Mere moments after the arrow met its mark - a stretch of tree trunk at the far end of the campsite - Daryun and the rest were on their feet. They reached for their swords, but halted as an unknown man's voice carried loud and strong, from the dark wood beyond the firelight's reach.

"You will stay your weapons! Or one of you dies upon my arrow!"

Daryun clenched his fists until he felt his fingertips dig into his palms. To be at the mercy of this stranger, and Prince Arslan rendered utterly defenseless...his fingers nearly burned with the urge to take up his sword. But as any one of them well knew, attacking blindly would be foolish, and with an arrow already trained upon them, would likely leave at least one of their company dead before the sunrise.

Elam was the only one with a weapon already in hand, but the blade was small. While Daryun knew the boy to be remarkably quick and precise, deflecting an arrow with it would be difficult, even for one as skilled as he.

The stranger's voice came from the shadows once again. "Lusitanians!" He almost spat the word. "The capital is yours, but that will not satisfy for long, will it?" There was the faint sound of the bowstring stretching even more tightly, before he roughly demanded, "What business have you here? You will speak!"

Daryun and the others held quiet. A few quick, tense glances amongst themselves, and they came to an unspoken agreement: if any member of their company could put the situation to rights, it would be Narsus.

The light-haired strategist spoke up boldly. "We are no Lusitanians, but Parsians escorting the son of a noble family. We seek protection for him under Marzban Kishward at Peshawar."

Daryun felt his breath catch at the gamble Narsus had taken. Out here, so far from the capital, it was not uncommon for citizens to be only passingly familiar with the faces of the king and queen, much less any royal offspring. Oftentimes a coronation was the only chance for a glimpse of the ruling family, with entire decades sometimes passing between the occassions. Narsus had surely taken in every available detail about the man and concluded that such were the circumstances here. But if the man recognized Arslan on sight, and caught them in an outright lie...there would be little chance of a peaceful end to the encounter. Daryun held tightly to the knowledge that Narsus was not often wrong.

There was silence from the man. Slowly, he advanced from out of the shadows, the hands on his bow never wavering from their positions.

A dark, hooded cloak covered much of him. From what little of his face could be seen in the moonlight, he could be judged as a man near forty years, olive-skinned, with a full beard covering nearly every inch below his nose. Above dark and slanted eyes, thick black brows gave his face a severity that matched his voice.

The stranger scowled. "Only one boy among you," he said accusingly, "And no son of a nobleman would know to guard with a blade like that."

So he has not yet seen the prince, Daryun thought with relief.

However, in that inopportune moment, from the ground behind Daryun came a cry so sudden and aggrieved that even the stranger startled slightly at the sound of it.

Arslan, it seemed, was caught once again in a fitful sleep that had turned his breathing shallow and ragged. Whether his hitched cries were from physical pain or some imagined horror in a fever dream, a pang tore through Daryun's chest at each one. He grit his teeth. It took every fiber of discipline he possessed to keep from rushing to the prince's side.

Narsus spoke slowly, with an appeasing tone. "If we have trespassed here, you have our apologies. But our charge has fallen gravely ill and in need of care."

The stranger at least seemed to consider those words, his jaw working as he thought them over. But Arslan's distress only grew louder, and did nothing to ease the tense air that had settled over the clearing.

Elam rounded on the man with an unchecked anger. "Can you not hear that he needs help? Let us go to him!"

The stranger bristled, and there were bared teeth in his countenance, now. "If this is some trick - "

"No trick," Narsus reassured him, "If you'd only -"

"Then you will show him!"

Daryun swallowed hard. There was no other choice then. Though putting Arslan in any sort of direct danger was the very last thing he wished to do, the prince's health was waning and they were losing precious time. Still, Daryun hesitated before stepping aside. He looked to Narsus once more, hoping to see unshakable confidence in his old friend's eyes.

Narsus outwardly looked every inch the calm and assured tactician, but his eyes were narrowed and there was tension in the set of his mouth. To Daryun, who knew him as well as the many years of their friendship had allowed, these small signs of uncertainty meant this was the rare, Narsus-devised plan with a fair chance of not working out in their favor. Even so, there were few people Daryun trusted with his or the prince's life; Narsus was one of them, in any circumstance.

Steeling his nerve, Daryun revealed Arslan to the stranger.

The man slowly stepped closer and spared a quick glance down at Arslan, but his face gave no hint of recognition. His stance remained unchanged, his arrow still held at the ready.

As he watched and waited, the dead quiet of the forest seemed to transform into a dull roar in Daryun's ears. He felt sweat slide down the side of his face. Daryun wondered of the man: did he or did he not realize the heir to the throne of Pars lay helpless before him?

Then without warning, the man suddenly moved his arrow tip away from Daryun's chest and took aim at the prone form of the prince.

In the space of an instant, Arslan's companions moved swiftly: stepping forward to shield Arslan with his own body, Daryun's sword flashed with reflected light from the campfire as he drew it forth. Narsus and Gieve took up their short swords also, and Elam crouched, prepared to spring forward and attack. In what seemed to be one fluid movement, Farangis had her bow in hand and an arrow notched and ready to fly.

"Well now," Gieve told the man easily, with a grin. "I'm sorry to say you've threatened the one person you really shouldn't have."

As living testament to Gieve's words, Daryun stood resolute before the prince. With his expression fierce and amber eyes seeming to burn as brightly as fire, he looked the very image of formidable.

"Harm him," Daryun said darkly, "And the Gods themselves couldn't save you from my sword!"

The seven of them remained locked in their tableau for several moments more. The silence stretched thin and taut, near the breaking point - but still the unknown archer did not release his arrow.

When the man spoke at last, it seemed almost as if to himself. "Willing to die for this noble boy of yours, without a second thought..." He finally lowered his arrowpoint to the ground, letting the rigid line of his shoulders ease somewhat.

"It appears I have come upon the last of the honest men of Pars," he finished. With a nod to Farangis, he amended, "And lady, as it seems." Though his scowl only softened slightly, his voice held a tone of begruding respect. He took his arrow from the bowstring and lifted it into the air as a clear sign of his surrender.

Arslan's companions slowly lowered their weapons, then returned them to their places.

"Honest?" Gieve chuckled. "Stranger things have been said of me, I suppose."

Daryun was the last to put his sword back at his side, only doing so once the stranger replaced the arrow back to its quiver. Trusting Gieve and Farangis to mind the stranger, he hurried along with Narsus and Elam to the prince's side.

Arslan fared badly; he gasped as he tossed and turned restlessly, hands clutching tightly at his makeshift cover. Not easy to miss was the wetness gathered at his lashes.

Narsus quickly slipped a hand beneath the hair that had fallen across Arslan's forehead, and couldn't hide his reaction as he found the heated skin there almost unbearable to touch. He coaxed Arslan's hand out of its grip on Daryun's cloak and felt for a pulse at the wrist, then at a spot beneath Arslan's jaw.

"Our efforts were in vain," he said grimly, shaking his head. "The fever has only increased in strength. If it continues like this..." He trailed off and looked hard at Daryun.

Daryun felt a coldness seep instantly through him, and he could only think, No. This cannot be.

Elam looked up at the stranger, his previous anger forgotten in the face of the prince's urgent need. "Have you any knowledge of medicine? Or heard of a healer around these parts?"

The man's eyes narrowed, and the look of his face became guarded. "How long since the boy took ill?" he wanted to know.

Daryun realized the man was asking not out of concern, but to determine if Arslan was beyond help. If he decided the latter, he would most likely turn them away.

"Two days," Narsus answered.

The man closed his eyes and turned his head aside. "I am sorry," he said gruffly.

Narsus, who had been watching the man closely, said, "Ah, but you do know of someone."

The stranger's eyes widened slightly, and for just an instant he looked exposed instead of angry, but that was enough for Daryun. Almost without thinking, Daryun stepped forth and locked eyes with the man. "We haven't much gold, but it's yours if you can help him." On an impulse, he put a fist over his heart, hoping it would convey the depth of his plea. "I beg of you."

The stranger raised his chin, affronted - whether at the direct eye contact or the offer of money, Daryun wasn't sure. But eventually the man relented. "Very well," he said. He raised a hand, pointing in the direction from which he had first confronted them. "My horse is nearby, and my home not much farther. You will follow."

It was quick work to gather up their belongings. Elam doused the fire, and Daryun carried the prince as they led the horses deeper into the forest where the man's own horse waited, tethered to a tree. They mounted and made their way after him.

"He said he can help," Elam said to his Master as quietly as he could. "But we know nothing about him. He could turn on us."

Narsus kept wary eyes upon the stranger up ahead as he replied. "We outnumber him, if it came to that. But for now the benefit is larger than the risk."

There was nothing Daryun agreed with more at the moment. Removing the saddle had allowed the prince to sit before him on Shabrang's wide back, and so close, Daryun felt every tremble. When Arslan seemed to grow weaker and frighteningly limp in his arms, Daryun tried to tamp down his worry and focus instead on navigating the unfamiliar terrain.

Their guide and his horse were swift and sure-footed, effortlessly following an easy course, for which Daryun and the others were grateful. In no time at all they came upon a modest home nestled amongst the trees.

In all, it was quite similar in style to the residence Narsus shared with Elam back in the woods outside Ekubatana, though slightly smaller and here the walls were made of tanned stone instead of gray. There were two structures on either side of the main living area; one they could see was a stable, which was well put to use with all seven horses secured inside of it.

Daryun and the others followed the man into the home, where it was quiet and dark. The booted footsteps of the men were loud on the old wood floor. After taking up a small oil lamp, the man led them before a room and held the light aloft in the doorway, gesturing toward the inside. "Here."

Whatever Daryun expected from a room in a humble dwelling out in the middle of the woods, what met his eyes was certainly not it.

A low cot of average size and a carved chair were set against the wall near a window, but this was where the simple furnishing ended. There were colorful tapestries on the walls, and a short table beneath the window was thick with potted plants. The floor was laid with layered rugs. Most striking of all was the large, metal panel set with a stylized sun, which hung directly above the bed. It looked to be made from bronze, hammered with facets so that when any light shone upon it, each ray gleamed as though it were hewn from sunlight itself.

In just the faint glow of the oil lamp, the room was beautiful; in the brightness of day it was sure to be quite remarkable.

The man left them momentarily, and Daryun and the others went about settling Arslan into the bed.

The prince looked no better than he had before, though he had quieted somewhat. Shivers racked his body, and his breathing was heavy and strained. His eyes were held tightly shut.

Now that he was well-protected indoors from the elements, his clothes were removed down to his plain under-tunic and trousers to better allow his comfort. Knowing that the fever chilled him even as it burned through his body, they made sure to cover Arslan with the blanket - which was nearly as sumptuous as anything a queen would have in her bedchamber.

The man returned just as they finished, carrying a tray laden with bowls and bottles. The hood of his cloak had been removed to reveal a topknot of dark hair. His features still looked a bit hard and mean, leading Daryun to think perhaps there was no other natural expression on him.

Surprisingly, the stranger was not alone. "My wife's mother," the man explained. "She knows more in these matters than I."

The small woman at his side was well into her elder years, with a kind yet careworn face, and graying hair tied into a thin braid. So heavy and lined was the skin near her eyes that she appeared to be squinting. Holding a robe closed around her nightclothes, she looked as though she had been roused from her sleep, though she nodded and smiled courteously at them. To Daryun's great relief, she went to Arslan straightaway.

She laid her hands at the same points Narsus had, to measure the quality of his heartbeat, and tutted at what she found. From one of the bowls she took a soaked cloth; the liquid was clear with a sour tang - vinegar, Daryun realized. She placed it on Arslan's forehead in the same way Gieve had done earlier. The boy stirred and made a noise of protest, but was too weak to struggle any further.

Another bowl held what looked like a salve that smelled of mint. With the unabashed tenderness of a caretaker, the woman rubbed this substance onto Arslan's temples, his neck, his chest. Filled with so many mingling scents, the room began to smell like an apothecary before long.

Finally she took up a bottle and poured its contents into a small drinking cup, putting it to the prince's lips. He swallowed the tonic easily, and Daryun helped her settle Arslan back upon the pillow.

Some of Arslan's silver-white hair had fallen across his face; the old woman smoothed the wayward strands and laid a hand at his hot cheek. "The poor child," she said. "Not one for many illnesses, I think."

At her touch, Arslan suddenly frowned and groaned softly in his sleep, lashes fluttering, and for the first time since the early evening, opened his eyes.

"Nanny...?" he murmured, so quietly only Daryun and the woman could hear. Though Arslan's gaze was unfocused and weary, he searched for the source of the gentle contact. The effort proved to be too much, and his eyes slid closed again in moments. But now his breath seemed to come easier, his face no longer pinched with discomfort.

The woman straightened to her full, diminutive height. "Another drink of that when he wakes, and plenty of water," she told Daryun. She reached out and took up one of his hands in her own, and gave it a comforting pat. "He will recover well. You will not worry."

Daryun was surprised a moment at the gesture, but recovered quickly and bowed his head to the woman. "We are grateful for your efforts."

"You are very skilled," said Farangis. "Were you trained as a healer?"

"No," the woman answered. Though her smile was kind, there was something resigned in her voice. "Just a mother, once."

Before any of them could produce a polite response, the man laid a hand gently on the old woman's shoulder, and she politely nodded at them and left the room.

"You are welcome to find sleep where you are able," said the man, his demeanor suddenly abrupt. "So long as you leave tomorrow." He made for the doorway.

"Wait," called Daryun.

"You will keep your gold," the stranger said, continuing past them. "I've no need for it."

But Daryun pressed on. "Then I would at least have your name. You've shown us a great kindness."

The man finally stopped. "I am Vanghav," he said over his shoulder.

Daryun closed his eyes and bowed with his head and chest. "You have our deepest thanks, Vanghav."

With a clipped nod, the other man took his leave.

"Do you think he suspsects?" Elam asked, once he judged the man in question had indeed left them alone.

"He's likely dismissed the thought by now," said Narsus. "But still doesn't completely trust us."

"Just as well," Daryun said. He sat down on the chair and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. "Attacked and then aided by him, within just an hour's time. Now the prince sleeps under his roof, and we still know nothing of him but his name."

"I sense he bears us no true malice," said Farangis. "But for what reason, one must wonder, have they chosen to make their living in such a remote place?"

Gieve reached up and clasped his hands together behind his head. "Ah!" he lamented. "To live so secluded, away from all life's pleasures...no wonder his face can produce nothing but a scowl."

"He has a wife, you know," Elam admonished.

Daryun looked to where Narsus stood with his eyes closed and arms folded. "What are your thoughts?" he asked the strategist.

Narsus was quiet a moment, then opened his eyes. "He is a hunter, and his accent and manner of speaking give away his foreign origins. Turanian, if I'm not mistaken. And his wife is dead."

The rest looked quite shocked to have their unspoken questions answered so concisely. Gieve gave a low whistle, impressed.

Narsus went on to explain his observations. "His arm is strong and steady upon the bow, and the addition to the house is likely where he would preserve the meat and hides, and render the fat for oil or candles. I imagine he sells his wares at the market at Kashan or even as far off as the capital.

"As I said, there is his speech, and to some extent his attire. But most telling of all..." Here Narsus gestured to the large work of bronze upon the wall. "The sun icon. The people of Turan worship Dayan, the God of the Sun."

Farangis closed her eyes, a small smile upon her lips. "Were you to learn to hear the whispers of the Djinn, Lord Narsus, I fear there is nothing that would escape your intellect."

Narsus smiled at the gracious praise, but it was soon replaced by a more solemn expression. "As for his wife...the grief in the old woman's voice nearly gives it away. But there is also this room. It's quite lovely, but unused, even though the plants are well-tended - out of respect for her memory, I'd presume. This was most likely her deathbed."

As one, they all looked to the bed and the young prince lying there, seeming newly vulnerable in light of this revelation. They lapsed into a silence.

Elam was staring at the floor, lost in thought. "If she was ill and unable to leave this room," he said pensively, "He must have filled it with such beauty for her sake."

Gieve shrugged. "Whether he is a sentimental old boor or an ordinary one, it's no matter to me," he said. "But I've had enough sleep this night, and can take the first watch."

"We'd best not let down our guard," Narsus agreed. "Now, I would prefer not to relive our cramped quarters back at Kashan, so I suggest we make camp outside and leave the prince to his recovery."

Gieve turned to Farangis, no doubt ready to say he did not mind such close and beautiful company, but the priestess merely slid her hair over her shoulder with a generous flicking motion - so generous that he ended up with a face-full of her hair, instead. Without even a glance behind, Farangis left the room.

With a nod to Daryun, Elam also made his way out, Gieve not far behind.

Not one of them waited for Daryun to follow, for there was no question where (or more specifically, at whose side) he would spend the rest of the night. There was no one the prince would be safer with, as they knew the warrior could no more let harm come to Arslan then he could force his own heart to stop beating.

Narsus was the last to leave. "You know," he began, "In all the tales I've heard of the legendary Black Knight of Pars, not one of them mentions his ability to subsist on a single hour of sleep."

Daryun favored him with a grin. "I'm fine, Narsus. I have endured much worse." His expression sobered as his gaze turned, as always, to the prince. "I will stay with him."

"I know," said Narsus, and now it was his turn to smile at the other, in a mixture of exasperation and fondness.

The two of them were quiet a moment as they regarded Arslan, until Narsus spoke. "Whether it is the result of his upbringing under that beastly Andragoras, or the fault of some other unkindness, His Highness thinks very little of himself."

"I know," said Daryun, in an echo of his friend. He closed his eyes, recalling Arslan's earlier words and the feelings of inadequacy revealed in the prince's delirium.

"He's not completely lacking in confidence," Narsus continued, "But without support, he is quick to doubt his ability. He also fails to see his own value. I worry these qualities may prove a hindrance, in the many trials ahead."

"His Highness only needs guidance," said Daryun. "Even then, he is brave and fair-minded, having the kindest, most honest heart of anyone I've ever known -"

Narsus laughed. "You don't need to convince me, Daryun. I did choose to follow him, after all. But I do hope you mention those things, when you approach the subject with him."

Daryun's eyes widened in surprise. "'When I approach - Narsus, surely yourself or one of the others would be better suited -"

Daryun was interrupted by Arslan, who suddenly gave a great sigh and turned over on his side in his sleep. An almost contented smile graced his features as he nestled further into his pillow. If not for the shadows beneath his eyes and the wan cast of his skin, he could almost appear to be sleeping peacefully in his rooms back at the palace.

Narsus went to Arslan and felt his brow, and this time he looked pleased. "I think he is well out of danger, now. As the old woman said, he will be all right." He turned and clapped a sympathetic hand upon Daryun's shoulder. "We'll speak more on the matter tomorrow. Try to get some rest." With that, he left to join the others outside.

The room fell quiet, and Daryun sighed.

He knew, as most others at court did, that the king and queen were oddly distant with Arslan. Many times over he had seen Andragoras dismiss the boy with a harsh word, or Tahamine respond to him with indifference, and Daryun now knew the reason for it. But to see Arslan receive a kind touch and be reminded of his nursemaid instead of his own mother - to hear him sincerely declare that his parents thought him useless - Daryun couldn't help but think the Lusitanian invasion wasn't the only injustice the prince had suffered.

Daryun also knew Arslan to be uncommonly kind, just as he had been as a small child when Daryun first met him years ago. The prince was never one to lord his status over another; in fact, he was known to treat the servants and slaves with the same respect he would afford to any noble. He was gracious to friend and foe alike, and so gentle-hearted that the pain of others - no matter who they might be - affected him deeply. Selfless to a fault, perhaps, but always willing to better himself for the good of his people, always determined to make things right. Daryun thought Arslan beyond worthy, in any sense of the word.

What Daryun didn't know was how to make the boy recognize these qualities in himself.

Laid atop this worry was the matter of Vanghav. Although he wasn't particularly welcoming, the hunter seemed to be no friend of the Lusitanians, and Daryun didn't dare think what may have befallen the prince without his help.

Still, Daryun remained wary. It wouldn't be the first time they had been treated respectably, only to later be betrayed.

Glancing out the window, Daryun guessed by the color of the sky that a handful of hours remained until sunrise. He resolved to put his heavy thoughts aside for the moment and attempt some rest.

It was only by listening to Arslan's steady, even breath that the tension left Daryun's body, and he finally slept.