War of the Words/Chapter 9

"Young Randall found him, your highness, he is Sir Derrik's squire. Right near the gate to the School of Thought. We thought to inform Lord Tralin but the magi said he was here, sir, so we came to you, begging your pardon."

The king looked at the captain of the city guard with kindness mixed with severity. "That man was no citizen of Deren? You are certain?"

"Positive, sir. He was dressed right to be sure, but his eyes, sir. His eyes were that odd shade of violet not found nowhere around Deren or even in Neld."

"An enemy agent in the capitol?"

"That's what I'm afearing, sir," the captain said. "A spy most likely."

"So this war has reached Deren itself. If they have spies..." Draynor did not voice the obvious. If spies where here assassins could readily be smuggled in; many spies dealt in both trades.

"Who killed him though?" Draynor added "What killed him?"

"Begging your pardon, your majesty, but the man is not dead."

"What? I saw the body: it was cyanotic."

"My lord, a spell nearly killed him. Froze him from the inside out, but the mages and healers tell me he still has some life in him. He might die still. Which was all the more reason for me to take this to you directly, my lord. What should we be doing about him?"

"Have the mages and healers treat him and attempt to revive him at once! Keep me informed."

The captain nodded and retreated. "As you command, my lord."

Draynor turned to his scribe. "I fear we must get Tralin from his preparation. I know he is readying to go to Neld, but this can change everything. He may be needed."

"Your will, my king."

Draynor was aflutter: who was this man and what did his presence foretell?