Royal Exile

by Fiona McIntosh

  Stracker nodded. “Totally, in all realms. All weapons have already been confiscated, all senior members are dead. There will be no opposition. They’re still trying to clear their dead!”

  “Good. Then begin with the army sons just to make sure they understand that it is our rule now. You will move in one rolling cull, starting in Penraven and moving into the other realms until the prince is found. Once that is done, the numbers of boys in the prince’s age range will be all but annihilated. Those remaining will stick out like a pimple on the nose and can be dealt with swiftly. Stracker, remember that people are extremely resourceful. Once word gets out of the slaughter, they will do everything to protect their children. Some boys will be turned into girls overnight; others will be sent off into remote areas, certainly to the coast to find any seaworthy vessel. They will wear false beards or will miraculously age. Our men need to be vigilant, so lead by example. We cannot expect you to catch all in your net but those who remain will have to go to ground and then we can begin to hunt him more methodically with a lot less chance for him to disappear into the cities or villages posing as some peasant.”

  Stracker nodded. “I get you.”

  “Heed me. Don’t waste time making these boys suffer. We’re using shock tactics. We need this to be a hard, fast strike to do away with as many potential King Leonels as possible. The less you play, the more vicious it will feel. You must put the fear of the barbarians into these people once again, so that they have no dreams of rebellion to cling to.”

  Negev was frowning. “But the prince could simply hide.”

  “Yes he could,” Loethar replied. “But he will need to be awfully patient and at his age he probably won’t be. Not unless he receives a lot of help from others. And that’s how we will catch him. If others are involved, the secret is shared. And we all know what happens once a secret is shared. Tongues will wag. Information can be bought.”

  “You want me to put a price on his head?” Stracker asked.

  “No. Money only goes so far when it comes to betrayals of this nature. I am talking about a blood price. The killing of the Set’s young males will be the first warning, will set the scene, shall we say. After that, we will threaten to kill every male child over the age of eleven and under the age of eighteen summertides if Leonel is not yielded by the thaw. The people will already be mourning a lost son and the thought of losing another will very quickly loosen tongues. Believe me, someone somewhere will have knowledge of something—a chance sighting, a whispered rumor here, an overheard conversation there. The moment Leonel declares who he is to one other person, we have a chance of catching him.”

  Stracker exploded into delighted laughter. “Never let it be said that your mind wasn’t capable of great evil, Loethar.”

  His mother’s eyebrows arched and she looked suitably admonished. “Inspired. A way to completely terrify the population as well as make the boy feel utterly conspicuous simply by remaining alive. Those with family will yield the boy without hesitation if it means their precious sons will survive.”

  “Exactly,” Loethar said, satisfied. He turned away to scratch Vyk’s head. “Incidentally,” he added, “if the prince is found, the killing stops. It’s important we keep faith. I want the people to feel the ruthlessness when called for, but also the fairness of my rule if they obey.”

  “You see, Stracker, this is why Loethar is emperor, and you are not.”

  Negev’s eldest son didn’t seem offended by the insult. “So long as he keeps giving me tasks like this, he can remain emperor.”

  Loethar paused at his half-brother’s words but almost immediately returned his attention to the raven. The wording of Stracker’s reply was revealing, he thought.

  His mother interrupted his quiet moment. “And what will you do, Loethar, in the meantime?”

  He sighed, turned back to face them. “I’m not sure. I’m half tempted to take a lone and very unannounced ride around this realm, possibly the Set.”

  “What? But that would take months, at least!”

  He shrugged. “This is my empire. And there is not much to do in these early days of settling the realms down—the Set will probably run itself easily without me, with you supervising.”

  At this her expression became smug. “Please take that endlessly grinning creature with you. He is too strange for my tastes.”

  Loethar pulled on the leash and Piven turned his grin on his new master, then strained toward Vyk.

  “Perhaps I will.”

  “And Valya?”

  “Where is Valya?”

  “Riding,” Stracker answered.

  “I have no idea what to do about Valya. Marry her, I suppose—it may shut her up.”

  Fifteen

  As the barbarians were plotting his death, the king and his legate were running.

  “Do you know your way?” Gavriel asked, worried.

  “I’m taking us to where the weapons are stored. There aren’t many but there’s a selection. We can grab the bow, rope, arrows, swords—enough for two people certainly,” Leo said quietly over his shoulder.

  “Wait, Leo. I need to say something.”

  The king turned. “You can’t talk me out of it. I know what you’re going to say.”

  “It’s a flawed plan, your majesty.”

  “It’s all we have. I don’t intend to spend another night in this forsaken ingress. I suppose you want me to watch Piven die next?”

  Gavriel knew the youngster didn’t mean to hurt him but his words stung all the same. “Then you have me all wrong.”

  “Gav, I—”

  “No, you must listen to me. You are king. But you are not in charge here. I admire your courage but we are not going to make a suicidal attempt to—”

  Leo’s expression adopted a new set of shadows as his face darkened. “Maybe you are not going to make that attempt but I intend to, with or without you, and you can live with the knowledge that you were too cowardly.”

  Gavriel refused to rise to the bait. “Leo, I swear if I have to sit on you or tie you up, you are not going to climb down from the rooftops. I’m sorry to be so blunt about this but your father and your mother have died to keep you alive and—” He stopped, his attention momentarily caught. “Have we been down this part of the ingress before?” he suddenly asked, frowning and reaching for the candle that Leo was swinging rather angrily, its flame flickering dangerously.

  “No. I have brought you down a new corridor to get to the weapons.”

  “Give me the candle,” Gavriel asked.

  Leo did so sulkily. “You’ll have to tie me up, then.”

  “With the deepest respect, shut up, your majesty,” Gavriel replied as he swung the light toward the wall, squinting as he bent to look. “What’s this?”

  The king turned and reluctantly bent to look as well. His head twisted on a slight angle as he considered it, their disagreement forgotten for a moment. “I’ve never seen that before.”

  “Whose drawing is it?”

  Leo shook his head. “It must be father’s but it doesn’t look like his markings.”

  “It doesn’t look aged enough to be Cormoron’s, or even from recent history. And why is it drawn so low on the wall?”

  Leo shrugged. He rubbed at the markings. “The chalk is reasonably fresh, definitely not Cormoron’s or any of our ancestors. Father preferred charcoal. And I never used yellow chalk like this. I always had white chalk from the Garun cliffs.”

  “Yes, that’s what I thought. So you don’t recognize even what it signifies?”

  Leo blew out a breath. “Well, let me see.” He bent closer, scrutinizing the drawing. “Actually it’s very good, very clear. Here,” he pointed, “is where we’ve spent most of our time.”

  “Your father’s salon,” Gavriel said, to be sure.

  “Correct. And here,” he traced a line with his finger, “is a branch of the ingress I don’t know but we can find easily enough if we commit this pathway,” he traced it again, “to memory.�
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  “But what is it a map of?” Gavriel said, waving his hand across the clearly marked channels. “It doesn’t look like the ingress any more.”

  “No, you’re right.”

  “Can we take a look down that pathway?”

  The king gave him a long hard look of unbridled exasperation.

  “I know. But you’d agree it appears authentic, whatever it is.”

  Leo nodded. “It looks very genuine. But look at these signs. I don’t know what they mean.”

  Gavriel squinted. “Those blobs?”

  “Yes. I count four of them.”

  “Let’s go find out. How long do you imagine it would take us to get to this point once we’ve grabbed some weapons?” Gavriel asked, his finger resting on what looked to be the ochre blob closest to the king’s salon.

  Leo pulled a face of uncertainty. “I honestly can’t tell you. I can’t imagine this map is drawn to any sort of scale. None of them are. They are meant to be simply a directional guide.”

  “Then we must commit it to memory. How about if we try this and if we fail then we work out a way to go off the roof tonight.”

  “De Vis, I’m going off the roof tonight come what may.”

  “We’ll see. Indulge my curiosity for now.”

  Leo sighed. “Follow me.”

  Freath stared at the two men, still ashen from his most recent task. Beside him stood Genrie.

  “Why are we here?” Kirin asked, looking around nervously.

  “The chapel is the most private place I could find at short notice. Father Briar has offered to keep watch,” Freath replied.

  “What for?” Clovis asked, worried.

  “For anyone loyal to Loethar,” Freath answered softly.

  At his words both Vested balked. They regarded him with fresh suspicion and each looked reluctant to say anything.

  “You’ve met Genrie. She is loyal to us,” Freath continued.

  “Us?”

  “Those who would see King Leonel on Penraven’s throne.”

  “What?” Clovis roared. “Wait, this isn’t making sense. Kirin, it’s a trick.”

  “It will make sense if you’ll keep your voice down. In fact, stop talking,” Genrie said, irritated. “Just listen to what Master Freath has to say.”

  “You’re loyal to the Valisars?” Kirin asked, obviously stunned.

  Freath nodded. “We’re all there is. No one else—save Father Briar—can be trusted. And I mean no one but Genrie and myself.”

  “But you…” Clovis began, frowning. His voice trailed off as he glanced between the two palace servants.

  “I had to,” Freath said quietly. “It was the only way.”

  “To what?” Kirin demanded.

  Freath straightened. “To infiltrate our enemy. King Brennus demanded it of me; the queen refused my offers to help her escape before the barbarian took her captive. I was given very strict orders by the king to give the impression that I was a traitor.”

  “You’ve been lying?” Clovis said, aghast.

  Genrie sighed. “Well, that took a while for the trent to drop. We’ve both been lying, Master Clovis.”

  “But all those people who died?” Clovis continued.

  “Could not be helped,” Freath said, genuinely disturbed. “I tried to save those I could.”

  “Such as whom?” Clovis sneered. “All I saw were innocents being carted off to be murdered.”

  “Whatever you think, Master Freath is walking an incredibly dangerous path and no one is safe, least of all him,” Genrie said sharply.

  Clovis opened his mouth to reply but Freath held up his hand. “Master Clovis, believe me when I say that I have many lives on my conscience—Lo forgive me for her majesty’s death—but I need to explain—”

  “Wait!” Kirin demanded. “What do you mean? The queen is dead?”

  Genrie nodded miserably and Freath sighed audibly. “Not long ago.”

  “How?” Kirin asked.

  “I killed her,” Freath replied, his voice raw with anguish. “There was no choice—I had to in order to save her any further degradation at the hands of the barbarians. She made me become her executioner in order to preserve the fragile shield I currently have.”

  “She asked you to kill her so that it looked right?” Kirin repeated, incredulous.

  “Queen Iselda wanted to die, Master Kirin. But she wanted her death to aid our cause.” Freath felt the weight of his grief settle around his shoulders once again.

  “Listen to me, both of you,” Genrie snapped. “Our queen bought us security in a single courageous act…and don’t for one moment think it didn’t take an equal amount of courage for Master Freath to hurl her from the window of her apartment!”

  “Hardly equal,” Freath muttered sorrowfully. “The bravery was all hers. I threw her to her death feeling only fear.”

  Clovis spun away to bang his fist against the wall. “I don’t believe he’s lying,” Kirin said. “Although I have barely touched him.”

  “Did you—?” Freath asked, horrified.

  “I used barely a dribble,” Kirin grumbled, a mixture of distress and anger mingling in his voice. “If I pry I can tell a lot more about you than you’d perhaps want. I sense, however, from the trickle, that you are being straight with us. Although a good liar can elude me if I don’t use my full power.”

  Freath’s brow creased to form a single angry vertical line just above the bridge of his nose. “You didn’t need to level your magic against me, Master Kirin. I give you my word I will always be straight with you.”

  “That is as may be,” Clovis said, indignation spicing his tone, “but you have given us nothing with which to trust you. So far we have only seen you be a puppet for the barbarian.”

  “Open that door, Master Clovis,” Freath said gruffly.

  “Why?”

  “Just do as I say.”

  Kirin moved more quickly, wrenching back the small oak door to reveal a huddle of people in the tiny adjoining chamber. “Clovis!” a familiar voice called.

  “Reuth! You’re all alive,” Clovis breathed.

  “The few of us that Master Freath could save,” she said, smiling tentatively at the former royal aide. “Thank you again.”

  Freath gave a small shake of his head. “I didn’t do enough,” he muttered and he turned away, ignoring Genrie’s reassuring touch on his arm.

  “Where’s the girl? The blood diviner?” Kirin asked, frowning.

  “We lost her,” the boy said. “The soldiers wanted her. He offered her,” he said, scowling.

  Kirin glanced at Freath who nodded, eyes closed momentarily in prayer for the girl’s memory. “I had to let them have her in order to save this many. I’m sorry. None of my choices have been without their cost. They think all of you have perished.”

  “Why, though?” Kirin demanded.

  “Stracker believed his men dealt with everyone here but I told one of the senior men I’d take care of it, offering them the girl as a plaything. He didn’t even hesitate and I’m taking the chance that he won’t even mention to his brute of a superior that he left the killing to me. They’re burning bodies tonight and I’ll just say I threw all of you into the pit if asked.”

  Everyone fell momentarily quiet. Finally, Kirin spoke into the awkward silence. “Perhaps we should all introduce ourselves?”

  “Good idea,” Freath agreed. “Everyone’s been sworn to silence in that cupboard until now.”

  “I’m Tolt,” the boy said, looking around. “I dreamed some of this—not quite the same—but it had many similarities. If I had more experience at it, I’d probably have been able to interpret it.”

  “Hello, Tolt,” Kirin said, smiling gently. “And you?” he said, pointing to a woman.

  “I’m Eyla,” she replied softly, nervously. “I do my best as a healer.”

  Kirin gave her an encouraging glance. He looked at the old man next to her. “Ah, you are the one who can help things to grow.”

 
The man nodded self-consciously. “Torren is my name.”

  “I’m Kes,” a young man said. “I can change the shape of my body.”

  “The contortionist,” Freath muttered. “Is that magic?”

  The boy grinned. “I’ll say.”

  Everyone found a sad smile at his confidence. “You are the woman who can talk to animals, if I’m not mistaken?” Kirin continued.

  She shrugged. “I understand our creatures. They seem to understand me,” she answered cryptically. “I am called Hedray.”

  Kirin turned to a willowy young woman with her face partially covered by a shawl, her head wrapped severely in a scarf. “What is your power?” Kirin asked gently.

  The woman remained silent.

  “She hasn’t said anything to anyone,” Tolt explained.

  Kirin reached for her hand but she pulled hers back, afraid. “I won’t hurt you,” he assured. “We are here because we trust each other and we will have to look after one another. All of these people are your friends. I am your friend. I am Kirin and I can see things in people. Over here,” he said, pointing, “is Clovis. Clovis can see things too but not about people so much as events—how situations may turn out.”

  The girl looked up at them all through large, soft gray eyes. “I am Perl,” she finally said, allowing her gaze to travel briefly around before resting on Kirin. “I don’t wish to say any more.”

  Kirin nodded. “In your own time, Perl.”

  “And I am Reuth,” the final Vested spoke up. “I suffer visions of foreboding. I never know the details, only that something bad is going to happen. It is a contrary gift, revealing itself in strange ways that I can’t really explain. But it is accurate.”

  Freath frowned. “Have we also lost the boy who reads runes?”

  Everyone frowned, trying to remember him.

  “You’re right,” Clovis admitted. “He was in the holding place when we were first grouped. I don’t remember his coming to the chamber when Master Freath interviewed us.” The others seemed to agree, shrugging and nodding.

  “And this is Genrie,” Freath said. “Without her none of you would be alive. She is my eyes and my ears whenever I cannot see or listen. She is loyal to the crown, loyal to all Penravians—as am I. Our king and queen are both dead, as is the legate.” He ignored their gasps, knowing he could not spare them the shock. “The newborn princess is dead, and already cremated, while the youngest prince, Piven, is in the custody of Loethar. We have no idea what the barbarian’s plans are for him. But—”