King’s Wrath

by Fiona McIntosh

  He had learned long ago that in lean times a certain type of oily nuts would fool his belly into thinking a rich meal had been consumed, while berries and fruits laden with sweetness restored energy. A single rabbit, skinned and cooked, kept him in a frugal supply of meat that he chewed on as he walked.

  While he stopped to rest only during the darkest, coolest part of the night, he did pause once as he took advantage of a tiny village to take some fresh milk. There he met a man who was also inquiring after some fresh milk from the farmer who had clearly been quenching his own thirst from a pitcher.

  “Not unless you’ve got coin,” the farmer was saying as Leo strolled up.

  “I don’t,” the man replied evenly. “But I will do a reading for you in exchange for a small cup.”

  The farmer had gruffly waved the man away and turned his attention to Leo. “And what are you after, traveler?”

  “The same, I think. A cup of milk, perhaps some cheese if you have it.”

  “Aye, I have plenty.”

  Leo frowned, recalling how even during lean moons Kilt would drop coins into the outstretched palms of stranded travelers or those who had fallen on hard times. He had never asked about their lives, simply given generously even if it meant Kilt’s men had to go without some staple such as flour for another moon. He couldn’t help himself. “Then spare a little for my fellow traveler. Lo will reward you for the gesture.”

  “Ho! Who are you to lecture me? I have a farm to run and six children to feed and a permanently angry wife who is still waiting for the new silk hanky I promised two namedays ago. No, traveler. You spare some of yours. Let Lo smile upon you.”

  Leo had cursed the farmer silently for his selfishness, particularly as he looked well fed and the sons he assumed who worked in the field beyond looked strong and healthy. “Two cups of milk and a block of cheese,” he said, not showing any of his disgust.

  “I’ll see your money first, stranger,” the farmer said.

  Leo palmed two coins from a pocket. “What is your name, farmer?”

  “Sawberry, though why that’s important I can’t imagine,” he growled, pouring the milk into a cup. “Here,” he said, taking the money before he handed it over.

  Leo wiped the rim of the cup and handed it to his nameless companion. “After you.”

  The man nodded, a look of soft surprise creasing his eyes before it turned into a smile. “Thank you, young man.”

  Leo turned back to the farmer. “Why? Because I want to remember you.”

  The farmer laughed. “Here’s your cheese,” he said, having hacked off a piece from the block he had laid out on a nearby stump. “My sons won’t be happy to go without their midday food.”

  “I’m sure they’ll manage,” Leo said, turning to take the cup that his companion had drained.

  “Thank you,” the man said.

  “Refill it,” Leo ordered and this time the farmer said nothing. “Here, have the cheese. You look like you need it more than I do.”

  “I couldn’t,” the man replied.

  Leo took the refilled cup and drained it easily in three gulps. He gave the farmer a scathing look. “A pox on you, Sawberry.”

  Sawberry laughed again, turned away and pocketed the money.

  “I meant it, you have it,” Leo said, beginning to walk away.

  “There must be a fair exchange,” the man said. “Let me do a reading.”

  “A reading. You’re a seer?”

  “Of sorts.”

  Leo shrugged. “All right. While the milk settles, I’ll let you earn the cheese.”

  They settled themselves on the rim of a copse, having walked away from Sawberry’s farm and although Leo was not in the slightest bit interested in the reading, he took advantage of the rest.

  “My name is Darry,” the man said, making himself comfortable on a tree stump. “I’m from—”

  Leo held up a hand. “It’s all right, Darry, I don’t need to know anything about you. Our paths will not cross again. I am doing this simply to make you feel easier. Shall we get on with it?”

  “As you wish. Would you like to give me your name?”

  Leo shook his head. “Let’s see how good at reading you are, shall we?”

  The man nodded, seemingly unoffended. “May I?” he said, his palm hovering over Leo’s hand.

  Leo shrugged and Darry placed his on top and his eyes grew distant. Then they seemed to flash with a recognition before the man looked down and cleared his throat. “What would you like to know?”

  “What am I?” Leo said baldly.

  “That’s an odd question.”

  “Ignoring the obvious. Tell me what I am—what dark secret do you see within?” he replied cryptically, knowing the man had seen or felt something.

  “You are of blue blood.”

  Leo’s eyes glittered now. “Tell me what that makes me.”

  “The family’s chalice,” the man said uncomfortably. “But don’t ask me what it means. The word has sprung into my head, won’t leave, but won’t reveal itself either.”

  “The chalice,” Leo repeated. “Anything else?”

  The soothsayer shook his head and while Leo suspected there was more, he didn’t care. He was on his path now. “Just tell me if I’m heading in the right direction for what I seek.”

  Darry bit his lip. “I don’t know what it is you seek but there are plenty of people who wish to avoid you.”

  Leo smiled without humor. “Is one of them in Barronel?”

  “Possibly. I have no clear reading on it.”

  Leo stood. “Then you have earned your milk and cheese, Darry. I will ask you not to speak of this to anyone or I will hunt you down and kill you.”

  “I believe you. I have no reason to share this knowledge.”

  Leo nodded at him, turned and strode away without so much as a glance behind him. The chalice, he muttered, not understanding it at all but his spirits leaped that the soothsayer had seen something of what sounded to be a magical quality in him. Perhaps he wasn’t entirely without powers after all. Time alone would tell.

  His sense of direction was reliable and he’d skirted the Dragonsback Mountains with ease and found himself in Barronel within a day of leaving the camp. His shortcut route over higher country had cut days from the traditional traveler’s route of passing first through Francham and Hell’s Teeth before veering west into the mountain pass.

  The time alone had given him space that he’d never known previously to lose himself in thought. Life with the outlaw gang had its freedoms but he’d never had a moment alone and he’d got used to growing up under a constantly watchful eye.

  It niggled at him that he had not been able to sense Kilt’s magic. And the more he thought about it, the more furious he was that though he was the rightful heir he also seemed to be the least magically talented Valisar. Piven had somehow emerged from his madness and had already secured himself an aegis; Loethar the bastard claimant would likely find a way to hunt down Kilt. And he was left searching for a glass bead in the rain. That’s how it felt. Impossible!

  At least he had a place to start looking. And there was the marking, wasn’t there? Some sort of giveaway signal that you did possess the aegis magic. What was Kilt’s sign? He had never noticed anything untoward or odd.

  His reflective mood dragged his thoughts forward, daydreaming of wresting back the crown. He felt no pain at the loss of Gavriel, he realized; as far as he was concerned, his former friend was a traitor to the Valisars. He had given his loyalty to the Davarigon slut.

  Women!

  Leo was glad he’d not yet fallen under the spell of a woman. When he thought about those terrible days stuck in the ingress, how he and Gav had to trust one another only, it beggared belief that Gavriel would choose a woman over him.

  Leo shook his head in disgust for the umpteenth time over this topic. But it had prompted his memories of the ingress that he hadn’t thought about in so many years now it had almost taken on an unreal quality�
��as though he had imagined those frightening days; the stuff of nightmare.

  With all those people, and even that damn magical Vyk, it galled him to think that he’d never felt his own magic respond to anything. It actually turned his stomach with rage that Piven had so much power to draw upon—if what Roddy and that strange Ravan fellow had said was true—and yet he, the whole and very dutiful Valisar son had never felt even the pinprick of a . . .

  Leo stopped still, his arm poised to reach for a branch, but he never actually touched it. Instead his hand slipped down the bark until it lay flat against the trunk, his expression faraway and distracted.

  A recollection had come back to him; hit him like a punch in the belly. There had been something once though. He’d felt it, but paid scant attention because the rest of his life had been balanced on such a knife’s edge, fraught with tension and anxiety. The pull at his magic—and he did remember now what it felt like and how he’d registered it, but instantly dislodged it from his mind. He concentrated hard. He’d been alone. Gavriel was on one of his “ranges” as he called them. He’d been left alone too long and become bored. The tedium of the darkness, the cramped space and the lack of activity, not to mention the constant hunger that every boy suffered, had contrived to make him break the rules.

  He never did tell Gavriel that he had gone on a small exploratory tour of his own. With a tiny nub of candle and a small flame lighting his way he’d followed one of the chalked maps. It had taken him to a dead end so he hadn’t felt quite so guilty by then and he knew it was of no help to their cause so there was no reason to visit it again or even mention it to Gavriel. But he had felt the smallest hint of a breeze on his exposed leg where he’d torn his trousers. Examining closer he’d found a spy hole that required him to lay flat on the ingress floor to peer through it. He understood now its curious positioning, for from this angle he could just see a tiny picture of the entrance of the bailey, just beneath the famous timepiece that decorated the grand arch into Brighthelm.

  The frame was minuscule but he was still amazed that a perfect little glimpse of who was coming and going through this entrance could be gauged. In truth all one could see were the heads and shoulders but it was enough to thrill Leo to see people on the outside.

  It was not a happy time for any Denovian. The bailey was overrun with the tattoed barbarians but even seeing prisoners led through the gates helped to shore up his spirits because it fueled his determination to escape and one day return to humble the Steppes tyrant.

  Yes, it came back to him now, as he stood by the roadside entering Barronel more than a decade on, how one group of what was presumably prisoners were led through. He blinked as he replayed it all in his mind, realizing he had forgotten none of the detail. That group had contained Kirin Felt, one of the people he thought was another grasping traitor who had joined forces with Freath. He knew differently now and perhaps Felt had been a royalist and someone working behind the scenes in his favor and keeping the faith that the Valisar throne would be returned to the rightful heir.

  But that wasn’t what he’d been searching in his thoughts for. It was the girl.

  A young woman, who as she’d been led into the bailey, along with the other Vested, had for some curious reason sharply looked up. He remembered now his shock. It was as though she’d sensed him there and she had looked directly at him! She couldn’t see him, of course, but still he’d rocked back, his heart pounding. And there was something else. Think, Leo, think! Yes, there was something else all right. Inside he’d felt as though his mind had been charged with a blinding light and he felt a strong wave of nausea pass through him. It had lasted for less than a blink, had happened so fast it was logical to believe it was connected with the shock of her looking up and feeling as though his hiding place had been discovered. That or his intense hunger!

  But now he knew different. Since then he’d witnessed what had happened to Loethar and Kilt Faris when they’d met; and he stupidly hadn’t fully recognized the feeling of being drawn to Roddy. It wasn’t strong and he could be reaching but now that he really thought about it the feeling the girl prompted in him that day had felt similar to what Roddy prompted except supremely more intense. In that blink of an eye, that single brief glance she threw his way shocked him but at the same time seemed to enter him, know him! And then it had passed as she looked down, walked hurriedly on and then he’d been distracted by hearing Gavriel calling out in the dark and he’d rushed away, forgetting about her and his exploratory trip almost immediately because Gavriel had returned with food.

  He hadn’t known anything then. He had no idea of what had just occurred or what had reached out to him because his own magics were so weak, even his instincts weren’t relaying the important prompts to him. But he was older now, less frightened now, more experienced with the touch of magic.

  Well, he had to hunt down the one person whose destiny was to help him take back the crown. His aegis had to exist for him and now he had to find him or her. His Valisar blood would seek the aegis out more surely than his eyes could.

  “If you’re in Barronel, I’ll find you,” he murmured.

  Valya sucked in her breath and her eyes flew open. They registered Evie’s presence and she gasped. “I thought I was dead.”

  “I certainly wish you were,” Barro remarked over Evie’s shoulder. Valya made a move as if to rise but he put a grubby boot against her shoulder.

  “Oh no, empress, you can stay right there.” Without warning he moved Evie aside and flipped Valya onto her belly.

  “What are you doing?” she screeched.

  “Just making sure you don’t try anything stupid again,” he said, locking metal cuffs around her wrists. “I carry these with me. Heavy but very handy,” he remarked and dragged her back around to face Evie.

  “There, your majesty,” he said to Evie. “Now talk to the bitch.”

  “Your majesty? You mean her?” Valya repeated, enraged. “I am the empress.”

  “A dead one again if you’re not careful,” Barro warned.

  Evie grimaced. “Is the binding of wrists really necessary?”

  “Entirely,” he assured. “And I’ve got the key. They don’t come off without my say so and I have no intention of releasing her.”

  “I’ll see you gutted,” Valya snarled at Evie, “but he’ll be first and I’ll dream up something tailored to make your final seconds as painful and repulsive as possible,” she hurled at Barro.

  He simply laughed at her. “Oh, I don’t doubt you would. Pity you’ll never get the chance.”

  “What did you hope to gain by drugging me?” Evie asked, as Barro hauled the now hale and uninjured Valya to her feet.

  “I thought it was obvious.”

  “Whatever makes you think the man who threw you in here in the first place would take you back simply because you give him me?”

  “Oh, my dear, you have so much to learn about Loethar. I think he’d sell his soul to the devil to destroy a Valisar. And you got away from beneath his very nose.” She leaned closer to Evie. “Don’t think flashing those big eyes at him would appeal to the softer side. There is no softer side to my husband.”

  “Valya, isn’t dying fun?” Barro baited.

  Evie looked at him with consternation. He winked back.

  “You see, you’re not dealing with any pretty girl. You’re up against a very powerful magic. Ah, I see in your eyes that you are not a disbeliever. That’s good. Evie here used the most powerful magic of all to heal you, so I’d back down if I were you. She might have given you back your life, but I’ll happily take it again.”

  Valya blinked. It seemed only now she looked down at where her wound should have been. Her white robes were garishly soaked with blood and her own sticky blood was pasted in rivulets to the earthern floor. She looked back up at Barro, her face pale, confusion creasing it now as realization hit. “I don’t understand.”

  “Didn’t think so,” Barro said, obviously enjoying himself.

&
nbsp; “I ran at you,” she whispered, and then as if remembering the shock of the blade penetrating her flesh, she gave a tight gasp. “You stabbed me.”

  “No. You impaled yourself. Same outcome but a very different intention.”

  She shook her head. “I felt life leaving me.” Then, shocking them both, she began to weep. “My daughter . . .”

  “Daughter?” they murmured together.

  “I heard a baby crying,” Evie suddenly recalled.

  Barro nodded. “Come to think of it . . .”

  “Where is she? She was . . .” Valya spun around and Evie followed her gaze to the door of the chamber, which was off its hinges and resting at a strange angle. Valya’s hands flew to cover her mouth and she groaned. “Here,” she said, finishing her sentence, tears streaming down her face. “Her crib . . .” she stammered. “It’s beneath there,” she pointed.

  “Barro!” Evie said. She didn’t have to say anything more. He crossed the room swiftly and pulled the door up, peering in.

  “No baby here.”

  “They’ve taken her,” Valya said, fright overpowering her.

  There was a knock at the door. “Valya?” the Abbess’s voice called.

  Evie nodded at Barro and he moved to open the door.

  “What’s happening?” the Mother asked, entering the chamber hesitantly. Corbel followed. It was the Mother’s turn to gasp at the sight of Valya alive, standing near Evie. “How can this be?” she uttered. She shook her head as if seeing a vision. “You were so close to death, Valya, I . . . I . . .”

  “I am whole, Mother,” Valya assured. She threw a cruel sideways glance at Evie. “She uses magic.”

  The Abbess’s eyes widened in shock. “What?”

  “Abbess, if you’ll let me ex—” Corbel tried but Valya cut him off.

  “There’s no stab wound,” she hissed.

  Barro took a step forward. “Well, let’s just rectify that, shall we?”

  “It’s her filthy magic, I tell you,” Valya added.

  Corbel looked down, so distressed he couldn’t meet Evie’s gaze. This was exactly what he had feared.

  “Stop this!” the Mother commanded. She turned a horrified stare on Evie. “You are Vested?”