“It’s true,” Kirin continued. “I had to re-learn my name, I didn’t recognize friends. I was young and I think because I was still growing my body seemed to work out how to heal but the sage warned me that it could not repair itself indefinitely.”
“So you haven’t used your full power since you were ten?”
Kirin nodded. “I use only part of it. I made a promise to the seer, to my parents, to myself. I’ve had no need to make full use of it. Call me odd but I’m just not curious by nature. And now that I’m older and can see how sinister it is, I have no desire to make full use of it. It’s been so long I probably can’t even remember how to use it.” He gave a soft deprecating chuckle, and then his face darkened. “No, that’s not true. I can never forget how to use it. But I have no need for it. I can resist it. It doesn’t call to me and sometimes I can forget that it’s even there.”
“So, what, this other stuff you do is a different sort of magic?”
“I have simply learned how to borrow from the real source. It’s as though I have a secondary link to it—a far less dangerous one—that allows me to siphon off some of the power. It doesn’t hurt me too much this way and when I was younger I earned a living with the gypsies—you know, telling people how many fingers they had up when I had my back to them, or which card they’d touched on the table.” He laughed mirthlessly. “It wasn’t a career but it was a living. More recently I’ve settled down in Cremond at the Academy of Learning.”
Clovis was impressed. The Academy at Cremond was effectively the seat of learning for the whole Set. All the talented young scholars ultimately passed through the doors of the Academy on their way to being physics, astronomers, poets, artists, mathematicians. “You’re a teacher?”
Kirin shook his head. “No, but I helped students to discover what they would be good at learning. Some came in believing themselves to be excellent at arithmetic and I could tell after not very long in their company that they might be more suited to astronomy, or another may have wanted to pursue literature and yet I could tell very quickly that he has the hands and the mind to be a great physician. Often just talking to them will reveal much of this but a trickle of my magic is always especially helpful.” Kirin sighed. “I liked my job. It was well paid and solid. I loved the quiet of the Academy and the joy of being around learned people. It seems even using just a shred of my power has incriminated me with the barbarians.”
“I’m intrigued. You said everyone is different?”
“Yes, of course.”
“So some people are very open to your power.”
“Mmm yes, from what I can recall some are transparent, others can be murky…silent, as I said.”
“Do those people not think?” Clovis asked, stretching.
Kirin put his head to one side as he considered the question. “They think, but their thoughts are buried deeper. As an adult now I think I can understand that they may wish to hide things from themselves. They may also be adept at shielding their thoughts.”
“But why shield private thoughts?”
Again Kirin shrugged. “Some people are very private. They don’t want their facial expressions to reflect what’s on their mind, so they teach themselves how to separate the two. I could take cues from both, of course and with the right questioning to someone who is not suspicious, I feel sure I would know what is prevalent in his mind. And then there are others still who are genuinely blank, maybe through age or illness. But I would be able to sense that instantly.”
“Does the work at the Academy ever get you into trouble?”
“I’m very careful. My employers simply believe I am a skilled scout. And Clovis, as I’ve warned, very few people know what I can really do. I’m sure you’ve gathered that it’s not something I am especially proud of—no one likes an eavesdropper.”
“Unless they can use you for something they need to hear, of course,” Clovis qualified.
“That’s right, and that’s the time when it would feel most wrong, somehow shameful. But after what’s been happening, perhaps I can put it to some good use at last.”
Clovis shook his head. “So you’re going to bring down the barbarian all on your own with your hidden talent, eh?”
“I’m not delusional,” Kirin admonished, his tone suggesting that his companion’s constant disdain was wearing thin. “But I don’t intend to help him ruin the Set either. I don’t want to die. And neither should you; you have more to gain by taking revenge. I’m going to be clever about this, that’s all.”
Clovis turned to fully face his new friend now. He scratched his beard. “Tell me.”
A sly grin stole across Kirin’s face for a moment, before he looked quickly around, banishing it. He spoke softly. “They’re not keeping us alive out of charity. My guess is that the marauders want to make use of us as you rightly assume—why else would they be gathering all the Vested? If Loethar was scared of magic, he’d be killing us. Why keep us alive? Why march us across the Set, adding more to our number as we move around the conquered realms? He has a plan for us. We can work against it from within.”
“Spy, you mean?”
Kirin stood, wiping his dusty hands on his trousers. “Of a fashion.”
Clovis joined him, stretching his legs. “For whom? Who’s left to spy on behalf of, to fight for?”
“We’ll find someone. Ourselves if we have to. But we cannot capitulate, especially those of us who do possess magic. The fact is we’re off to Penraven, the seat of power for the entire Set. It’s the right place to be for any sort of uprising.”
“Uprising?” Clovis hissed. “Your mind is definitely damaged. You sure you haven’t been prying lately?”
Kirin scowled at him. “Do you want my friendship or not?”
Clovis felt abashed, ashamed that he was behaving so uncharitably to a fellow who had done plenty in these last few days to keep his spirits up and keep him eating. “Forgive me.”
Kirin sighed. “As far as our enemies are concerned, you should claim to tell the future…badly, is that fair?” Clovis nodded. “And I, well, I simply do parlor tricks that are one part low-level magic and nine parts misdirection. All right?”
Clovis nodded. For the first time since he’d lost his family, he felt as though there was a reason to be breathing. Kirin was right—it felt good to fight back, even if it was only with words right now. He spat on his hand and extended it. “To an uprising.”
Kirin followed suit, spitting on his hand before clasping it to Clovis’s, grabbing for the chain with his other hand to stop the noise. “To secrets,” he murmured. “Come, let’s see if there’s any stray food around to fill empty but newly courageous bellies.”
Clovis fell into step alongside him, the chains around their feet clanking as the irons rubbed mercilessly at their ankles.
Eight
There was nowhere to run and Gavriel’s mind was racing. He didn’t know his way around these dark, narrow concealed corridors and he was afraid that they would be trapped by their own ingenuity. Something inside him, however, snapped back to a more primitive place, turning the hot fear from Freath’s betrayal into a cooler fury where his inner voice said: Come and find me, Loethar. I won’t give myself to you.
And so they waited, tense and alert for the first sounds of the intruders’ arrival. Gavriel held Leo tightly by his side and held his breath while doggedly keeping the barbarian in view through the cunningly placed peepholes. Loethar paced as the raven watched him silently from the top of the stone mantelpiece. In Gavriel’s heart a faint hope began to flare. Surely they would be upon them by now? But no one had come, not even the sound of boots running along these secret passages.
Suddenly the door to the royal chamber burst open and Stracker returned triumphantly, dragging Freath by his robe. “Nothing!” he spat. “As I presumed, empty promises!”
Gavriel couldn’t believe it. He watched Loethar’s gaze slide from Stracker to Freath. “Well?”
Freath shrugged himself free of
the Right’s grip, and again very deliberately pulled his clothes straight. “They are not there,” he said, looking unperturbed.
“Where exactly did you think they were, Freath?” “There is a small, very well concealed corridor from the cellars that leads to a secret chamber. It was a place I knew your men were unlikely to find quickly or at all, but the De Vis boy would certainly know about it.” He shrugged once more. “It was worth a try.”
“Shall I kill him now?” Stracker asked.
Loethar studied Freath, who—to his credit, Gavriel noticed—did not flinch beneath the barbarian’s dark gaze. “No,” he said finally. “We wouldn’t have known about the secret corridor had he not told us and I agree, it would have been a logical place to run to.” Gavriel watched Stracker’s face flicker with disappointment and although Freath tried to disguise it, Gavriel saw the betrayer softly swallow his relief.
Loethar turned back to the royal aide. “Are there any other secret chambers or places that you know about within the palace?”
Freath shook his head. “Not secret, no. There are plenty of hiding spots and I’ll be happy to hunt those all down with a couple of your guards if you wish, sire?”
Gavriel felt Leo’s body relax beneath his hand. The boy looked up and in the very dim light Gavriel could see the prince’s eyes glittering with triumph. “I knew he didn’t know. He knows nothing,” he whispered, venom in his words. “Now I have another enemy.”
Gavriel nodded, unprepared for the ferocity of the youngster’s tone. He looked back into the king’s chamber.
“Are you really going to trust him?” Stracker was asking, surprised.
Loethar nodded. “Why not? He’s a fawning parasite with no loyalties. So long as he’s useful to me he does not trouble me.” The leader tipped his head slightly to one side, regarding Freath. “And who knows what information he may yet share with us.” Freath gave a gracious nod but said nothing. “In the morning when the prisoners arrive, let him have his choice, as promised.”
Gavriel could see that Stracker struggled to keep his anger in check.
Loethar continued in his curiously quiet but nonetheless intense manner. “Is my dinner ready?”
“Close, I imagine,” Stracker replied.
“If it is, have the queen sent down to join me. Good evening, Freath. Enjoy your sleep. I’m afraid Stracker will want to post a guard but you are free to come and go around the palace, providing you do not mind a shadow for the time being.”
“As you wish, sire. Thank you.”
Freath was led away, Stracker stomping ahead.
Gavriel finally let go of Leo. For the first time since arriving in the ingress he felt relatively safe, almost calm. It was now clear that no one knew they were here and it was unlikely they would be discovered by anything but their own stupidity. If they remained alert and smart about everything they did over the coming days, perhaps an escape plan could be hatched.
Loethar was glad to see the back of Stracker, whose penchant for violence simmered only barely below the surface of his skin. So far it hadn’t mattered; Stracker had been a boon, his naked savagery impressing the barbarian horde, inspiring it at times. But now that the realms were under their control, it was time for consolidation. The Set needed a chance to take stock of its own weak circumstances, to realize that there were no kings running their individual realms any longer, that there was now only one ruler…him. He had no plans for ruination but the people of the Denova Set must understand that their livelihoods and security depended entirely upon acceptance.
He stroked Vyk’s head as he spoke his thoughts aloud. It was only with Vyk that he could ever be entirely honest, fully himself. “They’ll be frightened, suspicious, angry at first. I don’t doubt there will even be thoughts of rebellion in small pockets but we’ll search them out and stamp on them as soon as they flicker into life.”
The raven blinked and turned its head slightly as though listening carefully.
“And ultimately they’ll learn to do it my way—the way it should always have been, eh, Vyk?” The bird shivered slightly, flashing the almost metallic black-blue of its feathers. “Bloodshed was the only way.” Loethar looked around. “We had to teach them the ultimate lesson…the truth behind the lies.”
Gavriel was yawning, only half listening to Loethar’s soft words. He glanced at Leo, noting that the boy’s eyelids were already heavy and he suspected the youngster would drift away in the next few minutes, for which he was grateful. They had both seen enough blood and chaos, both felt enough hurt and experienced enough violence in the day gone to last a lifetime. He hoped Lo would spare Leo bad dreams this night and simply allow the boy his rest. And he, too, needed a quiet mind, free from the brutal images and his spiralling despair, to anchor him into some clear thought. Plans had to be made. He’d ignored the barbarian for the last few minutes but his attention was arrested from his own thoughts by Loethar’s last comment to the raven. How odd that this man felt so close to a dumb bird…even a dog found a way to communicate with its master but no raven was ever going to share any emotional attachment or give anything back. Perhaps that was the point, Gavriel decided. Loethar was surrounded by people keen to please. The raven might as well have been a stone wall for all it gave back, but it was a living creature…maybe that was all the barbarian needed for company, a silent companion that asked for nothing.
Gavriel frowned as he watched Loethar take the bird to the window, allowing it to launch itself from the palace. He heard the barbarian tell it not to get lost and then chuckle to himself.
What had he meant about the truth behind the lies? Gavriel yawned silently again as he watched the lean man pour himself a goblet of wine and sigh after he swallowed the first sip. This was the first time he’d really focused on the leader’s appearance rather than his actions. For someone who was chief of the marauders he was not especially imposing. Yes, he was tall, but he didn’t seem to capitalize on his height by drawing attention to himself. Where Stracker displayed his rippling muscles, Loethar was doing a good job of hiding them—if they even existed—on a narrow, almost hollow-looking frame. Gavriel wondered what it was about Loethar that impressed his people, impressed the men of his land enough to go to war against the Set. Loethar didn’t possess the instantly seductive charm of Brennus. He bore none of the distinctive tatua that Gavriel had heard were common to the barbarian army. His black hair was lank and flowing freely; his beard was long, unkempt, and covered most of his face. He jangled as he moved due to all the silver rings and jewellery that hung from his ears, lips, and nose. He didn’t speak with a booming voice; he didn’t say much at all, in fact, and he certainly revealed as little about himself as possible…except perhaps to the wretched raven.
But there was an intensity to the man, Gavriel had to admit. Something genuinely charismatic about him when he spoke in that restrained manner of his, and together with that uncompromising stare, he was compelling. He certainly seemed to have Stracker under control—but why? Stracker was almost twice Loethar’s build and could easily, Gavriel imagined, pound the man into a blob with his bare fists. What influence did Loethar have over these primitive people?
He glanced once again at Loethar, now slumped in a high-backed chair, his goblet empty and tipped aside in his lap, and watched the usurper scratch at his horrible beard. The quiet scene was disturbed by a knock at the door, followed by Stracker’s entrance with the queen.
Gavriel saw a glance pass between the two men. “Where is the boy?” Loethar asked as he stood.
“On his way down,” Stracker answered. “He has been washed and tidied…and yes, his bloodied shirt is back on his body.”
Iselda winced. “What do you want me for?”
“I thought you might care to take supper with me. You must be hungry.”
She looked at him, astonished. “No, I think my belly is the last thing on my mind.” She gasped when Piven arrived, carried by Freath. “Why is he…?” She didn’t finish.
But Freath guessed her question all the same. With a glance toward the barbarian leader he addressed his former queen. “Iselda, your son now belongs to Loethar. Pet Piven is his new title. He is to permanently wear the shirt that bears the blood of his father as a constant reminder.”
“Of what?” Iselda whispered, horror spreading across her beautiful, pale face.
Freath looked to Loethar.
“Of whatever the blood reminds him in his locked mind, madam,” Loethar replied. “But for me it will be a reminder that all that is left of the Valisar line is this pathetic, mad, bloodstained child.”
Iselda’s lips trembled but to her credit and to Gavriel’s everlasting pride, she held her head high, refusing the tears that threatened. “You suit your name, you know that? I don’t know what it means in your primitive culture but in our sophisticated one, the name Loethar—though so ancient as to be almost dead—means betrayer or evil one.”
“Ah,” Loethar said. A glimmer of a smile flashed. “That’s where I must correct you, Iselda. It means no such thing. Your bastardization has tarnished what was once a very proud name of your people. In its original form of Lowther, it actually means ‘true.’ But over the centuries it was lost, changed, and somehow got itself corrupted to Loethar. Because of the old word ‘loe’ people believe it means to betray. But it doesn’t mean betrayer, Iselda. Even in the more modern form it means—”
“I didn’t come here for a history lesson, barbarian,” the queen sneered. “In any language it would mean the lowest of life to me.” She deliberately looked away from him to her aide. “Freath, you’ve had Piven in your care obviously?”
“I bathed him,” Freath answered and Gavriel noticed the aide no longer used her title.
“And you did not drown my helpless son? You did not save him from this…this animal?” she hurled at him.
“No,” he answered, seemingly unaffected by her emotional tirade. “Why would I?”
“Freath!” she gasped again. “For my sake, of course! And to save him any pain or humiliation at the marauder’s hands.”
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