The Prince of the Veil

by Hal Emerson

  “I will find you wherever you run,” she hissed. “I will follow you to the ends of this land, and I will kill all that you hold dear. I will spurn you and your adopted people as you spurn me. Go. Go to your savages. Seek refuge in the mountains among them. But I will find you – and I will bring you down.”

  His violet eyes met her clear ones, clear as glass and just as transparent. He saw the truth in her eyes, and she saw the sorrow in his.

  And then he fled. She fell to her knees, clutching her side as blood flowed through her fingers. She grimaced, gasped, as a cold numbness began to spread to the tips of her fingers. Fog rolled through her mind, blanketing her thoughts, hazing everything over. She heard herself calling to the guards, shouting as loudly as she could, drawing them from the edges of the camp. Others came too, those who had been sleeping, those who owed allegiance to the other Heirs, all of whom were secreted away.

  With the last of her presence of mind, she stowed the Aspects that did not belong to her inside a hidden pocket of her bodice. When the soldiers arrived, she told them of Aemon’s treachery, told them that he had betrayed them all. She didn’t even have to use her Aspect to Command their obedience – they simply believed her. It was easy to believe – she was the one left here, wounded, and Aemon the one who’d fled. She dispatched them to find him and to bring him back.

  As they left, she drew those loyal to her near, and told them what to do. The entire camp was mobilized, and the men sent out to capture the fleeing Seventh Heir. She had to act quickly – they would soon move to alert the other Heirs and find them missing, and everything needed to be in place beforehand.

  An hour later, the guard captain returned to meet her in her tent. They had tried to give her stitches, but she had refused; the Aspect of Will and the Aspect of Strength had already healed the wound. No doubt Aemon had known it would happen – it must have been why he hadn’t tried to finish her. He had known she was all-powerful now, known she could not be killed.

  “My … my lady,” the man said, kneeling before her. He was pale as a sheet beneath his black hair, and was having trouble forming words. “I’m – I have been sent here to report to you that … that Aemon was not the only one to betray you.”

  “What?” she asked, feigning surprise. “He had accomplices?”

  “My lady … orders were found in the tents of the other Heirs. They were not present, and so we searched for them. What we found, in their belongings, on map tables … my lady, I cannot tell you; you must see it for yourself.”

  He held out his hand and presented her with various scraps of paper, each different, but all in Aemon’s hand and bearing the damning words:

  Be ready; we move tonight. Take nothing with you; if we fail, we must flee.

  “This … cannot be,” she said, once more feigning surprise. “Wake Praxas to gather the men. Surely he can not be one of this confederacy.”

  “My lady,” the captain said, shaking his head, “he is disappeared.”

  She looked between him and the rest of the scouting group that had come to report, giving a masterful performance of innocence.

  “Leave me,” she said, her voice hoarse. “Give me … give me a moment.”

  The man nodded, looking both ashamed and proud, as if he’d lost his faith in his own lord, and gained faith in her. He wore the colors of Oliand – likely, the man had followed him his whole life.

  When they had left, she turned to her own messenger, dropping the charade and speaking quickly.

  “Bring the Mages. I will need all three – Vynap, Sylva, and Marthinack.”

  Word went out that evening that Aemon and the other Heirs had rebelled against the rightful Heir, the First Daughter, all of whom had turned cloak to join the savages who called themselves the Veiled Men. The camp mourned, but soon that grief turned to fury that they had been so betrayed, and by their own leaders. Alana rallied them, and soon the hunt was on. They chased Aemon across the country, through the mountain passes, and south, all the way to the Hell mists and the mountain range they cloaked, miles south of the shores they’d landed on. And soon, in that confusion, they came upon the other Heirs.

  The details were never fully understood, but the story was clear: they had been taken in the middle of a clearing among a band of natives, those that called themselves the Men of the Veil, all of whom had been slaughtered in the clearing. Aemon alone escaped, while the other five Heirs were bound and gagged, their Aspects taken from them by Alana herself.

  The men gathered – as many of them as could fit in the clearing. There were hundreds of them, and they all at one point had sworn fealty to one of the men and women now held prisoner before them. These five had betrayed them all, turned their backs on their purpose here, and tried to kill one of their own, the only one who had remained true to their calling.

  When Alana came forward with her Mages, and spoke to them about proper punishment for these crimes, they shouted for death, and she gave it to them. One by one, the Mages drew Bloodmagic circles around the Heirs, many of whom were weeping and shouting beneath their gags, and one by one Alana stepped forward and slit their throats, spilling the blood of her own brothers and sisters on the thirsty ground. She took each of the Aspects and bound them to her, using the Mages to help her, and from all six she formed a Crown, with her Aspect, the diamond, set front and center. The men cheered, and even the women of the camp, who had been brought along to see their new leader rise, gave throaty calls of jubilation. And when she swore to hunt down Aemon and bring back the final Aspect, to turn it from its master and make it a Talisman of Light that would lead them home from these cursed shores, they all screamed in ecstasy, and swore their undying love to her.

  And as Alana watched them, and felt the blood of her brothers and sisters pounding in her veins, felt the heat of the Diamond Crown upon her brow, she knew that this had always been her destiny. This had always been who she was meant to be – she was a figure of legend, a goddess who had only just ascended to her rightful place. She was more than an Heir, more than royal blood, more than a prince or king.

  She was an Empress.

  Chapter One: The Guardian of Banelyn

  Tomaz watched as a huge block of ceiling fell toward the huddled figures of Leah and Raven. He ran forward as smaller rubble rained down on his head and shoulders, but he brushed it all aside; his limbs were on fire, the Aspect of Strength feeding him power for every life he’d saved that day.

  With a running leap he dove for them, only barely able to see through the haze of smoke and powdered rubble that choked the air. He turned his body just before he landed, sweeping them both into his arms and rolling with them. Their weight was negligible – he could have picked up ten full-grown men; two slight teenagers barely counted as a hindrance.

  The block of ceiling crashed into the spot behind him just as he rolled away. He came up on his feet and turned his momentum into a stumbling run through and out of the immediate circle of rubble, only to find himself on the wrong end of the Cathedral. He spun and looked across the broken dais, where once had stood a ceremonial replica of the Empress’s Diamond Throne that now was strewn about in pieces, covering the body of Geofred, Prince of Eagles. The nave was still clear, though crowed with wooden pews, and Tomaz knew that the huge double door beyond that was the only way in or out. The ceiling shook again, and more debris rained down on him.

  “Geofred really wanted to go out with a bang!” he roared to Raven.

  But the princeling didn’t respond. Tomaz stopped and looked down: the young man’s eyes had gone glassy and were far away; they looked darker and blacker than Tomaz had ever seen them before. He transferred his gaze to Leah, his young Eshendai partner, and he realized she wasn’t moving – her eyes were closed and all of the blood had drained from her face. He realized he hadn’t seen her move since Geofred had transferred the Talisman to her.

  Or at least tried to do so.

  He said it might kill her – he said.…

  “RAVEN!�
�� he roared, grabbing the young Prince of the Veil by the arm and shaking him, hard. The boy snapped out of his trance – not a boy anymore, no, not after what he’s been through – just long enough to see Tomaz. He craned his neck up and back to look him full in the face, and again Tomaz saw those eyes, those terrible black eyes.

  He’s reliving his brother’s life. He just killed Geofred – if things are working like they should, that means his Raven Talisman absorbed four centuries worth of memories the moment his brother’s heart stopped beating.

  A door opened to their right, and then another to their left, and out rushed men dressed in various robes, some deep black, many plain brown homespun, and one or two in gold and white.

  Seekers – Imperial spies.

  Their lair was beneath this cathedral – the tunnels down there must be collapsing, forcing them all above ground.

  They were all running and stumbling, fleeing the massive stone structure as it crumbled around them, groping through the blinding haze of smoke for the entrance door. There were dozens of them, though Tomaz knew that there were many more in those vast tunnels that spread out under the entirety of the Inner City of Banelyn. There must be other entrances and exits – they will be popping up like mushrooms after rain. He reached a hand to his back, where lay sheathed his greatsword Malachi, the same sword he’d forged twenty years before in the Fortress itself.

  But before he could do more than make the initial move toward unsheathing the six-foot swath of steel, a huge rumbling crack broke through the room and resounded through the air, vibrating his bones. Tomaz looked up to see what remained of the ceiling’s roof split in two and crumble inward, cracks splintering through what was left of the upper walls as well. The beautiful windows, made of stained glass, broke inward in huge shards of spear-like glass, impaling half a dozen Seekers as they passed below them, killing most and wounding several others.

  Tomaz did a quick tally in his head, using the Blade Master training he’d been given in the Fortress of Lucien a lifetime ago, back before he’d joined the Exiled Kindred to fight the Empire he’d once served.

  Two men wounded in the arm, one in the leg, five through the gut but only two mortally – none bearing weapons, none over six feet, none with markings of high office or status.

  He released Malachi’s hilt, scooped up Leah in the crook of his left arm, and grabbed Raven by the scruff of his neck like a newborn kitten.

  Time to go.

  His tree trunk legs sprang into action and powered him to the top of the mounting pile of rubble. Beams and stones the size of his head continued to rain down around them as fire began to lick at the thick tapestries and wooden pews from racks of overturned candles. Dodging left and right around piles of debris, he rushed toward the doors, passing between two huge pillars that still, somehow, remained standing. In a flash of confused images he saw General Gates running ahead before him, already out the door. The princeling was mewling something at him from where he hung immobilized in the crook of Tomaz’s right elbow, but nothing could be heard over the rumbling and cracking of the ceiling, and as the terrible ground-shattering impact of the broken pieces of the Imperial Cathedral continued to fall all around them, Tomaz had to rein in the impulse to cuff the boy upside the head.

  He’s not his right mind; just get him to safety.

  He had just passed the final row of flaming pews, buried under a veritable mountain of candles fallen from the chandeliers above, when he saw ahead, through a haze of smoke that brought tears to his eyes, the huge oak doors swing closed on each other. Fear shot through his stomach like a jagged splinter, but even as he watched, the building heat began to crack the stone doorway, causing the door to shake in its frame. The wood cracked and sagged, turning the whole structure into a warped, tangled mess of warped planks. He pulled up short and spun around; there was no other escape; there was no other choice; it was get out, or die. The giant turned back, lowered his shoulder, and let out a wordless roar as he ducked his head and held his companions to his chest.

  Red light flared around them as the Ox Talisman activated itself, lending him strength, and the huge, oak doors burst outward in a thousand flying splinters. He opened an eye a bare fraction of an inch, allowing him to judge the fall he was about to make down the long, marble stairs that led from the cathedral doors to the paved city ground. He threw Raven to the side, knowing he couldn’t roll with two people, and clutched Leah tight to his chest. The Prince, at least, was conscious and had a chance of saving himself – Leah would be left to die if he dropped her now.

  He managed to push off with one solid foot from the top stair, and for a long, suspended moment he was weightless and time seemed to slow. The ground came up to meet him, and he wrenched his body around, curling into a ball, and rolling over his shoulder before sprawling both himself and Leah over the hard, tiled ground of the courtyard.

  Tomaz was up in the next instant, spinning around even as his muscles screamed in protest at such ill use. He quickly scanned the area for the Prince, careful to breathe deep here in the smoke-free air, saturating himself with as much oxygen as he could get to keep his heart rate steady before he rushed back into the mounting inferno. He moved forward, his eyes closed to slits, his large body crouched and low to the ground to avoid the smoke now roiling out of the open doorway. Seconds passed, and he began to fear he’d misjudged the throw, that he had sent him flying back into the cathedral to his death.

  Wait – there.

  His eyes lit on the fallen form of his friend, but something was wrong – Raven wasn’t moving. Forcing himself forward, working against every finely-tuned training tactic that told him to cut his losses, Tomaz ran forward as the enormous gothic cathedral began to sway and shake in an ominous way; grabbing up the princeling, he found himself confronted by two Seekers, who had followed through the enormous hole he’d just made in the front door.

  They saw him, screamed, and ran in opposite directions, left and right.

  He dropped Raven, picked up two large, dislodged stones nearly the size of a normal man’s head, and threw them, one after the other, pivoting on his back foot as he did. They arched through the air in a strangely graceful way, and struck both men directly between the shoulder-blades, knocking them to the ground and smashing their heads against the hard stone street. Neither of them moved again.

  Tomaz spun, grabbed up Raven once more, and bounded back to the comatose form of Leah. He picked her up as well, just as a gout of flame shot through the hole in the door behind him, singeing his hair and armor.

  He stumbled forward, off balance, but alive and whole. He stopped at a safe distance, many yards away, and used the Path of Polinal technique to calm his mind and check his body.

  Bruised right bicep, torn skin over left knee, strained back on lower left side and upper right, likely latissimus dorsi and deltoid, beginnings of a headache, likely from elevated stress levels and dehydration. No ligament damage, no breaks, fractures, sprains or tears. Functional: drink water at next chance and use left arm whenever possible.

  He examined Leah and Raven, who, apart being unconscious with a dozen superficial cuts and scrapes, weren’t in bad shape. Nothing he could do about that – he could understand and help mend the body, but the workings of the brain were foreign to him. He looked up and took in the scene around him.

  By the light of the burning Cathedral of the Empress he could see the whole of the Inner City swarming with wave after wave of Kindred men and women in the green, black, gold, and silver that denoted their ranks and specialties. The Seekers of Truth who’d fled before Tomaz, those feared shadows that spied on Empire and Kindred alike from the depths of their lairs, had been taken captive. There were two large areas of carnage where Bloodmages had put up a last stand, only to fall to the skilled archery of the Scouts, who had managed to surround them at a distance and feather them with arrows. Several dozen of the sprawling Imperial houses of the Most High, the Imperial aristocracy, were being ransacked by the Kindred and
cannibalized for use as hospitals and command posts. Figures in green and black were passing out of doorways with ornamental weapons that were still functional, tapestries that could be cut up for binding cloth, and any stray piece of metal that could be melted down by blacksmiths. Among these could be seen a series of people all in white – Healers, those members of the Kindred that specialized in medical care. They were directing members of the Kindred to bring in men and women to various houses as the previous inhabitants were pulled out, bound and gagged. Those would be the Most High, the rulers of the city until the recent sack. Many of them continued to scream about the purity of their blood and their family’s history even as they were trussed like pigs for market.

  “Tomaz!”

  He turned and saw the small, matronly figure of Elder Keri, the Elder of Healing herself, in her white robes at the entrance to one of the mansions. She was beckoning to him with a quick repetitive wave and even in the midst of the chaos seemed to exist as a calm, solid point of reference. He went to her, moving quickly through the crowd. Others bounced off of him as he rushed past, but he paid them no mind; he was thinking only of Raven and Leah.

  Who knows what all those memories did to them? One mind isn’t meant to hold all that, especially on top of all he’s done in the last twenty-four hours. Leading the assault on Formaux with Davydd and Autmaran, killing Tiffenal, running here to Banelyn through the night to warn us of the attack by Dysuna, Prince of Wolves, then fighting through Henri Perci’s treachery and finally confronting Geofred … by the angels that guard the Veil, it’s a miracle he’s unconscious and not outright dead.

  His mind turned to Leah, his young Eshendai partner, paired to him when she’d come to the Kindred several years ago. She was a Spellblade, bound to the daggers she carried, which gave her a certain amount of protection.

  But even that can’t help her now. Raven, at least, was prepared – he’s had the Raven Talisman all his life, long enough to become accustomed to having other people’s lives in his head. Leah’s never had to endure something like this, and now she’s living four hundred years worth of another person’s life.