The Prince of Exiles (The Exile Series)

by Hal Emerson

  “Exactly,” Raven said, his voice heavy, thinking of what he’d tried to tell Warryn and the Elders and now wishing he’d found a better way to go about it. He still wasn’t certain he wanted to throw his lot in with them, but he did know that innocent people didn’t deserve to die for their mistakes.

  “Do you want to go after her and make up? You know if you apologize sooner she’ll be more likely to let it go.”

  Raven sighed, knowing he should, but the pain in his shoulder and chest was still enough to make him ornery and he declined. The giant nodded and let the matter drop, and they both turned to watch the next Elder riding through the gates. It was Spader, who looked thoroughly discomfited to be riding a horse, though he was at least making a good show of it. He was dressed in his long, deep amber robes and looked quite impressive.

  Ceremonies. One thing I’d hoped I’d left behind when I stopped being a Prince.

  He looked around at the crowd again, trying once more to gage the reaction among the citizens of Roarke. Despite the open signs of jubilation, he could see that underneath feelings were most definitely mixed. Some were beside themselves with enthusiasm, waving banners with the Kindred dagger emblem or the rose and sword, but others stood behind them, watching quietly, faces dark and fearful.

  Of course they’re frightened. They’ve been brought up to hate and fear these people, just like I was. They won’t get ride of that overnight.

  And how could any of them help but doubt this new command by the Kindred would last very long? It may be the first time the castle of Roarke had been taken, but it was not the first time the Kindred had tried to strike against the Empire. And if the thousand-year reign of the Empress proved anything, it was that the Empire would always win back what it lost. The Kindred were destined to lose, had always been destined to lose, since the day the Empress, the Immortal Goddess, first took Her place on the Diamond Throne.

  Raven wished there was someone he could talk to about this. He couldn’t talk to Leah; she would simply roll her eyes and provide seven ways his argument was inherently flawed. He couldn’t talk to Tomaz; the giant man had done his best to hear him out the first time Raven had brought the subject up nearly a month ago, but was unable now to do more than politely disagree. Both of them had made up their minds long ago that they would fight the Empire despite its strength and inevitability.

  Raven looked up at the enormous bell tower that loomed up beside the distant castle keep over the tops of the Commons houses at the edges of the city. The clock face bore the telltale signs of Imperial Clockworking, the kind of project the Visigony were commissioned to do under the direction of Geofred.

  The very thought of the Visigony made Raven’s skin crawl … they were also known as the Imperial Scholars, the ones who’d tutored him growing up. They were half men, half clockwork machine, preserved by a strange mixture of mechanics and magic that, while it couldn’t touch nor harm any of the Children, was still remarkably unpleasant to witness. Most of the Twelve took special pride in displaying their inhumanity, for they thought it placed them closer to the Empress and the Children, making them more and more immortal. A new one had been crafted for every century the Empress had reigned, adding to the original three who had been the first to help the Empress collect and read the prophecies. Those three, Vynap, Sylva, and Marnithack, were all more machine than man; what organic parts they still had left, such as eyes and tongue, were not their own, but substitutes found from compatible citizens. Lessons with the three of them had been … unpleasant.

  He wondered idly if he approached the clock tower it would stop working. Sometimes that happened – all things made by Bloodmagic reacted to the touch of the Children. The abilities of the Bloodmages were based in large part on the Talismans themselves, and in particular based on the abilities of the Raven Talisman that could absorb the strength, senses, memories, and life force of any person the bearer killed. Raven himself had been present at many of their rituals as one of the Children. Those were experiences he had tried to block from his mind.

  “BOO!”

  “AH! Shadows and light Tomaz!”

  The big man pulled back and smiled evilly at him. A few of the Kindred nearby looked at him askance before focusing once more on the parade – Elder Dawn had just come through the gates, the Elder Raven preferred to call the Dragon Lady since she was so draconian in conduct. Even her robes were a statement in plainness – they were simple brown homespun, and she looked down her nose at the men and women lining the streets as if looking for wickedness that she could scourge.

  “Shadows and light!” Raven cursed, at Tomaz. “You scared the hell out of me!”

  “Do you Imperials only really believe in one hell?” The big man asked, looking back at the procession. “Seems like a waste of time to me. If you’re going to believe in supernatural, eternal suffering, why not do it right and have seven layers like we do? Nice to make sure all your sinners are roasting at just the right temperature.”

  Despite himself, Raven couldn’t help but give a small, conciliatory smile. The big man did have a good point. Then again, he usually had good points. Damned irritating at times.

  “You know,” Raven said suddenly looking critically at the clock tower, “I think that thing actually has stopped – it can’t be that late in the day yet.”

  “That … may be my fault,” Tomaz said sheepishly. Raven looked at him curiously and he explained: “Part of the structure was damaged in the siege and I went to go help rebuild it. When I got inside I grabbed one of the gears to turn it back into place and the whole thing just … stopped. Ground to a halt. Hasn’t worked since and no one knows why.”

  “Ah … now I see,” said Raven, eying the big man critically. “It’s the Talisman. I was just thinking about how they interfere with Bloodmagic … now that you’re the Prince of Oxen, it’s –”

  “Whoa there,” Tomaz said, brow suddenly furrowed, looking at Raven warily and speaking softly. The crowd was so loud though he needn’t have bothered – no one could hear them. “Don’t go ‘princing’ me now. If you won’t let people call you the Prince of Ravens anymore, why do I have to be the Prince of Oxen?”

  “I renounced my claim to the throne before the Council of Elders,” Raven reminded him for what felt like the hundredth time. “Besides, I have no principality to rule over. You technically do.”

  “Don’t get started on that again,” Tomaz said with a snort. Raven fell silent, knowing not to start an old battle. He’d just lose again.

  “Well at least Autmaran and Scipio are stepping into your place,” he said. He should be relieved – he knew that Tomaz wasn’t really the kind of man who’d be able to lead anyone anyway. If Raven was still a Prince he would have certainly asked the man to be one of his advisers … but he had to admit, even if the big man wore the Ox Talisman, it was probably better for everyone involved that he had no interest in taking control of the city. Raven had tried to convince him of it the first few weeks after the battle at the Stand, knowing that it was customary, but Tomaz would have none of it.

  “What were you doing thinking about that anyway?” Tomaz rumbled.

  “I don’t know,” he admitted, “I’ve been on edge for weeks now, even before the attack in the mountains. I can’t help but feel this was too easy somehow.”

  “Enough of that,” rumbled Tomaz softly but insistently. “We are celebrating the win of a great battle today. You have to celebrate the good while you can, you can’t dwell on the bad or it will eat you alive from the inside. You helped the Kindred do what we haven’t been able to do in a thousand years – fight back. This is as much your victory as anyone else’s.”

  Raven nodded, mollified, but said nothing. He just couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.

  Suddenly there was a noise behind them – it sounded like voices raised in argument. Tomaz and Raven turned and looked over the edge of the scaffold, and saw that a small back alley ran behind it to another street parallel to them. A
group of men were gathered there, away from the parade.

  “Is that … Autmaran?” Raven asked, surprised.

  The Major’s black, bald head was just visible – he was exchanging heated words with a tall, thin man, with a block-like chin and high forehead, dressed in a well-cut vest and black slacks.

  Tomaz and Raven exchanged a look, and then both scrambled over the back of the scaffold and lowered themselves to the ground, making their way down the alley to the other street. As they approached, Raven realized the man Autmaran was arguing with was Ramael’s ex-Governor; it was the highest post one of the Commons could rise to, and he was the one who ruled them when Ramael was gone, reporting only to the upper members of the Blood.

  And now that none of them are left, he’s the most important man in the city.

  He and Autmaran stood nose to nose, staring each other down, neither willing to give an inch as they literally shouted in each other’s faces, backed by sizable groups of Kindred and Imperial soldiers. Neither of them was at all audible over the other, and Raven was surprised they hadn’t drawn weapons and gone at each other.

  “PEACE!” Roared Tomaz. The big man burst from the alley and pulled the two men apart with hands that engulfed their shoulders.

  They continued to stare daggers at each other from the length of Tomaz’s arms. And then, without a word, the tall, smart looking man turned and stalked off, his long, well-cut vest and coat swirling dramatically around him. He was making for the castle – no doubt to complete the ceremony. It would be his duty as Governor to give official control of the city to the Elders and Commander Scipio.

  “What was that about?” Raven asked, looking Autmaran up and down, trying to size the man up. He had been a fine captain in the ambush at the Pass of Cartuom, and had earned Raven’s respect in the fighting that had occurred since. But, as his brother Geofred had told him repeatedly, being a good commander was not the same as being a good ruler. Not that the Eagle could really have much to say in that regard – he had the least populated and most self-governed Principality in the whole Empire. But this man was going to be second in command to Commander Scipio in control of the city until the Kindred could return next spring – that was no small thing.

  “I’ll make him see sense,” said Autmaran, his jaw set. “His superstitious dogma has no place here.”

  “Superstitious dogma?”

  “Yes,” Autmaran said, “he’s making a fit about us occupying Ramael’s old rooms and using the Prince’s Yard to house the Kindred Scouts and their horses. He sees the Children as sacred, and considers us infidels.”

  “Well if he worships the Children maybe I can make him see sense,” Raven said dryly.

  “I doubt it,” Autmaran said, though he smiled ruefully and Raven knew he’d at least calmed down.

  “Just be careful,” Raven said. “Superstitions and old belief … they die hard. Attacking the situation head-on will only make it worse, they’ll dig in, become stubborn. It’s what I did.”

  There was a long pause, and then Autmaran nodded. The newly promoted Major was a practical man, and during the last few months the two of them had become as much friends as any man and a superior officer could be.

  “How would you go about it?”

  Raven took a deep breath, and then sighed out his answer, shooting a glance at Tomaz who was keeping his distance but watching them closely.

  “Show them kindness,” he said, thinking back to the days he’d journeyed south with Tomaz and Leah, and the ways they’d started to change his mind about the Kindred. “And show them your willingness to give your life for theirs. You can’t make them stop believing in the power of the Empress, she has all of the powers everyone has ever said she has. I know, I’ve seen them.”

  Raven trailed off, his mind lost in remembrances of his childhood – lost in the constant battle that had been his life at court, unable to tell when his Mother would strike him in anger and when she would extend a loving hand in praise. It was the same thing Ramael had felt, the conflicting hope and despair, the need to prove himself. It was what his Mother brought to all the Children, and to all the Empire.

  “What made you turn in the end?” Autmaran asked, quietly.

  “I didn’t have much of a choice,” he said wryly.

  “Fair,” said the major. “But now that I’ve gotten to know you, I think you would have turned eventually anyway.”

  Raven, startled, looked closely at Autmaran.

  “Do you really believe that?” He asked.

  Autmaran gave him a long look, eyes unblinking.

  “I see in you the future of the Empire,” said Autmaran, deadly serious. “You’re a good man, that I know. And I think that in the end … yes. You would have chosen the Kindred.”

  “I’m not even sure if I’ve completely chosen them now,” Raven said, startled so much by the other man’s reaction that he didn’t hesitate to tell him the truth.

  “I think you will,” Autmaran said, his voice colored with a grave certainty that reminded Raven forcefully of Rikard. The tone of his voice, the power in his eyes that almost dared reality to go against his wishes.

  There was a loud cheer behind them, and they turned to look back down the alley. The Kindred and the Roarkians were all getting to their feet – the parade had passed them, and they were moving in behind it as they all headed toward the castle.

  “I have to go,” Autmaran said quickly, “I will see you soon.”

  Raven nodded and watched him go.

  “Are you coming?” Tomaz asked, as he went to follow the Major.

  “No,” Raven said simply. “Go ahead, I’ll see you later tonight.”

  Tomaz nodded, watching him with unspoken questions, and then turned to follow Autmaran and the rest of the Kindred soldiers. Raven watched them go until they disappeared around a bend in the street, then turned and made his way back to the camp.

  He didn’t want to see the Kindred’s triumph, didn’t want to see them hopeful for perhaps the first time in their nation’s existence. Not when he knew, beyond any other certainly, that such hope could never last.

  Chapter Five: Through the Pass

  The next day the Kindred left for Vale. As Warryn had commanded, a large force stayed behind, stationed in Roarke, to hold the city and guard it while the Roarke Pass was closed with snow over the long winter. The force was under the leadership of Commander Scipio and Major Autmaran, as well as an Ashandel-Eshendai pair of Rogues called Polim and Palum, two older silver-haired twins who served under Autmaran. However, both they and Autmaran were returning first to Vale with the Kindred army to organize a final shipment of supplies before the Pass closed. Scipio, who had already begun to organize the city, was to stay behind.

  It was Leah who told him all of this – Raven had caught up with her that morning and apologized just as the army began to move out. The words had come out awkward and halting, but she’d taken it for what it was. He counted himself lucky – the Exile girl was more skilled at holding grudges than most men were holding a sword.

  As they took their place in the long line of departing Kindred already curling into the lowland hills below the Pass, she told him about the ceremony at the castle and he told her about what Autmaran had said. They were getting along remarkably well all told, and Raven was feeling rather good about it, when lieutenant general Henri Perci rode up beside them.

  He rode a beautiful white stallion, and sat the saddle as if he’d been born there. The armor that went with his office suited him perfectly: it was burnished silver steel outlined in gold scroll work – as a protégé of Warryn, he wore the color of the Elder of State – and matched his beard and long, golden hair that curled about his head and fell to the nape of his neck.

  “Good afternoon Leah,” he said, flashing a brilliant white smile at her. He turned to look at Raven as well, and though his nostrils flared and his eyes flashed, he nodded his head in polite acknowledgement.

  “Hello Perci,” Leah said stiffly, and Ra
ven felt a sick sort of satisfaction as the smile on Perci’s face faltered at her brusque tone. The man was too charming by half, and Raven felt himself naturally inclined to distrust him, even before knowing how the man felt about him. Anyone that pretty must be evil somehow.

  “I trust I’m not interrupting anything my lady,” Perci said, trying to cover his momentary discomfort with chivalric courtesy.

  “As a matter of fact,” Leah started, but was cut off by a loud, ominous cracking sound from farther up the road. They all turned to look at the source of the noise.

  A huge cart, laden with tent poles and camp supplies, had cracked its tongue, the long wooden spoke that kept it attached to the team of horses pulling it. The weight shifted on the steep mountain road, and suddenly the wagoner lost control of the reins; the horses, thrown by the sound, reared up and started pulling the wrong way, putting extra tension on the remaining restraints.