Greven shook his head. It was a glorious Blossomtide day, and this meeting had nothing to do with that old fear. Still, he needed to summon his courage to force himself across the threshold of the inn.
Minton Woodlet was not a direct route to anywhere in particular but it did serve as a logical stopping point for anyone heading to or from the island of Medhaven. As he cast a glance around the main front room of the inn, he saw only strangers—all travelers, he assumed—aside from the familiar faces of the people who worked at the inn.
“Ho, Jon,” someone said and Greven looked over to the counter where the innkeeper was drying and lining up cleaned mugs for the day’s ser vice.
“Hello, Derrin.”
“They’re out the back, in the courtyard. Warming their bones, they said.” Derrin smiled. “They said they haven’t seen you for donkey’s anni. Family?”
Greven shook his head. He wanted to say as little as possible about these people he feared. “People I knew when I was very young.”
Innkeeper Derrin nodded. “Plenty to chew the cud over then,” he said. “Shall I send you out a pot of dinch? They’re taking their time over a morning meal.”
Greven nodded. “A strong one.” He moved to the back of the chamber and through a doorway into the back of the property where a picturesque walled courtyard opened up. A small, circular fountain in the middle was the focal point. Around it skipped two children, the boy older than the girl, who was presumably his sister. And sitting at the back wall, talking quietly, was a couple in their middle age. They both stood as Greven walked toward them, and Greven was taken aback to see that they appeared as nervous as he felt.
“I’m Lark.” He pasted an expression of puzzlement on his face. “You asked to see me?”
“Clovis and Reuth Barrow,” the man replied. “These are our children.” He held out his hand.
Greven prided himself on being a good judge of character. The face of the man standing before him struck him as sensitive. Despite his broad chest and height, Clovis Barrow didn’t seem to be in any way threatening. In fact, it was the dark-eyed woman in whom Greven sensed real strength. He shook both of their hands. “Welcome to Minton Woodlet, though what interest it could possibly hold for you I don’t know.” He forced a gentle smile. “This is a very sleepy hamlet.”
His amiable tone broke through the initial tension. “Will you join us?” Reuth said. “We’ve just finished breaking a late fast but—”
“Dinch is on the way,” Greven said reassuringly. Curiously, they sounded more unsure about him than he felt about them. Why would they be so hesitant?
“Please,” Clovis said, gesturing to a third chair at the small table.
“Forgive our mess,” Reuth added, trying to clear away the debris of four meals.
Greven sat, watching his hosts fuss. They were both roughly the same age—the woman slightly older, perhaps—and now that he looked at them more closely he would put them at approaching fifty anni, older than he’d first thought. The woman was silvering at the hairline while the man’s hair and beard were streaked with gray throughout—and yet their children were young. Second marriage, Greven guessed. But what had this family to do with him? He waited, preferring to let them do the talking.
“I know you must be wondering why we asked to see you,” Clovis began.
“I am,” Greven replied.
“Please don’t fear us, Mr. Lark,” Reuth assured, looking at her husband and nodding encouragingly.
“I don’t,” Greven lied.
“We’re not here to cause trouble,” Clovis continued.
“Thank you,” Greven said, determined to give little of himself away.
Reuth looked up as the door into the courtyard banged. “I think your dinch is here, Mr. Lark.”
“Call me Jon,” Greven said, “since apparently we’re all old friends.”
The man and wife nodded, glancing nervously at each other. They were frightened, Greven realized. That made him feel more assured than he’d felt since the moment he’d first received word of being asked after. And Piven was safe in the woods, where no one would find him.
The pot of dinch was served. “Can I get you anything else?” the girl asked his hosts.
They both shook their heads and she smiled sweetly and left. Greven poured from the pot, more for something to do than from a desire to drink. When the couple remained silent, he spoke up boldly.
“Master Clovis, Reuth, I don’t know either of you but I’ve had to pretend I do in order not to confuse the folk I live alongside each day. Now whether you’re from Medhaven or as far flung as Percheron I could not care, but I require an explanation for why you are here, masquerading as old friends.” He sighed. “I don’t care for secrets,” he lied.
Reuth nodded. “Tell him everything, Clovis.”
Clovis cleared his throat and Greven gave the man his full attention, surprised to see the couple give a surreptitious glance around.
“We are alone,” he assured. “What ever you have to say will not be overheard.”
“I was at Brighthelm soon after the invasion of Penraven—so was my wife. We had been rounded up and taken with other Vested to learn our fate. Some of us they wanted, others they killed. There was no way of knowing which we’d be. It was a terrible time,” Clovis said and Reuth placed a hand on his arm. “Anyway,” he continued. “That’s all history. We were saved by a man called Freath—one of the close aides to the Valisars. We never fully appreciated his perilous position and how he endangered his life daily to keep us safe and to protect the Valisar sons.”
“Forgive me. While tragic though it all was, I have to wonder at this point why I’m here…what your story has to do with me,” Greven said, as politely but firmly as he could.
Reuth smiled. “Clovis is always one to tell a story.”
Clovis cleared his throat. “I shall finish it quickly then,” he said but without any offense in his voice. “While Reuth was fortunate to be given an escape route by Freath, I was kept behind and became privy to some of Freath’s plans. I know not only did the heir, Leonel, escape the palace but I also know that the other adopted son who was simple of mind, also somehow got away. He was lost, in fact, for want of a better word. Freath was inconsolable and as I did not have the stomach for his intrigues and what they required, I agreed to leave the relative safety of the palace to find Piven. I found Reuth first but I have never stopped looking for the boy.”
“This is all fascinating, I’ll admit,” Greven said, eyeing the couple, masking his despair with an ingenuous smile and a soft shake of the head. It seemed his fears had finally come home to roost this bright Blossomtide day. “But I fail to see how—”
“The boy you live with is the son of the Valisar royals, isn’t he?” Reuth pressed, leaning forward.
Greven didn’t know how to answer. He froze, searching for the right response that did not incriminate him or Piven.
Clovis sighed. “Master Lark, you should know that as a Master Diviner, my inherent skills have assisted in finding you. But, more importantly, my wife has visions. It was her magic that, after years of me searching, led me to you.”
Greven regarded them both, his face deliberately devoid of expression but his insides churning with anxiety.
“You have nothing to fear from us, Master Lark,” Clovis repeated. “As I explained, it has been my mission for the last decade to find the boy.”
“Why?”
“Do you admit that the child you call Petor is Piven, the invalid adopted son of the Valisars?”
“Absolutely not,” Greven replied, his throat threatening to close on the lie. He filled his lungs with indignation and continued, “This is an outrageous claim and I’ll ask you not to levy such accusations publicly.”
Clovis shook his head. “I only want to protect him. I would do nothing that might bring him harm. I know you wish only the same, which is why you are covering Piven’s true identity.”
“Master Barrow—”
> “May we meet him?” Reuth asked, cutting across Greven’s outrage.
“Pardon?”
“May we meet the boy? Although I only know of the child, Clovis has seen him at close range. He will know him.”
“I have no intention of permitting you to scrutinize my son,” Greven snapped. “How dare you,” he muttered. “How dare you walk into my life like this and make such claims.”
Clovis shook his head with sorrow. “Master Lark, I witnessed many people lose their lives brutally on the order of the barbarian tyrant. Reuth watched her beloved former husband led away to be slaughtered in a dingy courtyard; she could hear his death cries alongside those of the others who posed as Vested. My first wife and my precious infant daughter were hacked to death by the barbarian warrior who calls himself general. Our magnanimous emperor who now masquerades as a just and good ruler stole his crown in a sea of blood, Master Lark. I’m sure you know that.”
Greven nodded unhappily, shocked and helplessly touched by the tale of this pair.
“We have reason to hold a grudge against the tyrant.”
“But what does my son have to do with your mission?” Greven asked carefully.
“If he is your son, then he has nothing to do with us,” Clovis said. “If he is Piven, as we believe he is, then he is integral to the struggle.”
“The struggle? What are you talking about?”
Clovis lowered his voice still further. “To reinstate the true king onto his throne.”
Greven looked back at the intense expressions on the couple’s faces. They were earnest. “Piven?”
“No, Leo,” Clovis said. “We all believe he lives.”
“We?”
“The Vested,” Reuth answered. “Those of us who survived took a marking.” She turned, pulling back her ear and Greven saw a crescent moon marked in ink on her skin. “Master Lark, I should admit to you that my curious and contrary skill is to sense when something bad might occur. It is a strong power when it speaks to me but it speaks rarely. For instance, I knew they were coming for me, even though we had hidden my talent all my life. I also knew my husband would die, no matter what we did to protect him. I sensed that the royal family would suffer—I didn’t see the deaths but I sensed there would be only misery for the Valisars who might survive. And, Master Lark, when you first walked into this courtyard I sensed a terrible foreboding. I don’t know if it is for you, or your son, or whether it is the stars aligning to bring grief to your life but something very bad is going to happen. It is not far away. You should be warned.”
Greven stood. “Stay away from me,” he demanded, pointing his finger at the two of them. “Stay away from Petor.”
Clovis looked past Greven. “You’re alarming our children, Master Lark, and risking drawing attention to yourself.”
“You are strangers in this hamlet. I am not. My son and I have lived here for—”
“Ten anni,” Reuth finished for him, calmly. “Yes, we know. And that’s the exact amount of time that Clovis has been searching for the Valisar child. You forget that we were involved in the struggle for the Valisar survival at the outset. We have never given up our fight to return the rightful king to his throne.”
Greven leaped onto what he thought could be his final diversion. “Except you are ignoring one very important fact.”
“And that is?” Reuth asked.
“You are very clear that the child known as Piven is an invalid.”
Clovis and Reuth nodded. “He never spoke a word, and was very much lost in his mind,” Clovis said.
“Well, for your information, Petor is extremely able. He talks as any normal child of fifteen might talk,” Greven insisted, leaning forward on the table to impress his point. “He is lively and animated.”
Reuth frowned, glancing at her husband.
“Check with the townsfolk if you don’t believe me,” Greven baited. “The child you seek is not my Petor. It’s just an unfortunate coincidence that both boys are the same age.” He could almost see the disappointment emanating from them like a dark cloud.
Clovis sighed. “Still, I would like to see him.”
“I forbid it. You will not frighten my child.”
“Master Lark, how can two people like us with our young family be in any way intimidating?” Reuth asked.
“Well, you’ve done your utmost to intimidate me and I refuse you access to my son, do you hear? Go away and leave us in peace.”
“I cannot,” Clovis said. His voice sounded grave enough to chill Greven. “I gave my word to people who were risking their lives every hour of those terrible days of the overthrow to keep Piven alive. I promised I would find him. I think I have.”
“Go away,” Greven said helplessly. He turned his back on them, calling over his shoulder, “And stay away.”
He threw two trents onto the counter before Innkeeper Derrian Junes and didn’t pause to exchange pleasantries. He was gone in seconds, striding out of the Grape and Whistle and hurrying as fast as his long legs could carry him toward the forest, where the trees swallowed him up and, he hoped, could hide him.
Five
Piven waited for Greven. He had filled the small sack near to brimming with fungi that would need to dry out on the hut’s windowsill, and it was now duly laid out as Greven liked. Life with Greven had been tranquil, mostly serene. Each day was similar to the previous. And he liked it that way. He liked its order, its sameness…its predictability. He didn’t call Greven “Father” couldn’t call him by that name, much as he knew Greven would like him to, because he remembered King Brennus too clearly. He belonged to the royal family of Valisars—that could and would never change for him. He never wondered about his blood parents, refused to accept that somewhere in the Set a woman who had birthed him might still live or a man who had sired him might roam.
The raven had lingered, staying close as he busied himself finding the elusive fungi. He wondered if the bird—who he felt sure knew things—had sensed his change occurring. He knew Vyk could hear him; imagined the bird was capable of replying somehow, but that it had chosen not to communicate with him since he’d begun to talk. One day it would—of this he was sure. And so he talked, over his shoulder, never tiring of hearing his own voice, which had been silent for so long.
“…and should be back soon if you’re wondering,” he said, laying out the fungi beneath the warmth of the sun. “You’ll be surprised when you see him. His face, body, arms are now all clear of the sores. The leprosy will have left him by the rise of the next full moon. It’s my greatest achievement yet,” he murmured, not meaning to boast but needing to say it aloud, to affirm his new talent.
“I told you about the dreams,” he continued. “Strange ones. People are hunting me. I don’t know them but they want to use me and I don’t know how or why.” Piven turned. “Are you faithful to Loethar, or faithful to me? Until I know, I can’t fully trust you with my secrets. One day you must choose, you know that, don’t you?” He dragged back the flop of hair that had covered part of his face as he turned to look at the bird. “You will need to choose,” he said softly.
“Who are you talking to?” Piven turned to see Greven approaching up the small incline that led to their hut. The man smiled. “Ah, Vyk. Long life to you. Good to see you back.” Then he gave a feigned sound of disgust. “Piven, I’m as bad as you, talking to the bird. Well done, my boy, that’s a very good haul,” he congratulated, spying the neat row of fungi lined up. “Excellent, excellent. Now, child, I want to talk to you about something.”
“Oh?”
“We need to move on,” Greven continued conversationally. “I’m bored with this place, aren’t you? Perhaps we could look at Gormand, or Cremond, get lost in and around Lo’s Teeth or the Dragonsback Mountains. That would be quite an exciting trip. What do you say?”
Piven’s expression turned to one of puzzlement. “Why?”
Greven looked surprised. “Why not, I say? Don’t you want to see more of the world?”
Piven shook his head. “I want to stay here. It’s peaceful.”
“True,” Greven replied, thoughtfully. “But we can find other tranquil spots.”
“Who are we running from?”
“No one,” Greven replied firmly and too quickly, Piven thought. Then his long-time companion seemed to reconsider his suggestion. “There’s no reason to move permanently. How about some travel? I think it’s high time I gave you an education about this fair land. It’s safe now to roam through the realms and we can do so easily enough—thanks to you that Bonny’s well. We can even use some savings to buy a mule…or even a horse and cart.” He sounded excited but Piven heard panic driving Greven’s enthusiasm. “What do you say, eh? Are you ready for an adventure, boy?”
“When?”
“No time like the present. Come on, let’s pack up a few things. We won’t need very much. We can close up the hut and go.”
“What about Belle?”
“We can leave a message for Jenna. She can take Belle down to her parents’ place when she picks up the next crate of herbals for her father’s apothecary.”
“Who will tend the fungi?”
Greven looked up to the sky momentarily as if to calm his patience, then back at Piven. “Come on, don’t put up barriers. Let’s just pack a few essentials and be gone this night.”
“You’ve always said never to travel at night unless you’re on the run.”
He watched Greven wrestle his exasperation back under control. This man he loved smiled gently. “I did, didn’t I? All right, why don’t we leave in the morning? How does that sound?”
Piven didn’t think it sounded good at all but he had little choice, for Greven seemed filled with a fierce drive to be gone. Already he was beginning to tidy the few items that had been left outside around the front patch of garden. Switching topics, even though he knew that lack of protest would be taken as his agreement to leave, Piven asked, “What happened in town today?”
Tyrant’s Blood Page 6