“I’m up with the birds, highness,” Ravan quipped, but no one smiled.
Chapter Eight
Ravan and Roddy appreciated the blankets that Gavriel found for them but they preferred to sleep in the open, well away from the awning of timber that the king had retired beneath. The night had become so still that only an owl hooting somewhere deep in the distance was a giveaway that another living creature was awake.
“I’m too frightened to sleep,” Roddy admitted in the tiniest of whispers.
“He won’t come after you tonight. I promise. Besides, I won’t let anyone touch you.”
“Does he suspect?”
“I don’t know. He clearly wasn’t feeling entirely well but he also wasn’t registering the presence of your magic. If you could hurl fireballs, or possessed the strength of ten men, or even if you could run as fast as I you might be more tempting. Being Vested doesn’t mean that you are an aegis, Roddy. What’s more, if you were one, surely the king would have known it immediately.”
“Don’t forget Greven lived alongside Piven all that time. And this Kilt Faris they speak about had been living with the king for many anni, hadn’t he?”
“Yes.”
“So obviously with real strength of will it can be overcome. It was awful. I thought I was being sucked into a dark hole. I was fighting it from the moment we stepped within range of the king. Ravan . . . I think we have to accept I am an aegis. I wanted to be near him and yet I wanted to escape.”
He paused for a long time, and then said, “It’s like when I followed Piven even when I didn’t want to. I had no control.”
“All right, even if I accept that, every aegis is marked. Greven by his leprosy for instance.”
Roddy sighed. “And me by my tremor.”
“You said it was a palsy, that your father had it, that so did his brother.”
“I lied, Ravan. I was frightened. I don’t even know my father. My mother refused to speak of him. The tremor belongs to me alone—it’s my mark.”
They lay in silence, staring up at the stars, neither daring to speak. Ravan was the first to break the silence, his voice barely above a murmur. “In light of that, Cyrena’s instructions make sense now.”
“Yes. There is someone else who needs me.”
Ravan felt the sorrow bite deep. “You don’t have to do anything, Roddy.”
“I’m afraid I do. Piven is too dangerous.”
“Well, his brother isn’t exactly what I’d imagined. I rank them both almost equal in how much I don’t want to be near them.”
“I know. I don’t like the hungry way he looks at me. At least it seems he’s unaware of it. Perhaps he has to come face to face with his true aegis—the one born for him—to really feel the magical connection.”
Ravan sighed. “I suppose we have to forgive Leonel. His life has been shaped by events out of his control. But that doesn’t mean we have to give in to him. Sergius is who I trust and he told me to trust Cyrena.”
“And she told us to head for Lo’s Teeth. Piven knows about her, by the way. He is frightened of her. Why?”
“I suspect he fears her magic.”
“Now I understand why you told me not to say anything about Cyrena’s message to us. You chose a good moment to step away.”
“I didn’t think he’d let us go if he knew we were heading in a different direction. Now I know he won’t let us go at all. He wants an aegis badly enough to eat me this very night.”
“We should not stay here another moment,” Ravan said. “Quietly now. We leave. They can’t possibly keep up.”
“The Legate suspected something,” Roddy warned.
“That’s right, I did,” hissed a new voice. “And now I know the truth.”
Ravan flinched as out of the dark, able to touch them if he wanted, melted Gavriel de Vis with his bow pulled taut and an arrow pointed directly at Ravan.
“You’re good, Ravan, but I think I’m better. I’ve had years of training with the Davarigons, after all. Perhaps your bird senses are dulled now that you are a man?”
“Are you going to kill us?” Ravan demanded, his voice even.
“No. Fool that I am, I’m protecting you. Get up and leave.”
“Leave?”
“That’s what I said. Hurry up, both of you.”
“Why?” Roddy whispered, silently leaping to his feet next to Raven, staring between the two men.
“Because I don’t like where the king’s thoughts are heading. He may have none of its famed magic but the Valisar blood runs thick through his veins. He’s become as driven and ruthless as his father, his uncle, and even his brother, it seems. So go. Save yourself, Roddy.”
“But what about—?”
“Just go. I shall deal with the king’s wrath.”
“How much did you hear?” Ravan asked.
“Enough.”
Ravan looked back at their conspirator in the soft moonlight. He raced back over his conversation with Roddy and realized they’d never mentioned the princess by name or title, and they’d not said Corbel’s name either. Perhaps Gavriel thought the she they’d been talking about was Cyrena. It was better to keep him confused.
“Where will you go?” Gavriel asked.
“We came here purely to warn Leo of his new enemy.” Ravan shrugged again. “I am following my instincts, my lord, as instructed. We were told to head for the mountains so Lo’s Teeth is where we shall head.”
Gavriel nodded. “Look to the Davarigons, they will help. If you mention my name, or that of a woman called Elka, you will be treated as friends. In the meantime I promise the king will have no attempt at you, Roddy, certainly not under my guard. How you choose to use your magic is your business. I will not stand by and watch it stolen from you. My father would turn in his tomb . . . if he had one.” His voice was so deeply tinged with sorrow that Ravan stepped forward, his hand held out.
“Forgive us, my lord, for putting you in this position. We felt it was important that the king know about Piven but . . .”
“You did the right thing. Now we are forewarned. So flee. He sleeps now but should he awake I will slow him down.”
Roddy grinned and hugged Gavriel, surprising the Legate. “Thank you, my lord. Thank you. And don’t worry about us. You couldn’t catch us even if you wanted to.”
Gavriel, still crookedly smiling from the youngster’s affection, gave a bemused frown. “What do you mean?”
“Watch,” Roddy whispered and clambered onto Ravan’s back.
Ravan nodded at Gavriel and some unspoken message traveled between them—a mixture of respect and thanks, with a promise to meet again.
“I will look out for you, my lord. You have my loyalty, even if King Leonel does not.” He took one quick step, then another, and then they were gone.
Elka had found a deep ditch, a hollow that an old stream had cut into over many anni, before Francham had redirected water as the town had grown.
“Here?” he had asked, unable to mask his surprise.
“No one will see you.”
“And you trust me?”
“If I take you into Francham and you’re recognized, we’re in instant trouble.”
“Oh I agree, and you’re so inconspicuous of course.” It was not said unkindly—in fact, it sounded almost affectionate. He was charming her! What a rogue. Even so, he didn’t have to try hard. He was good company; she appreciated his sharp intelligence and had grown to understand that he had a grasp of fair play as well as a sense of nobility about him, which was attractive. She really couldn’t help liking the man, which surprised her; when she had argued to save his life she had definitely not expected to enjoy him.
In fact, since they’d fled the camp, she’d begun to accept that the people who were so embracing of the emperor were not wrong about Loethar. Yes, he came from the Steppes and had brutally wrested rule from the rightful kings of the realms. And yes, his methods had been savage. But the fact that he’d stopped all animosity as soon
as he believed he had control had impressed her. The ugly overthrow had, by all accounts filtering back into the mountains, been stupendously balanced by the last decade of dignified rule.
“Here’s my problem, Loethar,” she had said as they struggled to slowly descend into Francham via difficult terrain, far from what she believed might be an area that Faris’s people would scour. “Everything I’ve come to believe about you is suddenly challenged.”
He had not replied immediately, his silence compelling her to explain her remark.
“As you know we Davarigons keep to ourselves but news obviously finds its way through. Initially we heard such terrible stories that you became almost larger than life itself.”
“The rampaging monster from the east who eats babies,” he finished for her.
“No, who eats kings!”
He had had the grace not to smile but she sensed he wanted to. “The stories were true.”
“What was in your head? The person I accompany now does not match up with that madman. I walk with a sane, insightful . . .”
“Handsome?” he offered.
She ignored the comment. “I was going to say calm individual, who shows no sign of the cruelty he was famed for.”
He nodded. “The notion of imbibing the magic by drinking the blood of the Valisar king and eating his flesh had haunted me since childhood, since my mother had first whispered the truth of my lineage.”
“What in Lo’s name would possess her to do that?”
“Anger. She was a woman used and scorned by King Darros. She raised me to have a burning hate for the Valisars. She insisted I was not a Steppes child. She said I looked different, I was royal, I was from the west. Over and over she taught me that one day I would fight to rule my people, that I would lead an army toward the sunset and take revenge against the throne that ignored my existence.”
“And you think King Brennus knew about you?”
“I know he knew,” Loethar had growled. “If he’d only tried to reach out to me, recognize me, I think we might have behaved as brothers and I would have accepted that it was no fault of his that he wore the crown of Penraven.”
“Why didn’t you extend that generosity to Leo? It is not his fault that he is the son of Brennus, born a prince and raised to be king.”
Loethar had regarded her with a rueful gaze. “Because I was a man obsessed ten anni ago. I wanted to punish Penraven for ignoring me. I wanted all the Set to know that it was Penraven’s arrogance that had brought such destruction to their lands.”
“And now you feel differently?”
He had sighed. “The obsession has passed. Now I’m more than just an angry, headstrong leader; I’ve become a good ruler with the respect of the people of this empire. I can make our empire the most powerful region of our world.”
“And Leo cannot?”
“Leo is where I was ten anni ago. He’s angry, confused, capable of trying anything to get his hands on that crown because he believes it is his right. That’s how I felt. Except in contrast to me Leo is still a very young man and his youth makes his outlook even more narrow, even more desperate than mine was. I’d already ruled a nation. Leo has been answerable to Faris for all this time.”
“Not any more, I’d guess.”
“You’re probably right.” Loethar had paused, and then said, “You know, Faris has been my nemesis for this last decade. He hasn’t been able to outwit me for so long by being a dolt. He’s cunning, wise, patient . . . I have no doubt that it’s because of him that Leo has had the time to grow up and feel safe, begin to believe in himself as a king. Faris has given him a great gift.”
“And now Leo wants to take Faris’s life.”
“So do I.”
“You know I won’t permit you to trammel anyone.”
“Not yet.”
“Never.”
“Never say never, Elka. Who knows what decisions lie ahead?” he had said, and smiled at her without guile. She had sensed sadness behind his charm, though, as if he knew something she didn’t.
So, having left Loethar in hiding, she now found herself entering Francham. It was still early and Francham tended to be busiest by night. The smell of baking bread was fresh in the air, though, and too seductive to resist. She followed her nose to the baker, who turned at her early entrance into his shop, just hauling a steaming loaf from his oven.
“Lo, but that smells good,” she said, smiling.
“Stars save me, woman, but you’re big,” he commented. “I nearly dropped the damn bread.”
Elka didn’t take offense. “Let me buy it then, if it has my name on it.”
He grinned, reaching for a cloth to wipe at his damp forehead, leaving a trail through the flour that had gathered in a light dusting across his face. Nearby his wife and a youth, perhaps his son, were banging and kneading dough. Behind them she could see two neat rows of small loaves, uniform in size and appearance.
“I won’t give you this one. It’s too hot and you look like you might want to eat it straight away.”
“You’re right. You’d better give me another small loaf too for later.” She dug in her pocket for a couple of coins.
“What brings you here from Davarigon?” he said, turning to sort through some money on a plate to find change for her.
“Nothing important. I felt like a journey.”
“Are you traveling alone?”
She shook her head and then decided to add some detail just in case. “I’m joining a trading caravan later today.”
“Oh yes, headed where?”
“They’re going south, I’m told, heading in an easterly direction to Camlet, and then into Vorgaven if I feel like staying with them.”
“I’ve always promised myself I’d go to Vorgaven one day,” he said, handing back coins. “I hear Port Merivale is a lively spot.”
She gave a soft laugh. “I would have thought Francham was lively enough.”
“Have a drink for me if you make it there,” he said, giving her a wink.
“I’ll do that,” she said, ripping off a small knuckle of the bread, enjoying the crack of its crust and the warmth that it was still protecting. “Mmm, delicious,” she said, chewing off a piece as she turned to leave.
“Best in the empire,” the youth remarked and she smiled, noting that he blushed.
“Oh, by the way, who is a good healer in the town?” When the baker frowned, she rubbed her belly. “Women’s troubles.” She glanced hopefully at the wife.
The wife nodded. “There’s Physic Alpert on main street, although he’s hard to see. There’s always a queue.”
“Physic Orlem over the town square, by the statue,” their son offered.
Elka nodded.
“Wait,” the baker said. “There’s also Janus. He lives on the eastern fringe of town, in a small hut behind the trees that line the roadside.” Elka noticed the scowl that his wife threw at her husband. “Granted, he’s not very popular, but he’s always available. Keeps himself to himself.” He returned his wife’s glare with a helpless shrug. “He could use some business.”
The wife turned to Elka. “Just get there early if you decide on him.”
“Thank you,” Elka said, slightly bemused, and lifted a hand in farewell. Again the youth blushed. She smiled to herself as she left the shop. Were Davarigons still really that daunting? They’d been traveling into and out of Penraven, moving freely around the empire, for several anni now.
She shook her head and moved off toward the eastern side of the town. This Janus fellow sounded exactly like the sort of person she needed.
She found the hut with little difficulty, but no one answered when she banged on the door. She banged louder to no avail, then looked around for signs of life. Walking quietly around the small property, she found a few chickens who scattered at the sight of her and an old black and white dog curled up in a small patch of early morning sun. It opened the one eye it had and regarded her warily but its quietly thumping tail told her it was
not frightened.
“Hello there, old fellow,” she said softly and let the animal smell her hand as she crouched down. Its tail beat harder. “Where’s your master, eh?”
It yawned and whether it understood or not, it looked toward the back door. She nodded. “Inside?” The dog stretched and let her stroke its belly. “Let’s go find him.”
She tapped on the back door but again received no answer. She glanced at the dog, who had now hauled himself to his feet and stood beside her, grinning as some dogs do and wagging its tail. She winked at him and opened the back door. “Hello? Anyone home?”
No answer.
The dog pushed past her and she followed it inside, right up to the prone form of what was presumably Physic Janus, snoring in a huge chair. She glanced around, taking in the well-made furniture, but she also noticed dust and grime, the pervading smell of decay and decline and old pots and pans that hadn’t seen a clean in far too long.
She returned her attention to the snoring man. The dog pushed its snout into his hand and then licked it. From somewhere in the depths of sleep the man recognized the familiar sensation and began to rouse himself.
“Hello, Badger boy,” he murmured.
“Physic Janus,” she said loudly.
His eyes snapped open. “Lo come down and take me,” he slurred. “It’s a giant.”
“Good morning,” Elka replied, stepping back from the waft of fumes that hit her as he tried to sit up.
She waited while he collected himself. He cleared his throat a few times and tried his best to straighten his straggly gray hair. The doctor stroked the dog’s head and gave a small smile before he stood unsteadily and regarded her through a bleary gaze. He was of medium height, with sunken eyes and a sallow complexion. And he smelled of old liquor and even older food. “Should I know you, giant?”
“Call me Elka. I was given your name only this morning.”
He smiled a loopy smile and then belched, politely covering his mouth. “By whom?”
“The baker.”
“Ah, Jenfrey. Nice man. Wife’s a bit sour. Probably her gout.”
Elka looked surprised. “I didn’t think you were her doctor.”
King’s Wrath Page 9