A chill slipped down Dar’s spine at what war with Drogath would mean. The Drogath were fierce, brutal, and skillful warriors. Endless lives would be lost or maimed. It was no wonder the king was searching for a healer that could keep death at bay.
The king’s gaze slid to Dar, direct and piercing. “I have learned that Drogath has sent a spy into Scotara, one who blends so well he would never be expected of devious intentions. One who moves unseen, gathering information. I spoke with your father about him, ordered him to find him, but I have heard nothing yet from him.”
“Nothing is known about him?” Muir asked.
“Only that he is exceptional at what he does, blends well and adapts easily to his surroundings,” the king said with an annoyed growl. “He sends no messages by raven, no sign, no trail. Yet someone is feeding Drogath knowledge, knowledge meant to weaken us or warn them how strong we stand.”
“We must find out,” Muir said, eager to see it done. “He could be watching your army to see if it grows or to see if you will secure aid from the tribes in the far north.”
“Or does he search for the healer as well?” the king snapped.
“If the reason can be found, negotiations established, perhaps a war could be averted,” Dar said.
“Not likely,” the king said. “Rulers who openly prepare for war have already made their decision. War with the Drogath, I fear, is inevitable.”
For a moment, silence settled, thick and weighted.
The king turned fully toward Dar. “I will send word to your father that Hunters are no longer to hunt the healer I covet. They will search for the spy. You will do the same as you travel with your wife. Find him,” the king commanded, each word ringing with demand. “And bring him to me alive.”
“Aye, my king,” Dar said, bowing his head.
“I want answers,” the king continued. “Why does Drogath prepare for war with Scotara? Why does he watch us, and why now?”
“If the spy is clever, he will not be easily found,” Tavish said.
A thin, dangerous smile touched the king’s mouth. “Then perhaps it is time he learned the Hunters are after him and they never fail me. Go and do my bidding.”
“As you command,” Dar said.
He and Muir bowed and turned toward the door.
Elara stared at the heavy, closed doors. Feena stood rigid beside her, one trembling hand pressed to her chest, her eyes shining with the terror she dared not voice.
“What do you think they discuss?” Elara asked.
“War. Whispers of it started a few months ago and have grown stronger along with the king’s search for an extraordinary healer. He foolishly believes she can make a difference, save his warriors from death, make his army invincible.” Feena shook her head. “No healer can save an army from death, only a wise king can do that.”
Elara lowered her voice. “You don’t believe the king is wise?”
Feena turned her question on her. “Do you?”
Elara stared at the door. “I don’t know, though I pray he is.”
Heavy footsteps sounded near the chamber door.
Elara and Feena stepped back as the doors swung open.
Dar stepped out, Muir following and closing the door behind him.
Dar turned to Muir. “See that everything is made ready for departure. We leave by mid-morning.”
Muir nodded and hurried off.
Feena stepped aside when she saw Dar turn his attention to Elara. His jaw was locked tight, the muscle there ticking, and his gray eyes appeared stormy.
Dar planted himself directly in front of his wife. “What were you thinking?” He raised a quick finger to silence her before she could speak. “You don’t need to tell me. I already know—” His voice turned sharp. “You weren’t thinking when you spoke up. One day your foolish boldness will earn you a blade at your throat.”
Elara lifted her chin, refusing to wilt. “You would have had me stand silent while a frightened lass was used at the whim of the king? And what of the healers taken captive? Should I have ignored them, left them to linger here in Caerith? And what of us? What good would we do stuck here?”