved for days, he would be in much worse shape. "Then what?"
"They let me out and locked me in this little room. I could hear people, then I could hear nothing. They left me some food and water, but not very much. The room had a little window way high up, and I managed to reach it and crawl out, even though I was almost too big. But when I got out, I was lost. I tried to find home, but then they found me, and I ran—then you killed them."
Ramsay nodded and poured more tea for them. "So everyone will be looking for you. Where were you when they took you?"
"Papa was having one of his parties, in the great big room with the crystals. It leads to the gardens that only some people can use. He told me not to go out there alone, that I was to stay close, but he was talking and talking and talking, so I went off by myself into the gardens. They're vast. What does that mean?"
"Vast means 'very big,'" Ramsay replied.
"They are very big."
"I believe you," Ramsay said with an absent smile as his mind raced. He knew very little about Tavamaran royalty, but royalty did not change in the basics from country to country. Gardens that only some could use. So likely restricted to nobility and other palace residents. Even with a party occurring, access would be limited and protected. Getting into the gardens and out of them again would have required assistance from the inside. Such kidnappings usually involved insiders, anyway. A noble's son was easy enough to steal. A prince was more difficult by far.
Which meant he must use extreme care in contacting the king and telling him of Kajan. If they had lost the boy, they would be frantic to get him back before the king realized it. Hmm… He drummed his fingers on the table in thought. He wished suddenly that he knew certain Tavamaran customs better. He was a foreigner, only seven months in the country. Why would the king deign to see him? It was that or break into the palace, and under the circumstances, he did not want to attempt so risky a venture. "Kaj, tell me something. If I wanted to speak with your father without causing trouble, how would I?"
Kajan frowned. "Um. Lots of people talk to papa every day during session. Fancy people. Plain people. People like you. They crowd in the big room and take turns. He makes me watch for a little while sometimes, because I must learn. It's really boring, except for some of the people, who look so different."
A general audience, of course. He had forgotten they did that here. Back home, it was laughable to think the king would hold general audience with just anyone. And, he recalled suddenly, as a foreigner, he should introduce himself and thank the king for having him. That was an old tradition, not a requirement, but it more than sufficed to gain him the needed audience. Beyond that, he would have to figure it out as he went—but the first step was the most important, and he had that now.
"Kaj, if I were to see your father, what is a secret I could tell him? I mean, what is something the two of you discuss that I could mention to him, so that he would know I have you but do not want to hurt you?"
Kajan frowned. "Uh—" He fell silent, obviously stumped by the question.
Ramsay smiled. "Do you have a favorite story he tells you?"
"Yes!" Kajan said eagerly, face lighting up. "Papa tells me stories about the Great Desert. They fight a lot, did you know? My favorite is Cobra. And Owl. And Fox. And especially Ghost, even though papa says there probably isn't really a Ghost Tribe."
"I see," Ramsay said with a laugh. "Well, I think that will do. The question is, what to do with you in the meantime? I dare not take you into the city. Someone will see you for certain, and it is too easy to lose you there." He drummed his fingers on the table, biting at his lip as he thought, but at last conceded with a sigh, "I think you must stay here, Kaj."
Kaj looked panicked. "Here? All alone?"
"Alone," Ramsay repeated grimly. "No one will come here. Stay in the house. Do not go outside for any reason, do you understand me?"
Though he looked like he wanted to cry again, Kajan nodded.
"You are a good, very brave boy," Ramsay said with a smile. "Your father will be very proud when he hears how brave you have been. Can you be brave and hide here while I go to the palace to tell your father I have found you? We will come back to take you home, Kaj, I promise."
"Yes," Kajan said, wrapping small fingers around the ring Ramsay had given him. "I can do it."
"Good," Ramsay said, and hugged him, kissing the top of Kajan's head. "Very good."
*~*~*