“When will you bring me the Redblood fruit?” Ishakan asked, his eyes hooded and sleepy.

Though the question was softly asked, Bachmann was utterly certain his life was at stake.

“You know it’s hard to obtain,” he replied nervously. “Most of the groves are dead; there was a pest that destroyed them, so they only come from beyond the sea, on the eastern continent–”

“This story is too long,” said the woman who had opened the door, and Bachmann paled.

“Genin,” Ishakan rebuked, but with a smile. The woman immediately apologized.

“What I mean is that I had Redblood Fruit in another caravan,” Bachmann stammered, relieved to get the crucial bit out. Ishakan seemed willing to listen, so he continued, “but those bandits attacked it.”

“So the bandits took it.”

“Yes.”

Redblood fruit was impossible to mistake for any other fruit. Anyone who happened on it would instantly recognize its value, even if they had never seen Redblood fruit in their lives. The bandits would never have overlooked it.”

“I haven’t heard of it at any auction,” Bachmann said hopefully. “So they probably still have it. I was going to look for it myself, but…”

Bachmann paused, looking at the Kurkan king. He himself lacked the mercenaries for such a task, especially after the last attack. But even if he’d had them, he would think twice about attacking a bandit force that size.

Ishakan chuckled, as if he’d heard all these thoughts, and flicked the ashes from his pipe.

“But you wouldn’t mind if I retrieved it for you?”

“Oh, no, it’s not that…” Bachmann hastily demurred, and as sweat burst on his forehead, Hutan stepped in front of his father.

“King Kurkan.”

Bachmann found himself looking at his son’s back. The son that, until this moment, had always been shielded by his own body.

“May I say something?” the younger man asked boldly.

Ishakan nodded without taking the pipe from his mouth, and Hutan swallowed dryly. His face was tense with the effort to speak, but his voice came out strong.

“Our caravan is currently not equipped to face such bandits. But if your warriors will support us, then I will lead them into the desert to the bandits’ camp. I will show you where the Redblood fruit is.”

“Hutan!” Bachmann burst out, so horrified that he all but forgot he wa in the presence of a king. Hutan was risking death just to make such an offer.

“Father,” Hutan said, an unspoken trust me. “There are many bandits in the desert,” he told the Kurkan King, “but I know I can find them. I can handle everything.”

“Is that all?”

“When we find the Redblood fruit, I can teach you how to grow it,” said Hutan. And it was true; he could cultivate the fruit even from seed. “I just have one question. How do you intend to use it?”

While the pulp of the fruit had medicinal uses, its outer rind was highly toxic. When pulverized, it formed an odorless, colorless poison when added to any liquid, potent enough for a single drop to kill a thousand people. It was truly dangerous.