by Hal Emerson
Chapter Nineteen: The Chosen Path
There was a series of scraping, banging noises as eleven chairs were pushed roughly back from the large round table by eleven elderly men and women. The Prince noticed they each wore an ornamental dagger on a chain around their necks, but none reached for it.
“How dare you enter this sanctuary?!” a voice roared to the Prince’s left. A man rushed toward him, wearing green and black armor with gold chasing. The Prince caught a glimpse of a portly face and a mustache before he swung the Valerium sword, catching the man on the temple with the flat of the heavy blade and knocking him unconscious.
The silence after the man fell to the floor was deafening. The Prince moved forward swiftly, kicking the man’s curved dagger away with his boot as he passed it. It clattered across the rough, natural stone floor of the council chamber, where the only noise now was heavy breathing. The Prince rounded the table, eyes locked on a single Elder who sat at the far side of the table, in a chair larger than the others.
This old man was the only one who had remained sitting, and the Prince saw that there was no fear in the man’s eyes, even though he sat unarmed in the face of an assassin.
As the Prince passed each Elder, he noticed that their faces showed anger, defiance, and above all pride. There was no fear, no resignation. A few of them had even moved in front of their chairs and assumed a defensive stance as if ready to fight him even without weapons, though none of them looked to be younger than sixty at best.
But the Prince didn’t stop to engage any of them. He simply walked past them, all the while approaching the Elder at the far end of the table. As it became clear what his intention was, the Elders shifted and a few of them moved to block his way.
“You shall not approach Elder Crane,” one of them said, the only one who had drawn his dagger. The man was taller than the Prince, back straight even in age, and had dark blue eyes that commanded his obedience. The Prince raised his sword to dispatch the man, but before he could move, a voice spoke behind him.
“Please, Warryn,” Elder Crane said. “Let him come.” The others looked back in surprise, but the Prince simply continued moving, passing between them until he stood in front of the dignified leader.
When he was no more than five feet away, the Prince, gripping the sword with both hands, dexterously twisted his wrists and whipped the sword up into the air over his head. He fell to one knee in front of the seated man, and drove the blade down into the ground in front of him; the Valerium metal cut through the stone with a shower of sparks, leaving the blade half buried in the ground.
“I have no time to ask for absolution, nor do I much care if you would grant it. You are in my mind rebels, criminals, and outlaws, but to you I am something much worse.”
The Prince was speaking quickly, his words coming out clipped but quite clear. He had very little time left.
“I am not a runaway from the families of the Most High who has come to you with information, as has been reported. I am the Prince of Ravens, Seventh Son of the Empress of the Diamond Throne of Lucia, heir to the lands of the Exiled Kindred should I recapture them for the glory of the Empress and the Empire of Ages.”
He rose and pulled off his shirt, exposing the black markings of the Talisman. Dead silence rang through the hall. He took a deep breath and forced himself to continue, staying calm and remaining cogent of his actions.
“I renounce that claim. I renounce my claim to the Diamond Throne; I renounce my claim to the Seventh Principality; and I renounce my claim to citizenship in the Empire of Ages, ruled by the Empress, known as the nation of Lucia.”
If the silence had been great before, now it was profound. Each face bore the same look of shock – every face but the face of the head Elder, this Elder Crane, who was studying the Prince intently. The man’s eyes, such a light blue that they were almost white, were looking at him in a strange way – as if seeing something familiar, and yet unexpected.
The Prince reached down and pulled the Valerium sword from the ground. It slid out as easily as it had gone in, the metal so sharp that not even stone could bind it. The Prince held it horizontally across his open palms, and knelt.
“My brother, the Prince of Oxen is no more than a half day’s march from this very spot. The Talisman that my Mother bestowed on me allows me to sense his arrival, and it is my belief that he has in place a tracking spell that is leading him straight toward us and through your land’s defenses. I and four others killed a Daemon in the Roarke Mountains not three days ago, and have remained in close proximity ever since. If a tracking spell is in place, Ramael would be able to track us even through your enchantments. He will find this place, and he will attack. If you evacuate this valley and fall back to a more secure position, you have a chance to fend him off, but from what I have seen of this city, should you stay here you will be slaughtered, every last man, woman and child. He is ruthless and will stop at nothing until the will of the Empress is fulfilled and each of you lies dead. If you run, and run fast, then you have a chance.
“As a token of my honesty, I pledge myself and whatever aid I can give to the Exiled Kindred until the Prince of Oxen and his invading army have been repulsed.”
He fell silent, and waited for the Elder’s response.
Before it came, the double doors swung inward, and men and women in heavy armor accompanied by Rogue and Ranger pairs in gleaming silver, gold and green flooded through the doors, looking around them. A single Spellblade spotted the Prince, and before anyone could react, a dagger was flying across the intervening space, faster and straighter than an arrow.
“STOP!”
The powerful voice reverberated around the room, and the Prince was left staring at a dagger that hung quivering in midair, point forward, not a hair’s width away from his right eye.
Slowly, Elder Crane rose to his feet. Silence filled the room as everyone present took in the sight of the old man and the young Prince. Crane reached up and grabbed the hilt of the dagger. The Prince waited, sweat beading on his face and in the small of his back. Would they believe him?
He pulled the dagger away.
“How much time do we have?” the Elder asked quietly. The Prince just barely stopped himself from letting out a gasp of relief.
“Two hours at most before his scouts arrive, and the main army can’t be more than two or three hours behind that,” the Prince said, his voice carrying clearly through the room.
For a long moment the Elder stood staring at him as if he were trying to memorize the Prince’s face. What was the old man thinking? The blue eyes set in the lined face seemed to be weighing and measuring his entire life. The Prince was reminded forcefully of his Mother, and though he told himself that this man, this traitor, could never rival the Empress, he knew, somewhere deep inside himself, that a confrontation between the Elder and the Empress would be akin to a war between gods. There was power in this man, far beyond what the Prince had expected.
Finally, the old man broke the gaze and the Prince let out a ragged breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.
There was another commotion at the door, and the Prince looked up to see Tomaz and Leah, bound and gagged, brought into the room. Leah was kicking and fighting with all her might, and while Tomaz did not struggle, no one seemed to want to lay a hand on him.
“What is this?” Crane asked.
“These two ambushed the guards and allowed that man to penetrate the chamber,” a man, who wore a cape and looked like a Captain of the Guard, said reluctantly. “The Eshendai caused a disturbance that drew off the guards at the door, while the Ashandel led them to her and allowed them to be ambushed. In the confusion, this man broke through.”
“Ah I see,” Elder Crane responded. “In that case release them.”
There was a shocked moment of silence and then the gags and bonds were cut and the two Rogues freed. They seemed as shocked as everyone else.
“I have just been informed,” said Elder Crane, “that the Pri
nce of Oxen is advancing on the valley with an army, killing our scouts and leaving us blind to his advance. We have reason to believe he has penetrated our defenses without the use of an Anchor and will not be stopped short of a counter-attack or well-prepared defense. His scouts will be arriving in two hours and his main force not long afterward. We will evacuate this valley and fall back to Aemon’s Stand – generals go with Elder Warryn – Elders Lymaugh and Stanton, organize the evacuation. The rest of you – spread the word that the emergency teams should run to ground and organize distribution of supplies. Families flee south – all able-bodied men and women willing to fight are to be given weapons. We will all meet again at the Stand.”
Crane nodded to show he had finished, and turned to the Prince again. Pandemonium broke out in the next instant as if it had been held in like steam under a tightly secured lid now removed. The Prince was almost overwhelmed by the sounds of shouting and riotous activity. The Elders remained the most calm, giving orders and generally composing the soldiers, Rangers, and Rogues in the room with tasks, however menial, to do that which would speed the evacuation. The Prince remembered something his brother Rikard had said: true leaders know that action is the surest way to turn fear into courage. Give them something to do, give them purpose, and they are yours to command.
The Prince looked up at Elder Crane, who was looking down at him. The man gave the impression of something solid, an eye in the storm forming around him, a deeply rooted boulder amid a rushing stream.
“Rise,” he said to the Prince.
The Prince quickly stood, sword still held unsheathed in his bare hands. He was very careful not to touch the edge – he felt certain the sharpness of the blade would cut him at the slightest touch.
“Eshendai Goldwyn and Ashandel Banier, come!”
Leah and Tomaz quickly made their way forward. Elder Crane focused on the Prince.
“I accept your loyalty, and I also understand you gave it to me only until this crisis has passed. After this coming battle is over, we will talk more, you and me, about your future. But for now, I would request that you sheath that sword and put your shirt on.”
The Prince did so quickly as the other two came within earshot.
“I have a task for the three of you – this evacuation must be covered. You three, Eshendai Davydd Goldwyn, and Ashandel Lorna Lamas, will help Captain Autmaran lead a group of Scouts and Rogues on an ambush mission. Here” – he motioned to a point on the table, which the Prince now saw was carved to resemble an enormous map – “is where that ambush is to be set. The five of you will draw the larger force there, and dispatch the Bloodmages who are tracking you. This should leave them in confusion and force them to slow their advance, buying us time to regroup at the Stand.”
He turned to Leah and Tomaz.
“You are to serve under the tactical command of Captain Autmaran, who will lead the ambush. Eshendai Goldwyn – your brother and Ashandel Lamas will be with you, and this young man here is to be used at your discretion, as you know more of his capabilities than I. Tell the captain to take five hundred Pairs and a thousand Scouts, and use the passes through the mountains and backwoods once the ambush is complete. You and the captain along with whomever he chooses as Eshendai and Ashandel lieutenants are to report to me personally at the Stand. Go.”
With that, he turned and began to examine the map carved into the tabletop, hands folded calmly behind his back, but his shoulders holding a tension that belied a mind thinking very quickly. The three of them left the Elder, running for the door.
“I need you to get to Davydd and Lorna, princeling,” Leah said as they rushed past Elders conversing with a squad of hastily summoned officers.
“Me?” the Prince asked in surprise. She nodded and continued quickly.
“Tomaz – I need you to find the supplies and horses for those who don’t have them. I also need the soldiers under the direct command of the captain, Tomaz take care of gathering them as well. Davydd and Lorna will have twenty or so pairs of Rogues under them on reserve here in the city, princeling, tell them to get them ready to leave within the hour. I’m going for Captain Autmaran. We are all to meet at the northwestern entrance to the valley; from there we’ll head back toward the mountains and the ambush point Elder Crane set for us. It should draw them away from the Stand.”
“What in the name of shadows and light is the Stand?” the Prince asked as they bounded up the final flight of stairs.
“Aemon’s Stand,” Tomaz rumbled. “It’s where he defeated the Empress one thousand years ago.”
The Prince stopped dead in his tracks.
“What?!”
“No time for that!” shouted Leah over her shoulder. “You can ask questions later! Get to the barracks and find Davydd and Lorna!”
The two Rogues made for the door and immediately split, going in different directions without hesitation. The Prince recovered quickly, dashed out of the door, and ran back for the barracks as fast as his legs would take him.
Defeated the Empress? Impossible!
He had no time to think about that now. In a matter of minutes, he burst through the entrance to the barracks, seized a random soldier, and asked for the way to the Ranger quarters. The man pointed up a staircase, and the Prince was off at once. He arrived on a small landing, accosted another man, who pointed him toward Davydd’s quarters, and then soon after found himself pounding like a madman on what he hoped was the right door.
“Davydd!” he roared, trying to be heard over the din of rushing soldiers around him. “Davydd it’s Raven! Let me in!”
The door opened and Davydd came out, fully dressed in his Eshendai uniform over a breastplate, leather jerkin, and bracers all tied in place. A small gold knot of rank on the upper right side of his chest shone brightly in the light of the hall. His Valerium sword hung slung across his back, and his red eyes burned like fiery coals.
“What?” he snapped. He pushed past the Prince across the hall and opened another door - revealing Lorna. The Prince followed, and saw that the Ashandel was finishing tying her own armor in place, died a dark green color and much more extensive, crafted to take heavy beatings. The great white ax lay close at hand.
“Do you know what’s going on?” Lorna asked Davydd, ignoring the Prince.
“We’re evacuating, and it looks like the Prince of Oxen is on his way.”
The Prince was amazed to see that the Eshendai not only seemed unafraid of the prospect of fighting the Prince of Oxen, but even appeared excited by the idea.
“What do you want?” the big woman asked the Prince.
“I’m here with a message from Leah, via the Elder - Elder Crane.”
Both of them stopped doing up Lorna’s armor and stared at him.
“Well tell us!” the young man snapped, as if the Prince was intentionally stalling.
“We’re setting up an ambush to draw off the main force,” the Prince said hurriedly. “Leah says she needs you and the twenty Rogue pairs under you to meet her at the north-west entrance to the valley within the next hour. The rest of the Kindred are evacuating to the – the Stand.”
“The Stand?” Davydd asked in surprise. He and Lorna exchanged a significant look. The red-eyed young man turned back to the Prince. “Tell Leah we’ll be there.”
The Prince turned and left the room, not quite sure what to do next. There was a sound behind him and he turned to see Davydd looking out of the room at him. The young man approached, red eyes searing the air between them.
“Do they know who you are?” he asked.
The Prince swallowed, and a hundred different responses crossed his mind, from bare-faced denial to polite confusion. But in the end, he knew the time for pretense was long past, and so he answered in earnest.
“Yes. I’ve renounced my claim to throne and sworn myself to the Elders - to Crane - until the Prince of Oxen has been repulsed. I knew they wouldn’t believe me otherwise.”
“You did what?” Davydd asked, surprise widen
ing those terrible glowing eyes.
“Now isn’t the time!” the Prince said, suddenly angry. “Do you want my help or not? No, I don’t care - I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing this for -”
He broke off, and shook his head. Davydd stepped forward, and the Prince looked up. The red-eyed young man spoke quickly.
“Fine, your reasons are your own. But my sister trusts you, and that’s enough for now. If you’re coming with us, go to the armory. Find any spare bits of armor you can. And try not to poke anyone with the sharp point of that sword, yeah?”
The Prince nodded and turned to go.
“Idiot!”
The Prince turned back.
“That way,” Davydd said, motioning the opposite direction before pulling back into Lorna’s room and shutting the door.
The Prince made his way quickly down to the armory, watching the sun in the sky through each window he happened to pass by, trying to mark out how much time he had. The Prince of Oxen was closer, that was certain. But the Kindred were moving quickly, and there was a chance they would be clear of Vale before the army arrived.
When he made it to the armory, the Prince found it was a free-for-all. Armorers and blacksmiths were pounding madly at metal, forges blazing as they did last minute repairs as soldiers of every rank and file waited anxiously.
“Spare armor over here!” a voice was bellowing. The Prince followed it into a corner, where a large-bellied blacksmith in a grimy apron with soot-stained hands and face was handing out pieces of armor to various soldiers.
“What do you need?” he asked the Prince breathlessly.
“Whatever you have,” the Prince responded quickly. He was looking at the pile around the large man and saw that there was very little left.
“What do you already have?”
“Nothing!”
“You have no armor?” the man asked incredulously.
“No! But I’m here on Elder Crane’s orders, so I need something now!”
The man paused for a moment, and then turned and pulled out a sack from behind a counter.
“Here – take these.”
The Prince was loaded down with a leather jerkin, metal bracers and greaves, a helm that would come down to cover the back of his neck as well as the bridge of his nose, and what looked like a discarded general’s breastplate with attached cape. All of it was black.
“Black?” The Prince asked.
“An officer commissioned it and then changed his mind so I never finished gilding it. Just be thankful I had it lying around!” the man bellowed angrily before turning to the next soldier in line.
The Prince did his best to pull all of the pieces on while running toward the north-western entrance to the valley, all the while trying to gauge how much time had passed, and how far away still the Prince of Oxen was.
The entire city was moving, like some enormous anthill disturbed by a child’s insistent prodding. Men and women were making hasty goodbyes, most of the children wore expressions of fear and more than one was crying in the middle of the street as its parents packed wagons, carts, and anything that moved with their various possessions. Soldiers in green and silver were moving everywhere, organizing the evacuation, helping with broken carts. Carpenters were making last minute repairs to wagon tongues, and oxen and horses were shying fearfully due to the heightened emotional state.
By the time the Prince made it to the valley entrance, he saw that a large part of the ambush force had already been assembled. Two-thirds of those gathered were men and women with bows strapped to their backs and short swords sheathed at their waists. They were all clad in thick leather armor, with thin, rectangular pieces of metal sewn on to offer protection against light weaponry. The other third were Rogues and Rangers, dressed in black-and-green uniforms with swords and daggers sewn into their high collars. Some had silver chasing on their armor, while others had gold, and the quality varied from person to person, from one slight woman who wore no armor at all, to a large, dark-skinned man who was clad in a full suit. The Prince located Leah and quickly made his way toward her. As he came closer, he saw that she was talking quite animatedly with a man mounted on a white horse.
“Just in time!” Leah cried, noticing him. She was dressed in the same armor as Davydd, though her chasing was silver, and she had no greaves or bracers. She too had a golden knot of rank on her chest.
“Who’s this? You’re a captain?” asked a the man on the horse. He was dark-skinned, with a helm like the one the Prince wore and a similar breastplate and cape, but gilded in red.
“No,” the Prince explained quickly, “this was the only armor they had. I’m with her.” He pointed to Leah. The man took this in stride and nodded.
“Right, the fifth one in the tracking spell. You two stay with the other three.”
He motioned to Tomaz, Davydd, and Lorna in one of the groups on their right-hand side. The Prince and Leah made their way over - Tomaz was holding the reins of the horses they’d taken from the Defenders so long ago.
“Going to a funeral, princeling?” Tomaz asked, noticing the Prince’s black armor.
“I certainly hope not!” the Prince cried back, mounting in a single bounding leap onto his horse, surprised to find how easy it was to move in the armor.
“Let’s go!” cried the voice of the man with the red cape.
Immediately, all fifteen hundred Rogues, Rangers, and Scouts spun their horses and began to move through the gate, following the lead of captain red-cape and a pair of Rogues that flanked him. The five of them found themselves positioned toward the back of the force.
“Here we go,” the Prince said.
“Scared princeling?” Leah asked.
“Oh, I think he’s properly terrified,” Davydd called over the thunder of their horses’ hooves. The Prince saw again the manic glint in the young man’s eye, a look of demented excitement.
“You’re insane, you know that?” the Prince called back. To his surprise, Lorna grunted in agreement with him.
“We’re about to go ambush the Prince of Oxen,” said Tomaz, “who knows exactly where we are and will be. We have a bare fraction of his force. We have had no preparation, no time to properly outfit ourselves, and we’re racing blindly. At this point, I think we’re all insane.”
“Damn right,” said Davydd, with a huge grin.