The Prince of Ravens

by Hal Emerson

  Chapter Ten: Seek and Ye Shall Find

  For a long moment, the Prince stood there, wrapped in darkness. He breath echoed heavily in his ears, and he found himself hardly able to think. He half expected the door to open behind him, and for all the attendants and the bald, menacing man to come in and pull him out. Perhaps the Exile girl would find a way in, and slit his throat in the darkness.

  But time passed and none of these things happened. More time passed, and his breathing slowed, and he found himself able to think again.

  He was through the seventh door. The Seeker was here - the Seeker must be here.

  “Hello?”

  His voice came back to him in quivering echoes, and he realized he wasn’t in a room, but in a long passageway. As his eyes adjusted to the black, he began to realize also that he wasn’t in total darkness. He could vaguely make out a light far away, in the distance in front of him. He began to move cautiously toward the light, both hands stretched out before him, inching ahead one step at a time. With each step, the light in the distance grew brighter, and soon he was able to lower his hands. A little farther along he found that he was indeed in a long passageway - a downward sloping half-circle made of cobblestone walls. The floor was nothing but smooth, hard packed dirt, and his simple Commons boots little impression on it.

  Down the passage he went, until he could make out the light source close at hand - a guttering, shifting torch held in an iron wall bracket. Beyond it, the passageway curved to the right, and continued down.

  The darkness began to close in on him again as he left the torch behind and continued down the hall. This was a message from the Seekers - there was some sort of religious dogma here, he knew, about Seeking the Light of Truth even in the dark when all seems lost. But such contemplations were lost on him: all he was worried about was tripping over actual stumbling blocks, not metaphorical ones.

  The passage continued to curve right and downward and he realized he must be directly beneath the Cathedral itself. Another light was visible in the distance. He moved toward it, faster this time, and found a simple wooden door.

  A coin lay at his feet, and he bent to pick it up. But before he had touched it, he noticed something odd: there were six small indentations in the floor that looked too perfectly spaced to be there by coincidence. Slowly, the Prince pulled out the six coins weighing down his pocket, and placed them, one by one, in the holes, which, he was unsurprised to find, fit the coins perfectly. As soon as his hand left the metal of the sixth coin, there was a click from above where he had knelt, and he looked up, somehow sure that the sound he’d heard was the door’s lock pulling back.

  He reached out and pulled the metal latch on the door, which swung out toward him on silent, oiled hinges. Beyond was what looked like a kind of anteroom, where a number of men and women in the pure black cloaks of Searchers, the novice level of the Seekers, were lighting row after row of candles. The room was large, and perfectly circular. The Prince stepped inside, and as he did all of the Searchers stopped what they were doing, and turned to look at him, their faces concealed by the tall hoods of their robes.

  For a long time, the Prince just stood there, unsure what would happen next. There were three doors beside the one he’d just come through, each identical, two located at right angles to him, and the third directly across the circle of surrounding candles. It was this door that opened, breaking the silence, and through it came three men, two in silver armor outlined in gold, and a third in robes an unnatural, snowy white, that looked completely out of place in this dark, underground chamber. The two in armor were large and moved with the fluid motions of practiced soldiers, while the third was elderly, with long, flowing hair almost as white as his robes, tied back neatly behind his head. Ornate makeup and tattoos covered his face, bright golden sunbursts, the All Seeing Eye etched in silver upon his forehead, and various seven pointed stars on his neck, cheeks, and the hollow of his throat. Both of his hands, clasped together in front of him, bore twisting circles of black briars.

  “Good evening, my son,” the man in the robes began. “I was informed we had a very promising Child of the Light seeking us along the Path, but I am….”

  The man trailed off as the Prince stepped forward, coming into the full light of the candles, breaking the Seeker out of the traditional welcome.

  “I am no Child of the Light, Seeker,” the Prince said, lowering the hood of his cloak. “I am a Child of the Empress.”

  Immediately, the silence in the room went from contemplative to deadly. The welcoming, fatherly expression on the Seeker’s face curdled, and one of the Searchers was startled so badly that he dropped his metal candle lighter, which crashed to the floor with a hollow, brassy sound, that echoed and rang through the circular room.

  “Good … good evening, my Prince,” the Seeker said. He had regained his composure and spoke with soft assurance, but he was staring at the Prince so intensely a lesser man would have cowered. The Prince knew immediately that this was not a man who was used to being commanded, and certainly not one used to being taken by surprise. He felt himself beginning to form an apology - and then realized he was no longer with the Exiles. He was one of the Children, and was finally being given the respect he deserved. There was no need to apologize or to explain himself here.

  A sick feeling kindled in the pit of his stomach, which he dismissed as hunger.

  “We need to speak, Seeker,” the Prince said. “And I will need proper clothing. I prefer black robes, as befitting my office.”

  The Seeker bowed his head, and the Prince felt a brief flash of amusement as both guards exchanged a shocked glance at such deference.

  “Indeed, my Prince – please follow me.”

  The Seeker turned, and as he did the Prince noticed his hands make a small motion toward one of the guards. No doubt telling him to fetch the robes.

  The guards stepped to either side of the Seeker, and once the old man had passed through the door, they waited for the Prince to enter as well. A voice in the back of the Prince’s head told him not to enter … but he ignored it. Exiles listened to such voices. Princes, as his siblings had often told him, did not.

  He found himself in a large, well-lit office. The Seeker moved across the room, and seated himself behind a large desk, and motioned for the Prince to take the seat opposite. The Prince crossed the room, and as he did his eyes fell on a small dagger in a rack on the desk, no doubt used as a letter opener. It was heavily gilded and gem encrusted, but sharp and serviceable.

  He sat in the chair to which the Seeker had motioned, and wondered idly why he did not feel relieved. He looked up into the eyes of the Seeker, and told himself he was being foolish. Here he was, in the lair of a Seeker. As a Child of the Empress this was one of the safest places he could find himself - all who lived and worked here were sworn to obey his smallest whim.

  “Seeker,” the Prince began briskly, “I will need pen and paper immediately. I must send a message to my Mother.

  “Indeed, my Prince,” the Seeker said, inclining his white head. “I will send for my scribe immediately. But first, wouldn’t you like refreshment? You look very worn.”

  The Seeker motioned to a guard - of which, the Prince realized suddenly, there was now only one. Where had the other gone? Hopefully to fetch him his robes. They would no doubt be Searcher robes, but as long as they were not this Commons filth, they would be serviceable. The remaining guard poured two cups of a blood red wine, and handed them to the Seeker, who then offered one to the Prince. The Prince took it, but did not drink. He didn’t have much of a head for wine, and he needed to keep his wits.

  “Your scribe is competent, I am sure, but this is a message I must write myself. There has been treason in the Empire, and I must inform both the Empress and you of the events of the past few weeks.”

  “Indeed my Prince,” the Seeker repeated, but made no motion to do anything. A long moment passed where the Prince and the Seeker simply looked at each other, and then th
e Prince’s anger began to rise. What was this?

  A door to his left opened, and the second guard entered … with four others.

  “I gave you an order, Seeker,” the Prince said, quietly, calmly.

  “Yes, but you see … another order came this morning, born by the Empress’ Hand.”

  The Prince looked up sharply. The Seeker’s eyes seemed to glow red in the reflected light of the candles that lit the room. Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong.

  “What were these orders?” the Prince asked. He moved a hand across the table to grasp his cup, which lay next to the sharp, dagger-like letter opener.

  The Seeker smiled sadly.

  “Please, my son, do not attempt to make this more difficult than it has to be.”

  Two pairs of rough hands seized him by the shoulders, and he immediately grasped the dagger, but a third pair grabbed it and took it from him as easily as if he had been an infant.

  “Unhand me!”

  He was pulled out of the chair onto his feet, and his hands were tied behind him. A rough cloth was forced between his teeth, and tied around his head.

  “Hold him, but do not damage him,” the Seeker said, his brow furrowed in sadness and something akin to disappointment. “He must remain unharmed until one of the Children arrives to claim him.”

  The Prince tried to question the Seeker once more, but all that came out was a muffled shout around the choking gag.

  “Hush, hush, I will let you know your fate as it is clear now you will be unable to escape. When news reached the Empress that you had survived the Death Watch not once but twice, she sent word to the Seekers that you were to be apprehended and held until one of the Children themselves could come and claim you.”

  The Prince felt his knees go weak, and only the men gripping him held him up.

  “You seem surprised,” the Seeker said, examining the Prince as if he were nothing more than an interesting specimen of insect that continued to squirm under his gaze. The Prince twisted his head violently, and to his surprise the gag slipped. He spat out the cloth, and pinned the Seeker with his gaze.

  “You are sworn to obey me – I am a Child of the Empress! I am the Prince of Ravens, the Lord of the Seventh Principality, and I DEMAND YOUR RESPECT!”

  He was vaguely surprised by his own outburst, which had been so violent that his throat felt raw. He didn’t know what was happening - this couldn’t be. Not here. No, this couldn’t happen here, this was a safe place, safe because he was the Prince of Ravens. He was!

  “I must send a letter to my Mother, Seeker,” he babbled on, hardly conscious of what he was saying now, slowly losing control of all dignity and pride he had left, his voice turning from command to desperate plea. “I am to receive my Inheritance - there has been a misunderstanding here, one of my brothers or sisters, the other Children, they have misinformed you, they were told to do so by my Mother! You cannot hold me, Seeker - I must be free to claim what is rightfully mine! It is what my Mother expects of me!”

  The Seeker watched with an impassive face, and that terrifying look of pity. The Prince, unable to do anything else, found himself wrestling against the grip of the guards, but their hands were strong, and he was weak from the journey through the mountains.

  “Could it be,” the Seeker asked, “that you thought this was all a test?”

  The Prince let out a low moan, and then nodded, unable to speak. Yes, yes, a test! That was it - he had figured it out, now they would see, they would understand he was worthy after all, that he was destined to be a true son of the Empress, one that She could be proud of, one that She would love as much as She loved Her other Children.

  But the Seeker was shaking his head, and the look of pity was turning to something else … changing … into laughter.

  “Oh! Oh, hah hah ha … oh, no I’m sorry I shouldn’t laugh so, but really, Empress forefend, that is quite an interesting deduction to make from two attempted murders … oh, hah hah, yes. And all this time they’ve been looking for you to the north, thinking you would attempt to seek help from those you knew in Lucien. But no! You came south, in an attempt to find a Seeker … and in doing so delivered yourself up for slaughter.”

  “BE SILENT!”

  Rage ignited his blood, and suddenly the strong guards could barely contain him. He’d become an animal in a trap, and in his despair, in his descent into madness, he was granted the strength of desperation.

  “You will release me NOW!” he roared, spittle flying from his mouth and his eyes rolling madly in his head.

  “Calm him!” the Seeker said, a tinge of fear coloring his voice.

  Two more of the guards came forward and grabbed him, and soon the Prince found himself pinned to the floor, unable to move a single limb no matter how hard he tried. He was powerless, and when he realized it, the rage disappeared, and his mind went blank.

  He lay there on the floor, and time seemed to slow. No thoughts went through his mind, nothing but vague sensations. Impressions of the room - the high ceiling, held with wooden beams, the smell of incense beneath the garlic and onions smell of the guards holding him, the color of the Seeker’s white robes and the brightness of the swirling religious markings.

  “Take him away,” the Seeker said. “Hold him, and chain him. Let no one near him bearing any kind of weapon, let no one enter his cell, and feed him only as much as will keep him alive. We must not lose him, and we must not let him use his powers. He, while an Exiled Prince, is still a Prince, and one of the Seven Godheads, until such time as the Empress removes his Blessing. He may appear powerless … but he is not. Take every precaution, lest ye wish to test the strength of our Empress’ blood.”

  He made a motion over the Prince’s shoulder, and a bag was thrust over the Prince’s head. Something hard and solid struck him, and he knew no more.