They had not exchanged words for some time now.
Finally Greven stirred. “Why did you do this?” he growled, his good hand pushing the tears off his cheeks, as though he hated himself for that sign of weakness.
“You know why,” Piven replied, not looking at him.
Between them in the fire lay Greven’s hand. Greven struggled not to look at it, as each time he glanced at it he felt the bile rising.
“Why don’t you tell me all the same?” he said.
Piven sighed. “It’s pointless. We both understand what this is about. I can’t be sure but I think even Vyk does too. Perhaps you’re the attraction rather than me.”
“He’s here for you alone,” Greven said with no sense of doubt in his voice. “But I want to hear it from you.”
Piven turned. “How’s the pain?”
“How do you think?”
The youth shrugged. “I’m hoping it’s bearable. On my way back from Green Herbery I followed a stream. Along its banks were some white willows and I grabbed some of the bark to boil with staren flowers that I found over there,” he said, nodding his head toward the forest.
“So you were very well prepared,” Greven said, unable to disguise his anger.
Piven ignored it. “While you were skinning the rabbits, I prepared a liquor, much of which I poured down your throat when you passed out. That accounts for the stains on your shirt, if you’re wondering.”
“Why don’t you just take my pain away?” Greven sneered.
Piven checked his bandaging for any leakage but Greven snatched his arm away. Piven looked up at him. “I told you, it has to be natural, or it won’t work.”
“What won’t work?”
Piven sat back. “That should do it,” he said, concern in his voice.
“What won’t work?” Greven repeated icily.
“The magic I need to draw from you.”
Greven gave a snort of disdain. “You’ve mutilated me for nothing, Piven. You’re delusional.”
Piven eyed him before shifting his gaze to the scorched hand that lay in the flames, bubbling and blackened. “Let’s see, shall we.” Using a stick, he flicked the ugly mass onto the grass. “It doesn’t take much.”
“Piven, don’t,” Greven warned.
“But you’re not a believer. I want to prove it.”
“Don’t do it.”
“I have to.”
“No! Turn away from it.”
“I’ve tried. But I’m already evil. Can’t you see it? But what ever it is, this darkness has claimed me. Now I need protection.”
Greven’s tears arrived anew. He shook his head as fresh rivulets formed on his cheeks. “If you pursue this, I am lost.”
Piven ignored his plea. “I’m glad you don’t deny me any longer; how you resisted me for so long is a miracle. Fear not, now we will always be together.”
“Hating each other,” Greven snarled.
Piven poked at the smoking hand. “The hate would be only one way. Toward me. I don’t hate you, Greven. I could never hate you.”
Greven retched as he watched the child he loved tear off a piece of cooked flesh from the severed hand. To add to his horror, the raven swooped down to land near the appendage, which now looked like a blistered claw.
“Our companion may like to try some too,” Piven said lightly but there was no amusement in his voice.
“I won’t witness this,” Greven said, desperately trying to stop himself from gagging.
“You will sit there and bear witness, Greven,” Piven ordered and now there was no lightness to his words or bearing. He placed the cooked flesh in his mouth and chewed, no revulsion in his expression. As he swallowed, Greven felt his world begin to spin. He couldn’t believe it. It seemed impossible that Piven could be Valisar, and yet deep down Greven’s whole body, his very soul, had known the truth; his own magic couldn’t lie. It knew a Valisar when it found one.
He couldn’t hear the words of binding but he could feel their effect. If the hacking off of his hand had hurt, this pain sucked all the breath out of his lungs. Through the screams he would later learn were his own, he could suddenly feel the hideous binding of two lives as Piven consumed him. Now their hearts were beating in tandem and the movement of their blood pulsed in synchronism. For a few moments of nerve-tingling darkness, in which he hoped he had died, there was only silence.
And then he heard Piven speak through the void. We are bound.
I hate you, Greven groaned.
I expect you do. As I warned, the hate will always move toward rather than away from me.
I will not help you.
You have no choice. You have no will anymore, other than to serve and keep me safe. Unlock your power, Greven. I can see it glowing within you like a river about to burst its banks.
I will not give it to you.
Again, I say, you have no choice. It belongs to me.
Then I will fight you.
And I will win. I own you.
The shadows surrounding Greven began to clear and with it all the pain left him, other than the throb where his hand had once been. As Piven’s face swam into view and Greven was able to re-focus his eyes, he noticed with disgust that the raven was tearing ferociously at the withered hand. “What now?” he growled.
“Once Vyk has finished with it, we burn the bit of you that you no longer need and—”
“So now you’ve become heartless, have you? Feeding me to a scavenger!”
“Not at all,” Piven said, frowning. “I sense this was meant to be. Ever since Vyk consumed a part of you, he can talk to me. He asked me to tell you that he is honoring you by eating you.” Greven gave a sound of anguish. “He is done,” Piven concluded.
“Burn it!” Greven demanded.
Piven sighed. Greven was sure the boy was talking to the bird at this moment. “Did you want to say anything?” Piven asked, reaching down to pick up the hand by one of its roasted fingers.
“Like what?”
“Perhaps a blessing from Lo, or—”
“Lo has deserted me. Toss it on the fire.”
“As you wish,” Piven said quietly and placed the hand into the flames.
They both watched it sizzle and crackle for a few minutes in silence before Greven’s attention was diverted by the nearby raven, cleaning its beak of his cooked flesh. Suppressing the desire to sicken at the sight of this, he tried to focus on what needed to be asked, but Piven spoke first.
“Who were you meant for?”
“Your father,” Greven snapped. “How long have you known?”
“That you are an aegis, or that King Brennus was my real father?”
“Both, damn you!”
Piven shrugged. “I knew of your magic almost as soon as I placed my hand in yours ten anni ago. I didn’t know what it meant initially because I was still in my own stupor, but as my ‘madness’ cleared, my intuition about life, who I was, who you were and so on, became clearer and clearer. As to your other question, I never doubted that Brennus was my father. From the moment I could think clearly enough to have logical thought I knew the truth in my heart.”
“But you continued the ruse with me.”
Piven nodded. “Another Valisar secret. I was just continuing a fine family tradition. My parents wanted to offer their second heir as much protection as they possibly could. You have to admit, it was very clever.”
“But what about your madness?”
“Ah,” Piven said, a tone of resignation in his voice. “That outcome they couldn’t have foreseen.” He smiled sadly. “Despite all his forethought, it must have grieved my father greatly to realize his grand plan was thwarted by what appeared to be a twist of nature, far more cunning than he. Now I realize, of course, it was not nature but the magic itself. You see, my father had none of the famed Valisar power and neither did his father. I think my great-grandfather might have been vaguely touched by it but even my great-great-grandfather missed out. No, we have to go back five generatio
ns to find a Valisar endowed with a level of magic that is spoken about as impressive.”
“Piven, how do you know these things?” Greven asked.
“I suppose I was listening. I was trapped in a prison of my mind and while I couldn’t concentrate or even know what I was hearing, I was nonetheless always close by my father. Despite my so-called madness, he loved me and I felt his love. He kept me close, and he would often read to me from the books in his great library. I suppose during one of those sessions he must have shared the Valisar history with me. I think I learned plenty during those years without anyone realizing it, least of all myself.”
“But you were such a young child! Even a healthy, normal five anni old wouldn’t grasp what you did…surely?” Greven asked, his loathing momentarily set aside as his fascination with Piven’s past sucked him deeper into his secret.
“Young in years, perhaps, but as we can both tell, I am endowed with a mind far more mature than is normal for someone my age. Even at five I suspect I was drinking in a lot more information than a normal child of that age, despite my incapacity.”
“And no one knew?”
Piven sighed and shook his head. “Not even I. But you must have felt something, Greven. If I’ve understood what my father discovered from the writings in his library, an aegis is aware of his power and is drawn to the Valisars like a moth to a flame. You knew, and still you came to me. You didn’t fight it.”
Greven held his head. He had guarded the knowledge for so long that the opportunity to finally admit his great secret served as a catharsis to the anger he’d harbored for all of his life. It cost him nothing to be honest with Piven for he was now bound to this young man until he died. He took a deep breath. “It takes enormous willpower to resist the pull of the Valisar magic. It’s like a sickness. I yearn for it and yet I know I must fight it with every part of myself. It’s instinctive—no one had to tell me, I’ve just always known this. I kept testing and improving my resistance. Over the years I’d trust myself to get a little closer to the palace, constantly checking and double-checking my addiction to the calling but never wandering too close or too quickly. I practiced and practiced. I even once tried to stand on the fringe of the huge crowds gathered for one of the royal walks in the midlands. That went badly; I only just managed to escape the notice of King Brennus. As you rightly say, he wasn’t endowed with any useful magic of his own but even dormant Valisar sorcery reacts to the presence of its own aegis. And only its own, I might add. I remember how distracted Brennus suddenly became that day, looking around him…looking for me! I was standing on a hill and could see him clearly, but fortunately I was shielded by a crowd of other wellwishers. I was able to get away. I never got that close again.” He looked up at Piven, a fresh gust of loathing washing through him. “But, it seems Brennus’s cunning and ingenuity caught me in its web all the same. I’m surprised you knew that you could trammel your father’s aegis.”
“My Valisar magic was shielded and continued to be so while I emerged from my prison.”
“True,” Greven agreed. “I sensed your magic at the beginning, but told myself I was imagining it, or that it was a shadow of you being around the Valisars for so long. I was confident of my invulnerability. I could, to some degree, control the call to the magic around you because I was not born for you. My reaction to your father was immediate—I sickened instantly, lost my bearings and most of my control. But I don’t feel this reaction to you, nor did I with your brother.”
“I see. So the burden is on the Valisar to find his aegis?”
“Correct…or an aegis. It’s actually far easier for you Valisar heirs to find your own because your magic and the magic of your aegis respond so dramatically to each other, as I’ve explained. Leo seemed to have no idea who I was and even if he did register something, I think he was in shock anyway; it would have easily slipped by him. I should add that I’m still very glad he spent the night in the crawlspace beneath our hut, however, and left the next day.” He shook his head. “With you, it’s been so different. I have been on my guard constantly this last decade. The smell of your magic—I have no other way to describe it—began to intensify as you grew and I subsequently had to intensify my control with each passing year. I wanted to convince myself you were adopted, not blood. It was too much to believe that your madness was a ruse.”
“Not my madness. My birth was the only ruse,” Piven corrected.
“Yes, it’s all crystal clear now. Nevertheless, you were not the Valisar that I was born for, so in this respect I had the upper hand. I knew as long as I continued to guard my secret with care I was safe. And I loved you by then, child. I could not have turned you out.”
“Now you despise me.”
Greven nodded. “You have robbed me of the freedom I spent my life protecting.”
“Is it really so vile?”
Greven didn’t answer directly. “I went to the Academy at Cremond once in the hope of finding a cure for my disease. I met a very old scholar there, who had once had access to the royal library. He had helped your grandfather decipher some texts and had enjoyed the opportunity to read about—”
He was unable to finish his sentence. Vyk suddenly gave two big hops and lifted from the ground to flap into a nearby tree. Greven frowned and he and Piven were both looking around to see what had frightened Vyk when a man crested the small rise and stopped, staring at them dumbstruck.
Piven was on his feet in a blink. “You!” he yelled. “You followed me?”
The man looked nervous. “I had to. You saved my life, Petor…or should I call you Prince Piven?”
And Greven, without needing to be asked, without even realizing he was doing it, pushed and the invisible impenetrable shield instantly cloaked them…and the pain disappeared as he allowed himself to acknowledge the force of his magic. Piven turned and their gazes met. Piven’s expression was grateful; Greven knew his reflected only resignation. And in their minds they heard a voice, one neither had heard before but both instinctively knew.
Aegis magic, the voice said in an awed tone. I will return. And then Vyk was gone, a dark smudge swooping through the forest, melting into its shadows.
Piven returned his attention to the man who was walking toward them. “Stay back,” he said.
The man stopped. “Is it really you?”
Piven scowled. “Whoever you think I am, you are mistaken.”
The man shook his head, his expression one of wonder. “It’s you. But you are talking, you are healthy? If I didn’t know I was seeing you standing here, I would not believe it.” He regarded Greven. “We meet again,” he said.
Piven looked between them, shocked, then pointed at the man. “Stop your babbling,” he ordered. “Explain yourself!”
The newcomer ignored the command. “I was so close to death I was letting go. I couldn’t breathe. The fire scorched my insides and flesh was hanging from me. Look at me now. I’m whole. The magic you used was so powerful I thought I was experiencing the presence of Lo himself, until you restored my sight.”
“Why did you call me by that name?” Piven demanded.
The man pointed at Greven. “He tried to keep me away but I know you. I recognize you.”
“From where?”
“From Brighthelm, Prince Piven.”
“Stop calling me that. I am Petor Lark.”
“You are Valisar. You are royalty.”
Greven so far had remained silent but fearful. He intensified the shield, as Piven demanded, “Who are you?”
“Ask your companion,” the man said.
Tiring of the standoff, Greven answered without further prompting. “His name is Clovis. He has been following us…he and his wife, Reuth…the whole family, in fact,” he said sourly.
Clovis nodded. “I am now alone. Your highness, I was sent to find you ten anni ago after your parents died and Leonel escaped Loethar’s clutch. I have never stopped looking. Never. It would have been prize enough just to find you. But to discover
you unshackled from your afflictions is too much to imagine. How can this be?”
“Who sent you?” Piven demanded.
“Master Freath…you may remember him?”
Piven considered this. “The servant.”
Clovis nodded. “He pretends to serve the usurper, your highness, but he is loyal to the Valisars. He saved my life, my wife’s and many others through his courageous deeds. He was devastated when you were lost.”
“How was I lost?” Piven asked and Greven knew this was something the boy had always niggled at.
“From what I gather, Loethar forgot to take you back into the castle. You were outside playing in the queen’s herb garden. Freath told us you were with the emperor—he used to keep you on a leash—and he was called away. It is our assumption that he thought you would be brought in by his mother, who was also present, and perhaps she thought you would follow her, or perhaps she didn’t care. Either way you remained outside alone.”
Piven nodded. “And Greven found me.”
“Ah,” Clovis said. “I understand now.”
Greven spoke up. “I was already in the forest, but I was drawn to its edge near the palace by the raven.”
“The raven! You mean Loethar’s bird?” Clovis asked, surprised.
Greven nodded. “That was him you just saw.”
The newcomer’s mouth fell open. “I didn’t see it properly. I just saw a large bird fly away—nothing more than a shadow and movement, really. So he’s now your bird?”
Greven began to shake his head but Piven answered for them. “Yes. How did you find us up here?”
“I was trying to follow you, your highness. But it was the screams that helped me find you. What happened?”
Greven held up his arm. “An accident.”
“Accident?” Clovis looked shocked. “I thought someone was being murdered. How bad is it?”
“He lost his hand,” Piven said.
Greven scowled. “He doesn’t need to know this,” he said to Piven.
“Know what?” Clovis asked, advancing.
“Nothing!” Greven replied.
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