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He held her gaze and she was sure—just for a moment—

that he shared her pain. She didn’t fully understand his state of mind with all these new changes but she also didn’t want this new tenderness to be spoiled, so she kept her bitterness at bay, fighting down the anger that seemed to accompany any mention of her family.

“I don’t understand why the engagement to Brennus didn’t make you rise in their estimation.”

“Oh, it did, but not in the way I’d have hoped. All father could see was a great strategic alliance. All mother could see was wealth.”

“And you?”

“Escape, Loethar. You know that’s what I’ve always wanted.”

“Not power, then?”

She laughed. “I didn’t say that. I won’t lie—you know me too well—of course I want power. But perhaps not for the reasons you think.”

“For what reasons, then?”

She frowned at him, confused. “What is this all about?” He shrugged, looking injured. “Haven’t you always complained that I never linger long enough to talk with you?

Aren’t you enjoying our ‘conversation’—over a goblet of wine, no less, and without interruption?”

“Yes, but I’m baffled by the topic. I’ve told you much of this before.”

“Perhaps I want to hear it again. Perhaps I want to be sure about you, Valya.”

Her frown deepened. She wanted to ask why but again she censured herself. It would be better, in this moment, to simply enjoy the attention she had craved for so long. “All right.

I like the idea of power for the freedom it would give me.

The escape from the claustrophic sense that with every breath I take I let my parents down. Especially since the breakdown of the troth.”

“Did they blame you for that?”

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day I wake. He said: ‘See, even foreigners are preferable to you.’ ”

He nodded. “She was from Galinsea, as I understand it.”

“A Romean princess, no less.”

“How did they meet?”

She shrugged. “From what I could glean, old King Darros of Penraven took Prince Brennus to pay respects at the funeral of the Emperor Luc. Galinsea and Percheron were such powerful trading regions that the Set couldn’t ignore the important event and Darros represented all of the Set rulers.” She sighed. “The short of it is that Brennus met the young Iselda, one of the daughters of the Romean prince and . . .” She looked up, smiling bitterly. “My betrothal was forgotten.”

“She is very beautiful,” he said.

“Beautiful? Not any more,” Valya replied, her tone more savage than she had meant it. “But, Loethar, did you not recognize a kindred spirit between you and Brennus?” She saw him blanch.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Valya gave a small shrug. “Brennus was as ruthless as you are! Never think for a moment that the love he was pur-ported to show for his family ever threatened his decision-making regarding the realm of Penraven.” She saw Loethar’s eyes narrow and enjoyed the knowledge that she was telling him things he hadn’t previously known. Well, he had only ever had to ask. She was not so enamoured by their relationship to fail to realize it was a convenient one for him. Her knowledge of the Set, and the customs of this region this far west, not to mention her own lineage, were critical factors in his tolerance of her. “The man was a tyrant in his own way.” She turned to gaze out one of the windows. “I have no doubt he loved Iselda but he also claimed to love me. He made plight troth to my parents. Droste would have been a very handy alliance for the Set, but not nearly so sparkling as the alliance forged with Galinsea and ultimately Percheron through his marriage to Iselda. Even though she was a lesser 234

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princess, a mere second or third cousin to Emperor Luc—

whereas I was first born, the direct heir to our throne!”

“Would your father have permitted you to rule?” Valya shrugged. “I sometimes think he’d rather have poisoned me than permit me the throne. Even now, I am sure he’s working to see his nephew take the crown.”

“Not while I live, Valya,” Loethar promised. His words sent a thrill through her. “But how was Iselda more appropriate for Brennus?”

“Iselda came directly from King Falza’s line. She was of his blood, and that carried tremendous status. The Set trades through Percheron—I’m sure you know that?” He nodded. “Well, that match allowed Brennus to forge those vital links to the east. And the beauty you speak of was simply the diamond dust on the top of an already sparkling betrothal.” She balled her fists. “How could Droste compete with that?” she spat.

He didn’t reply immediately and Valya held her tongue.

Her bitterness had ruined the pleasant atmosphere, she was sure. She heard him pour more wine but only turned when he surprised her with a light touch on her arm. She hadn’t even realized he had moved silently next to her.

Loethar handed her her goblet, its contents refreshed.

“Here, it’s had a chance to breathe now. It tastes even better.” She took the cup. “You know, Valya,” he continued, drawing closer still until their shoulders touched. “Everything about life is perception.” She looked at him quizzically but he was staring out to the sea, not looking at her.

“What one man casts aside as unnecessary could be the very thing that another man has been searching for.” She frowned. “I understand the sentiment, but what are you saying?”

“Yes, let’s not speak in couched terms. Let me be plain.

Droste may not have been such a gain for Brennus if at the time he felt secure with all the realms of the Set working in such alignment. But I would like to see Droste as part of the Set—a new member. It is more strategic than Brennus gave Roya l Ex i l e

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it credit for. Droste is the source of the great river that feeds this region; its mountains are very important to us as much of Lo’s Teeth is unexplored—we have no idea what riches are to be found in the foothills alone. Droste has music and art and though Cremond is the seat of learning for the Set, perhaps Droste can become its cultural center point?” Valya’s eyes had widened. She could barely believe what she was hearing; was more than a year of maneuvering and cunning finally going to pay off?

Slowly letting her breath out, she repeated carefully,

“What are you saying?” She put her goblet down on a small weaven table nearby. Her fingers were suddenly trembling.

He smiled almost self-consciously and cleared his throat.

“I’m saying that I consider Droste to be far more valuable than Brennus did. I think we should make the union of Droste and the Set offi cial.”

She stared at him, and knew she was blinking with nervousness as well as excitement. “Marriage?” He looked down momentarily, then fixed her with his dark gaze. “Yes. Marry me, Valya.”

It took her a moment to make sure she had heard him absolutely clearly. Then she squealed and threw her arms around his neck. It was girlish, perhaps even childish, and everything she knew he would detest but she was beside herself with happiness. “Loethar! Yes! Of course!” He held her away from him. “Good. Thank you.” But she wanted to feel his arms around her again. “Oh, please hold me close. Mean it, Loethar. Tell me you love me.” He encircled her with his arms obligingly. “I think this will be good for both of us.”

She pulled her face from where she’d buried it in his neck and stared into his face, suddenly unreadable again. “It doesn’t matter whether you can express your feelings. I can and I need to tell you that I love you.”

“I know you do.” He looked embarrassed.

“You frighten me sometimes.”

“Do I?”

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She nodded.

“There is no reason for you to fear me, Valya. But don’t try and understand me. I need you to just accept me.”

“I will,” she said, knowing in her heart she was lying to both of them.

“And be loyal. Continue to be my eyes and ears.”

“My loyalty to you will never be in question. But I beg you not to shut me out. To be of real use to you, I need to know what you are thinking.”

“I shall try.”

“Does your mother know that you were planning to propose?”

“No. We shall tell her of our engagement together.”

“She won’t be pleased.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Dara Negev hates me, as I suspect she would hate any woman who won your affections.”

“You have her wrong, Valya. My mother hates anyone who might sway me from my cause.”

“If that were the case she should welcome me with open arms.”

“She is a tough woman to please, I’ll grant you. But you’ll win her over.”

“Protect me, Loethar. Let her know that you hold me in high regard. I need your support.”

“You are to be my wife. You will be empress, Valya. I should imagine that is enough support for you to wield against both your mother and mine.” She felt a surge of fierce delight at the very notion of seeing both her parents at the wedding. “Kiss me,” she urged.

He leaned toward her and she parted her lips to welcome him, to bind this moment in the tender and loving intimacy of a deep kiss, but he did not dwell. If anything the caress of his lips felt cursory, dry, and she felt her joy dented still further to see him wipe his mouth surreptitiously as he turned away.

“I will set arrangements in motion,” he said. “Thank you, Roya l Ex i l e

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Valya. I will contact your parents to ensure they are aware of this development. They must at least be curious as to your whereabouts?”

She diverted her pain into her scornful tone. “The king and Queen of Droste have probably not given my disappearance much mourning. They would have had a sense of good riddance, if anything. It solves the problem of who takes the crown.”

“Well, not any more. Now you bring the empire to their doorstep. If they really are how you describe them, the royal couple will fall over themselves to be dutiful parents to you and allies with me.”

She nodded. “That’s exactly what will happen, Loethar.

You don’t even know them and still you have their measure.”

“I don’t need to know them. I have observed enough of people’s nature to understand those like your family.”

“And what about your own family?”

He turned back to face her. “I didn’t choose them,” he said evasively.

“No, but you do control them.”

“To a point.”

“Loethar,” she began, her voice now streaked with disdain,

“do you honestly believe Stracker wouldn’t still be arm wrestling in tents and helping mares give birth if not for you?” He remained irritatingly calm. “Stracker would be the first to admit that I am the son born with the brains, he with the brawn. He likes it that way.”

She shook her head. “No one would even pick you for brothers. How could you two sons come from the same man’s seed?”

“Who said we did?”

Valya froze. She’d said it as a meaningless insult, nothing more. In a rare awkward moment, she found herself open-mouthed and staring. Then, embarrassed, she began to stammer. “I . . . I really didn’t mean. What I mean is I . . .

well, I’m—”

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“It’s all right, Valya. I’m baiting you.” She wasn’t sure he had been. “Warn me the next time you plan to make a jest, my beloved, for I can never be sure with that serious countenance of yours.” He nodded. “I must practice a happy face, you think?” She smiled now and placed her hand on his chest, glad for the excuse to touch him. “Well, now that you’re emperor you must certainly make yourself accessible to your new people.

A smile, especially one as charming as yours, can only help your cause.”

“I will remember that. I’ll have to try not to smile when I impale their young king in Penraven’s grand city square.” Valya shuddered inwardly. For all his tenderness of just moments earlier, he was still a conqueror before all else. She had taught herself—Lo knew she’d had enough practice—

how to behave in the ruthless manner that would impress him.

But he frightened her all the same. He was uncannily able to keep everyone off balance; his mind seemed to work at a different speed and with a strange and sinister grace that allowed him to see things quickly, differently. He was always one step ahead of most others.

“And I always think Stracker’s the bloodthirsty brother.

He has nothing on his elder,” she said, affectionately in a contrived light jest.

“I am not the elder brother,” he said calmly, ignoring Valya’s obvious shock.

“I . . . I don’t understand.”

“Stracker is older than me.”

“But—”

“This is how our father wished it,” he added, his tone fi nal.

She nodded, unsure of what to say, fi nally murmuring,

“I’m glad.” Deftly switching topics, she asked, “No news then on Leonel?”

“No.” His expression turned sour. “It galls me to think the boy was in the palace when we took it. He had to have had help escaping.”

“What sort of help?”

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He shook his head, irritated. “Freath mentioned something about seeing him with one of the De Vis sons just prior to our taking the castle and . . .” He stopped, shrugging.

“What is it?”

“No, nothing.”

“Tell me,” she said, placing her hand on his muscled arm, relishing the chance to touch him again.

He gave an expression of reluctant acquiescence. “I had given strict instructions that the palace and all exits be guarded . . . every possible entry or departure point was manned. We stormed the castle in a concerted effort that would have left no one any time to make an escape. I know not one of those royals ever really believed they were under threat of death; parley was at the top of their list, not escape.

And we know the prince was

here when we took

Brighthelm—Freath saw him. He had nowhere to go. Nowhere to hide! Every last crevice has been searched. I don’t know how he has escaped our clutches.”

“You said he was with one of the De Vis sons. What does he look like?”

Loethar shook his head. “Freath says he is tall and strong-looking. A man, albeit young.”

She nodded. “So there’s only two of them?”

“Just two, both young. They should have been easy to en-trap.” He walked away, stretching, obviously fi nished with the conversation.

“Loethar,” she whispered, staring at his back as he stretched, his spine giving a satisfying crack. She felt the blood drain from her face.

“What is it?” he said, turning. “What’s wrong? Are you sick?”

She shook her head, thinking it through, running the scene back in her mind. How long had it been? Nearly two hours perhaps. She snapped her attention back to Loethar’s face, now so close she could kiss him again, could see the soft shadow of where his beard had hung from for so long.

“Talk to me!” he demanded.

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“I’m sorry. Forgive me. It’s just that . . . I think we just saw them,” she said, her voice tiny, frightened.

Loethar gripped her shoulders and she watched his face change from quizzical, slightly baffled, to controlled rage. It happened in the blink of an eye and once again Valya was reminded that this was no ordinary man she was attaching herself to. His hands dug into her upper arms and her fi nger-tips went numb in the space of moments. “What did you say?” he whispered.

He had heard, she knew it, but he just couldn’t believe it.

Still she went through the motions and explained. “I was out riding,” she began, nodding, making sure he was hearing her.

Exasperation flickered in his stare. “I do recall. I sent a runner to fetch you.”

“Loethar, you’re hurting me,” she murmured.

He let her go. “And?”

Valya rubbed one arm and then the other as she continued. “I had one of your men with me as escort, as you’ve insisted. A Green. Another rode up, a Blue, and said you wanted to see me. We were riding back, were almost into the bailey when I happened to look around and I saw your horrible raven leaving the palace. It must have been from this room,” she said, looking around.

“It was. Go on,” he said, his stare impaling her, voice hard.

“Well, I followed Vyk’s fl ight and as he flew into the forest line I thought I saw two figures.” She watched his jaw grind as his lips thinned. “I was too far away to see clearly but they were running. One was taller than the other. I guessed both to be youngish men.”

“And you—”

“I did! I argued with the escort warrior. I insisted we do something about it. I described the pair. I said they looked furtive; I said they were running.” She huffed. “The Green treated me with disdain, I have to tell you. He talked to me as though I were a pig farmer’s whore and did nothing, didn’t even look in the direction I was pointing. He even threatened me; he told me the men only tolerate me because Roya l Ex i l e

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of you.” Her gaze flicked away from his unnerving stare. “I kept telling him it was worth looking into and all he said was that his duty was to bring me to you because I’d been summoned. I demanded that you be alerted. He all but said he’d drag me before you if I didn’t comply and follow him.”

“I see,” Loethar said, his fury barely controlled. “And this happened right before I saw you?”

She shrugged helplessly. “Well, no. We argued over it for a brief time. And then I had to travel from just outside the bailey to this chamber.”

“Too long,” he growled. “Who were these men of mine?”

“I don’t know their names.”

“Could you recognize them again?”

“Of course.”

He grabbed her and there was nothing gentle about it.

“Come with me,” he snarled.

Seventeen

——————————————

Kirin and Clovis looked around. Their accommodations were sparse but airy and light. Herbs in jars around the room lent a fresh fragrance to what was clearly a long unused chamber.

“All right?” Freath inquired, pushing open a window and allowing a soft breeze to blow in.

Kirin thought he was jesting but realized the former aide to the now dead queen spoke in earnest. “I’m surprised we have this much,” he admitted.

Clovis nodded, looking pensive. “What a strange day this has been.”

“And each will get stranger, I’m sure,” Freath said. “I’m glad you are friends and can look out for each other. Now I must leave. If you are sent for, don’t dally. If I speak to you cruelly, ask odd deeds of you, or even strike you, you’re welcome to scowl but do as you’re bid. Behave reluctantly but don’t overdo it; I may not be able to protect you. The barbarian will be suspicious if you don’t resent my lordship over you but it will seem equally questionable if you disobey me and I don’t impose harsh punishment. Feel free to be very frightened.” He sighed, then warned, as he opened the door to leave, “We walk a fine line now, my friends.”

“Freath, wait,” Kirin implored. “I’m still not sure why we’ve been chosen like this.”

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Freath closed the door again. “I must be brief. I asked Loethar for two of the Vested for my own purposes. I used the excuse that it was to ensure my protection, and of course he agreed because he thinks I am a coward as well as a traitor. I also think he readily agreed knowing that he would see to it that Stracker offered me a choice of only those they believed were not truly possessed of any high magic.”

“I see,” Kirin said, glancing at Clovis, knowingly. “They thought they were granting you false security.”

“Just so,” Freath replied.

“So how can we be of any use to you?”

“Come now, Master Kirin. I think we both know that you have set out to disguise your true talents. I knew any Vested worth his salt wouldn’t admit to possessing real power.

Those who made big noise of their abilities I knew were destined for a poor end—for even Stracker is not completely stupid. He was clever enough to siphon off those who seemed genuinely talented, leaving behind a few vaguely empowered individuals from whom I was permitted to choose. I saw straight away that both of you were hiding something and I took the risk that it was your powers that you were underselling.” He shrugged. “And I was obviously right. I saw how sick you became after engaging in what I assume was prying into Stracker. Is this so?” Kirin nodded. “We have no time to talk now but I will need to learn the extent of your abilities. Master Clovis, the same goes for you. As far as Loethar is concerned I have demanded you as my protectors in exchange for whatever I can tell them about the Valisars.” He held a hand up as they both began to speak.

“Of course I intend to tell them nothing of any use. Just as they intend that I have very little protection.” Clovis wore a baffled expression. “But, Master Freath, how are we supposed to offer you protection when we can’t even protect ourselves? I am a diviner but although Kirin can pry, neither of us can offer you safety against injury.”

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I have proven myself to Loethar with my act of barbarism against the queen. I do not want your talents to protect me. I need your talents for what I seek.” Kirin held out his hands. “I really don’t get how—”

“Your skills will help me to find an aegis,” Freath interrupted.

Clovis shook his head in dismay. Kirin responded for both of them. “But surely you know that most people don’t believe such a person even exists?”

“Do you?” Freath asked pointedly.

“I . . . I’ve never really thought about it.” Clovis sighed. “I’ve always thought aeges were simply myth, to tell the truth.”

Freath fl icked at a bit of lint on his dark clothes. “Well, I have to believe such a person does live. The history books say King Cormoron had an aegis. It is written that for every Valisar king, there is one.”

“Surely that’s just legend?” Clovis said, bemused.

“I’ve never even heard rumor of someone being able to champion with magic,” Kirin said.

Freath shrugged. “Until very recently I sneered at the suggestion that prying existed.”

Kirin stared at Freath. “You didn’t know?” The older man shook his head. “I have read a lot and listened a great deal to people cleverer than myself. But until I met you I had never met a Vested. Only now do I realize they are everyday people, living everyday lives . . . and probably half the time wishing they were not special.” Kirin looked down as Freath’s words struck a chord. “But neither of you can be considered ordinary, no matter how everyday your lives are. You do possess powers and you must now use them for the good of your realm. I beg you. Put all your skills to use. If such a person as an aegis lives, I want to know his name. And this is not for my sake but for my king, whenever we can fi nd him.”

“Freath, even if such a person does exist—he could be anywhere.”

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The aide’s expression was rueful. “Do you think I don’t know that?”

Kirin shook his head. “It’s pointless, surely?”

“No! I think he does exist. I’ll tell you why. When we fi rst got wind that the barbarians were encroaching into Set lands Brennus began to put certain steps into place. I cannot tell you what those were.” He raised a hand to silence Kirin.

“Trust me, please. One of the duties he gave me was to read all the ancient texts to find out everything I could about the phenomenon of the aegis. Interestingly, it was well docu-mented. I discovered two in Valisar history, although most of us only know about the most famous—the one bonded to Cormoron. The other, more obscure aegis was hunted and supposedly bonded to a wealthy merchant during the reign of the 4th Valisar king. But we have only sketchy details of that one. I suspect it’s not true.” Kirin, exasperated, was glad when Clovis responded for both of them. “So if we have two that we know of in eight kings or however many centuries—nearly five, perhaps?” At Freath’s nod, he continued, “What makes you think one exists now?”

“There are signs,” Freath replied.

“What signs?” Kirin demanded. “I know a bit about magic, Freath. I’ve read plenty too and I’ve never heard about signs that herald an aegis.”

“That’s because after the aegis was bonded by the merchant, the Valisars deliberately set out to destroy all information about them. The merchant was cagey about his protection anyway, so that worked in the Valisars’ favor. He didn’t want anyone to know that the little girl he bonded to him was anything more than a servant.”

“So it was easy to cover all trace of the aegis and how the magic works, you mean?” Clovis asked.

“Precisely so. No other Valisar king has needed that sort of protection. The Set has lived in peace since Cormoron’s times.”

“So various aeges have come and gone,” Clovis remarked.

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“Most will have lived and died without anyone knowing, without even the aegis really grasping his potential.”

“I think you’re clutching at straws, Freath.”

“Straws of hope are all we have to cling to, Master Kirin. I mean to discover the aegis originally born for Leonel. The fact is, Loethar has already done most of the hard work. Everyone who is Vested, anyone who was even whispered about as having a talent, is being held somewhere in and around this palace.”

“Or dead,” Clovis added sourly.

“Indeed,” Freath replied. “All I’m asking is that you try. If an aegis exists, you two can probably seek that person more effectively than anyone else I can think of. Plus, you can do so without suspicion.” They both nodded unhappily. “Kirin, don’t make yourself too sick, though. We need you alert.

Wander around the palace, see what you can learn. Now I must go. I have left a length of fabric in that drawer over there,” he said, pointing. “Wear it around your arm at all times. It will permit you certain freedoms as it marks you as my servant. Be careful.”

“Wait!” Kirin urged. “You said there were signs the aegis would display?”

“Ah yes, although they are subtle. He will be marked by Lo. Something about him will be different, although it’s different each time and we never know what it may be. Cormoron’s aegis was said to have never grown hair anywhere on his body. The merchant’s child was mutarl—”

“What’s that?” Clovis asked, frowning.

“A Penraven expression,” Kirin explained. “White haired, pale skinned, strange eyes, poor sight.”

“Ah, we call this pearled.”

“Aeges also tend to be restless souls. Until they are trammelled, they tend to wander, though they remain isolated.” Freath gave them both a fi nal glance of encouragement and then the door closed and he was gone.

Clovis sighed. “An aegis?” he repeated.

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“He’s dreaming,” Kirin replied. “Confusing his myths with history.”

“We must stay optimistic. If we exist, who is to say an aegis is simply folklore?”

“Do you know what is said to be involved in binding an aegis?” Kirin asked. Clovis shook his head. “You have to trammel them. And to trammel an aegis requires you to bind them with a powerful magic that you draw from them alone.

“You have to consume part of him,” Kirin continued, turning away in disgust. “Their spirit is then bound to you.

Their magic protects you.”

“Consume. You mean eat them?” Clovis asked, in a tone of disbelief.

“Yes, eat. So that part of their body is now part of yours and they are helplessly bound, by their very creation, to your needs. It’s hideous. There have been tales of suspected aeges having fingers and toes hacked off, even whole limbs, in order to be roasted and eaten. Most of the time the hunters are wrong and innocent people die. An aegis will hide himself to the utmost of his ability.”

“Because he doesn’t want to be consumed,” Clovis fi nished.

“That, too, but mainly because his skills are only good on behalf of others. It’s only once he’s been trammelled that his true powers are potent. Then he can protect both himself and the person who bound him. Until then, he’s as helpless as you or I.”

“That’s a good thing, though, isn’t it? I mean, to come into one’s powers?”

“No, think about it. You’re living your normal life, perhaps not happily ignorant of what you possess but certainly not required to use it—not even capable of using it, in fact. Along comes any old stranger, who recognizes your inherent power and trammels you. Suddenly you’re under their complete control.” As Clovis frowned, Kirin added, “Oh, didn’t I mention the trammelling binds you so closely to this stranger that 248

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you follow him against your own inclination? You no longer possess a mind of your own. You cannot leave your binder, or lie to him, or do anything to harm him. When he walks, sleeps, eats, so do you. To be too far from him makes your very bones ache. To be separated for any length of time threatens your sanity, although your powers do not wane.

You share his sufferings but not his joys. The aegis gives without cease but cannot take. It is not a gift; it is a curse from the gods.”

“I had no idea. And how do you recognize someone cursed in this way?”

Kirin smiled without a skerrick of warmth. “You don’t.

Any aegis will go to any length to hide his potential power—

though, as Freath said, they are supposed to be marked somehow. I suspect many are marked in such subtle ways that they live their lives unnoticed. But clever Freath knows our skills can look beneath the skin. He knows if anyone can find an aegis we can, no matter how hard he may try to mask what he possesses.”

“Cunning,” Clovis agreed.

“Well, I’ll do it for the Set. If Penraven’s young king is all that is left of our royal families, we must fight for him.” Clovis handed Kirin one of the lengths of fabric. “We’d better heed Freath’s warning with these. Here, let me tie it on you.” Once the cloth was secured, Kirin tied the other around Clovis’s arm. “It’s probably wise I try some divining first,” Clovis added.

“I was hoping you’d say that,” Kirin said, relieved.

“Where do we begin?”

“We need to find the first group, or at least learn where they’ve been sent.”

“And let’s keep away from that Stracker,” Clovis added.

They found Stracker eating in the barracks that had once housed the Penraven army.

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“welcome, join us—not that you look like us any more!” There was a question in his voice, his expression.

“Not now,” Loethar said, walking to a more private corner. Stracker followed. “I need you to assemble the Blues and Greens that were on duty this morning,” he said.

“Why?” His brother stared at him.

“It’s important,” Loethar growled. “Do you know who ac-companied Valya this morning on her ride?”

“No, but it’s easy enough to find out. What’s happened?”

“She thinks she might have seen the Valisar and De Vis escaping.”

Stracker’s eyes widened. “What?”

“You heard me,” Loethar said in shared disgust. “She asked the men to investigate but according to her they refused.”

“How long ago?”

“More than two hours now.”

“Is she sure?”

“That it was them?” At Stracker’s nod, Loethar said irritated, “No, of course she’s not sure. But the two people she saw running into the woods fitted the description of the two we seek. I can’t believe they might have slipped our net.”

“How could they, Loethar? There is no entrance or departure point we haven’t got guarded day and night. We rotate the guards every hour. They couldn’t slip past us.”

“Just bring them in,” Loethar said, wearily. “Let’s hear their side.”

Stracker turned to bark orders and before long men were noisily assembling in the courtyard outside.

Loethar walked to where he’d left Valya. She looked good in her riding garb, he noted. She had taken to wearing Set clothes when they’d first arrived into the region; gone were the highly colorful skirts that the Steppes women favored.

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richer, more elegant colors that she’d obviously looted along the way of their various conquests. He noted that her riding skirt was too big for her and the jacket a touch small for her heavy breasts but she carried it all magnificently on her statu-esque body. He couldn’t deny the lust Valya fi red in him. He knew that she loved him but he couldn’t feel the same way. It wasn’t even her fault, really; he had carried so much hatred for so long that he didn’t think he had room for love. He could not imagine love ever entering his consciousness, as long as he continued to hate the Valisars, until every last one of them was destroyed.

“Come, Valya, I want you to find the two men in question.”

“Must I?” she asked, looking self-conscious.

“For me,” he replied.

She moved, took his hand and allowed herself to be guided before the assembled men.

“These aren’t all the Blues and Greens, only those who were on duty earlier,” Stracker said.

Loethar nodded. “Is anyone still on duty who was on this morning?” He ignored the surprised stares from the men at his new appearance.

“No. We rotate them too often,” Stracker replied.

“Good. Valya, if you please.”

She picked out the messenger easily enough. “Him,” she said, pointing. “He was the Blue runner who brought the message that I was to be brought before you.” Loethar nodded at Stracker, who motioned to the young man. “Come here, Farn.”

The man approached, looking appropriately wary.

“And the other?” Loethar asked her.

“Green. I don’t see him,” she said, her eyes narrowing as she scanned the rows of men.

“Walk among them,” Loethar urged.

“No need,” Stracker said, his head dipping over to the far end of the further line where a man moved toward them.

“Him.”

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“I was the escort,” the Green bellowed. “There is no need to seek me. I come of my own choice.” He knelt before Loethar. The Blue followed suit.

“These two?” Loethar asked Valya once again.

“Yes. Him especially,” she nodded at the Green. “He treated me with disdain.”

“What is your name, warrior?”

“I am Belush.”

“And, Belush, I am given to understand that despite the lady’s urging, you ignored her requests to follow the people she saw slipping into the woods.”

“That’s true. I had strict orders to get her to you. We follow orders. We did not wish to let you down.” Loethar nodded. He could not fault the man’s logic. “Did you not think it would be prudent to ask anyone else to check into the strangers?”

Belush didn’t answer immediately. Finally he nodded. “I should have. But the woman treated me with such contempt, my lord, I was angry at her attitude.”

“I see. Do you know who she is, Belush?”

“She is the Princess of Droste, as I understand it.”

“Then you already know she is of royal blood and should be accorded some respect. Did you also know, Belush, that the Princess of Droste is soon to be not only the Empress of the Set but also the queen of the Steppes?” At this news a murmuring went up among the gathered men. Belush hesitated. “I did not, my lord.”

“You, Farn. Did you not consider the lady’s request at least worthy of follow up?” Loethar demanded.

“I was simply following my orders, emperor. It’s been drummed into us never to deviate from an order,” the younger man stammered.

Loethar drew his sword and a tight silence bound the gathered men. “I applaud that you think in this manner, Farn, but, you see I gave very strict orders that the King of Penraven was to be found at any cost. Those were everyone’s orders.

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fetch the Princess Valya. All you would have had to do was mention her concern to your superior and something could have been done about it. Now their trail is already hours cold.”

“I had no idea, my lord,” Farn bleated. “I wasn’t thinking.” Privately, Loethar hoped Farn never knew it was coming.

And the way his eyelids curiously fluttered a few times once his head rolled to a stop by Valya’s boot, he assumed that the young warrior was taken by surprise. Loethar watched the Blue’s body slump forward, knowing the Mears now had a grudge against Valya. He would have to watch that. To her credit she was stoic in ignoring how her clothes were spattered with the Blue’s blood but he did notice her nudge Farn’s heavy head away, no doubt trying to avoid the way his eyes stared with accusation at her from near her boots.

Belush had not moved position, not so much as fl inched.

Loethar admired his courage because the Green would know he was next.

“Anything you want to say, Belush?”

“Only an apology on behalf of the Drevin tribe for letting you down, my lord. My pride got in the way of good sense.”

“Your pettiness has allowed the Valisar boy to escape our clutches.”

Belush said nothing, but he hung his head in shame. Loethar waited. Wondered what Valya might say or do. He was sure he had her measure. Nevertheless, even though she did not, could not know it, he had privately handed her control.

In the space of a breathless moment he watched Valya take in Stracker’s disgust that a good man was about to die and he assumed that she accepted she was being blamed. If he could feel it, then she must surely feel the fresh hate emanat-ing from the men and directed at her . . . she could, if she was quick and her pride could be set aside for a second, earn their respect but it would take a magnanimous gesture. He would not offer it or it would make a mockery of the Blue warrior’s death and would compromise him. He watched his Roya l Ex i l e

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knuckles whiten around the hilt of the blade just before he raised it. He gave it another second’s pause at the top of its arc before he reluctantly began its descent.

“Stop!” Valya cried.

“What is it?” he deliberately growled, hiding his relief.

“I want him,” Valya said.

“For what?”

“To humiliate. Make him my servant. Let him run after my every bid, my every call. He can run my errands and run my baths.” She tinkled a laugh at her own jest. “Why lose a good warrior when you can teach him the lesson you want over and over again by giving him to me?”

“Kill me, my lord,” Belush urged.

Loethar’s gaze narrowed as he looked from Belush’s now raised and pleading eyes to Valya’s hard look.

“Make him obey me, the object of his disdain,” Valya urged. “I shall teach him not to dismiss me and you can make use of his fighting skills whenever you need. I don’t believe you need more bloodshed to make your point. We’re better off sending out trackers right now than wasting another moment.” She glanced briefl y at the men. “This would please me, Loethar. Perhaps we can teach Belush some respect,” she added.

Loethar stepped back and lowered his sword. “As you wish, Valya. Belush, you now belong to her. You will obey her every command. I know you don’t value your own life but I promise you that I will kill a member of your tribe each time you disobey the soon- to- be empress’s orders.”

“Yes, my lord,” Belush answered. Loethar could hear the forlornness in his voice.

“From now on Valya is to be known as Princess Valya.

When we marry she is to be empress. Do you hear?” As the men assented—Stracker included—Valya glanced at Loethar. Her expression was composed but he could sense her delight. “Come, Belush,” she said sweetly. “I have some chores for you.”

Eigh teen

——————————————

They had stopped for a rest twice more and each time Vyk had landed to regard them in his silent, sinister manner.

Gavriel had found some wild roeberries, which he’d spread out on a makeshift bed of leaves together with the sweet nut that was abundant in this part of the realm.

“I never thought I’d be dining on crabnut,” Leo said, cracking the brittle shell with his teeth and digging out the distinctive purplish fl esh.

“Tastes good though, doesn’t it?” Gavriel replied absently, his gaze focused on the raven.

“Anything does when you’re as hungry as I am,” Leo grumbled, but it was a hollow whinge with no heat. If anything Leo was calmer, more in control than ever before.

Although they were in unfamiliar territory and under threat from the marauders, Gavriel believed being on the run and out of Brighthelm was the best set of circumstances for the young king. The ingress had become oppressive, more like a prison than a haven, and he had had very little way of protecting Leo from the cruel scenes that would no doubt continue to unfold before them. “Eat plenty of the berries to help keep you refreshed,” he encouraged. “My father always told us they are as good as drinking a cup of water.”

“I’m done. If I eat any more I think I’ll get belly cramp,” Leo said, wiping the blood-red juice of the berries on his Roya l Ex i l e

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trousers. “Mother would screech if she saw me do this,” he said and Gavriel heard the soft sorrow in his voice.

“I think she’d forgive you under the circumstances,” he replied, pushing himself off the ground. “We need to keep going.”

“I could lie down and sleep right now. We’ve got to have covered ten miles.”

“I know. But we must gain more distance from Brighthelm. We’ll stop as soon as it gets dark, which won’t be long now. If we get lucky I can shoot us a rabbit.” Leo sighed and hauled himself to his feet. “Come on, Vyk,” he murmured, and Gavriel grimaced.

“Don’t encourage him.”

“It seems to me he does exactly what he wants anyway.” As Gavriel reached for his bow, Vyk began to clack his beak, and then gave voice to what was clearly alarm. The boys turned to see Vyk lift his heavy body up into the trees, where he quietened but continued to stare at them intently.

“What was that about?” Leo wondered aloud.

“Daft bird,” Gavriel muttered. He pulled his bow across him. “Come on, L—”

“And who have we got here?” a voice said.

Gavriel spun, instinctively reaching for Leo, intensely angry with himself for unbuckling his sword. He could see it on the ground just a few paces from reach, and yet it might as well have been a hundred miles away.

“Boys?” said the man. He looked behind him as a companion appeared. “Look, Jok, poachers.”

“We’re not poachers,” Gavriel said, indignantly.

“What are you doing here, then?” the first man asked.

“Travelling,” Gavriel answered, hoping he sounded more confident than he felt. “You look like Penravians, so presumably you’re aware of what’s happening in our own realm.” The man’s gaze narrowed. “No smart lip from you, lad.

And, just as an observation, that sword looks far too fi ne to belong to someone as scruffy as you appear.” Gavriel felt a surge of relief. At least his precaution of 256

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roughing up their clothes and removing as much fi nery as possible had stood up to a cursory glance. The ruse wouldn’t bear intense scrutiny but hopefully it wouldn’t have to.

“That sword belonged to my father,” he lied. “And he gave it to me.”

“Who gave it to him, I wonder?”

Gavriel shrugged. “My father travelled a lot. I have no idea. Probably won it at darts.”

“He must have been good,” the man commented.

“The best,” Gavriel replied.

“And does the skill run in the family?” Gavriel nodded, unsure of where the man was going with this. “I’ve a good eye, if that’s what you mean.” Both men laughed.

“Is this your brother?”

Gavriel gripped Leo’s shoulder more tightly. “Yes, this is Lewk. My name’s Gaven. And you?”

“Jok and Alfric. Al to my friends.” Gavriel tried to give a friendly nod although he felt trapped. He could hear the damn raven clacking high in the trees now.

“Where have you come from?” Alfric asked.

“The city’s too dangerous. We were going there to work the leaf-fall with my uncle. He’s a smith who does a lot of jobs for the palace.”

“I would have thought there would be plenty of work around.”

“There is but the marauders are still in a killing frame of mind. It’s early days.”

“Still got the smell of blood in their nostrils, eh?” Gavriel nodded. “Still capable of much cruelty, yes. It’s not a place for my brother. I promised our mother I’d keep him safe.”

“Where’s she?”

“Dead. Both our parents are. But I gave that promise years ago.”

“So where are you headed?”

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“North.”

“Why?”

Gavriel was tired of being polite but knew he must not be impetuous, not now. “What does it matter?”

“I’m interested.”

“Well, I don’t tell everyone our business.”

“Why so reluctant, boy? Something to hide?”

“No. But we’re tired and hungry. I have to find a place for Lewk to sleep that’s not out in the open like this. You obviously know the forest well. Wolves must know it too.”

“You don’t look like brothers, you know?” Jok piped up.

Gavriel deliberately showed all the exasperation he was feeling. “That’s because he’s adopted. Much as I’d enjoy sharing our entire life history with you both—perhaps over a mug of tea and quiet night by the fire—we need to be on our way.”

Alfric laughed. “How well can you use that sword, boy?”

“Well enough,” Gavriel replied, his anger rising. He knew where this was going now; had hoped to avoid it. “But I don’t want to use it.”

“I like your confi dence.”

“You don’t want to do this. We have no argument with you.”

“But I don’t believe your story. I think you’re poachers and we don’t take kindly to poachers in our forest.” Gavriel looked at them, aghast, but was shocked when Leo spoke. “You don’t own these lands, sir.”

“The hell I don’t!” Alfric said. “I don’t care what’s happening out there,” he said, pointing back toward Penraven, “but I sure care about what goes on in the forest, especially with whippersnappers like you thinking you can join the game.”

“Game?” Gavriel spat. “You should care about what’s going on back there because it’s going to spill into the forest soon enough. Do you honestly believe the barbarians aren’t just as at home in the woods as they are on their plains?

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poachers. You carry on with whatever you do. We’ll just carry on our journey north. We have no argument.” But Gavriel could see in the dull-eyed look of these men that an argument was precisely what they wanted. He’d seen it before. They were probably not yet frightened of Loethar’s presence because it played into their own pleasure of anar-chy. He knew these men followed the laws of Penraven about as closely as any one of the barbarians. They had obviously stayed clear of the fighting thus far, but in doing so they had become bored. Now they had two seemingly helpless youngsters on whom they could take out their boredom.

He noted that they had a sword each, and both were heavy- set men—the taller, Alfric, was much plumper, perhaps not so fast on his feet.

“Ever killed anyone, boy?”

“No.”

Alfric laughed. “Always a first time, eh?”

“I didn’t say that. I don’t want to fight you, Alfric.”

“You sound scared.”

“You should be scared,” Leo hurled at the men. “Don’t say we haven’t warned you.”

Even Jok joined in the mirth now. “Cor, I’m really shaking in my boots now, Al.”

“Why are you doing this?” Gavriel asked, unembarrassed by the plea even he could hear in his voice.

“Because we don’t like the look of you, because we think you’re lying, because you’re on our land, because I hate the refined way you speak, boy, and because your brother looks at us as though he’s important. I see hate in his eyes.”

“Can you blame him?” Gavriel demanded. “You’re frightening him.”

“I’ll frighten him a lot more once I get my hands on him,” Alfric said and to Gavriel’s revulsion Jok actually licked his lips in a deliberately lascivious manner.

So that was it! They’d probably had no women in an age.

Gavriel moved quickly, reaching for the hilt of his sword.

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finger on him,” he snarled. “Run!” he urged Leo and in a sweeping move not only lifted his sword but instantly lunged to cut off Jok as the man moved to give chase to Leo. “Oh, no you don’t!” he baited. “You deal with me fi rst.” He feinted at Jok again, who backed up a step or two.

“Oh for Lo’s sake, what are you frightened of? He’s half your age!” Alfric scorned as he drew his weapon. Gavriel could see it had rust spots and was not a well cared for sword. He had to hope it was not as sharp as his own.

The two men tried to encircle him but Gavriel deliberately lunged, keeping them herded together. It was easier to keep them crowded and fighting shoulder to shoulder than it would be if one got out of his line of vision.

“I thought you said you weren’t any good?” Jok whinged.

“I said I used it well enough. I also told you I didn’t want to use it. You’ve started this; now you pay the consequences.”

Jok made a rush at him and Gavriel parried, getting his first taste of their skill. Though Jok was strong, he was fl at-footed, and his short stature meant that he didn’t have much reach. Gavriel stepped back but kept his fi ghting stance.

“Looks like we have a jolly one here, Jok. When this is done, we’ll hang his body from this tree here so no one else gets the idea that this forest belongs to everyone.”

“You’re mad. I’m not your enemy. The real enemy may be yet to arrive in the woods, but he’s coming, trust me. In fact I suspect he’s already on his way.”

“The barbarian is not interested in the forest, you fool.

He’s after riches that only the city can offer.”

“Which makes me realize you’re even more stupid than you look, Al!” Gavriel taunted, hoping to provoke the man into a move.

The big man moved fast—much faster than Gavriel had given him credit for being able to. He felt the blade swipe through the top of his arm and if he hadn’t spun in that second, the wound would have gone deep to the bone. As it was, blood bloomed, soaking his shirt sleeve.

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“How does that make you feel?” Alfric baited.

Gavriel was used to drills; he’d never really had to fi ght in a genuine situation. Never had to make the decision of kill or be killed. How did it feel? It hurt, like a flame burning on his skin. “Angry,” Gavriel growled and lurched first left before rapidly launching himself to the right to avoid Jok trying to sneak around him. Within moments he was frantically engaged in a battle with both men, desperate to keep them occupied so that neither could break away and run after Leo.

His non- fighting arm was bleeding profusely; the wound needed to be staunched which meant he would have to deal with these two amateurs swiftly. Still angry with himself for opening himself up to the early cut, he began backing away from where Leo had run, drawing Alfric and Jok toward him.

“You obviously want to die, boy,” Alfric sneered.

“Not really. Just wanted to reassure myself that you are genuinely two fat, incapable fighters with limited sword skills,” he hurled back, swiping at Jok, who yelled as his knee opened and he fell forward.

Alfric paused in surprise to glance at his felled friend.

Gavriel darted into the sudden stillness, hacking away Alfric’s sword and kicking away Jok’s weapon. He pressed his sword into the big man’s throat, a line of blood already beginning to dribble down his neck.

“Don’t do it, Jok,” Gavriel warned. “I know what you’re thinking but Alfric here is already out of breath and it will take very little effort for me to dispatch both of you.” Jok withdrew the hand he had been reaching toward Gavriel’s leg. Gavriel stepped away from both men. “Now what’s it to be? Alfric, you can help your friend and fl ee together—without your weapons or food, of course—or I can kill you both now and save the realm your ugliness. I am impatient; you would do better to choose quickly.” He looked into the distance. “Lewk!” he yelled and was relieved to see the king step out from behind a tree.

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and sacks. Leave them on the ground and go. You’ll have to pick him up, Al. Jok’s not going anywhere without your shoulder to lean against.”

Alfric reluctantly untied his sword belt and pulled off the rucksack on his back. Jok followed suit, pulling the small sack slung across his body over his head and casting it behind him. “Hope you choke on the food in there,” he said.

“I’ll think of you when I’m dining to night,” Gavriel replied. “Now lift your trouser legs, both of you,” he ordered, his sword still hovering near Alfric. “Ah, there we are,” he said, a note of triumph in his voice. “There’s always a concealed blade, isn’t there? Uh- uh, don’t reach for them. I’ll get them.” Carefully he retrieved both daggers and hooked them into his own belt. “Now go.”

“What are we supposed to eat?” Alfric bleated.

“Why am I supposed to care? I hope you starve, although I suspect the blubber you carry will sustain you. Unless the wolves get you. Now get out of my sight.”

“Don’t think we’ll forget you, boy,” Alfric snarled, haul-ing up a grimacing Jok.

“Well just remember this boy kicked your fat arses,” Gavriel taunted. “Now sod off.”

They moved down the slight incline awkwardly, Jok limping badly and Alfric muttering beneath his breath. Gavriel swiftly picked up all the tackle associated with their weapons.

Leo approached him. “What makes you think they won’t come back?”

“They won’t, they know I’m a better fighter now, although that’s not such a good thing.”

“Why?”

“It marks us. I wanted to travel unnoticed and now someone already knows about the two of us. We’ve barely been on the move for a day.”

“They’re idiots, Gav,” Leo said, picking up the sacks of food. “I’ll take these.”

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“I doubt it. Do you think they’re going to admit to being soundly beaten by someone more than half their age?”

“I hope you’re right,” Gavriel mumbled. “Come on. At least we’ve got food for the night and a weapon for you.”

“What about your arm? That looks like it needs stitching.” Gavriel nodded. Leo was right but there was little they could do about it right now. “Hopefully we can find an abandoned crofter’s cottage, or—”

“Or one of the gamekeepers’ huts. There has to be one somewhere in this vicinity,” Leo said, his eyes shining with his own inspiration.

“Good thought.” Gavriel glanced at the sky. “The light’s going so someone may light a candle or lamp soon enough.

We’ll see it if we’re near.”

“And if not?”

“Don’t think about it. I promise you I’m not going to bleed to death. We’ll think of some other way. For now use a belt to tie off my arm. You’ll have to pull really tight. It will slow the blood down until we find a solution.” Leothar had called for Freath to meet him in the library.

When the aide arrived, he was perusing the shelves.

“Sire?”

“Ah, there you are, Freath,” Loethar said, turning.

Freath halted, obviously caught off guard.

“Is something wrong?” Loethar watched the aide struggle to find some composure. “I know I look a bit different but surely it’s not such a shock.”

“It’s a remarkable change, if you don’t mind my mentioning it,” Freath replied and Loethar knew the aide chose his words with care.

“So my mother tells me,” Loethar admitted.

“Surely she minded what could be seen as your turning your back on your heritage?”

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knew that if I were to rule the Set I would achieve acceptance faster if I looked less like a tribal warlord.”

“Your appearance is certainly less intimidating, sire.”

“You were right; the De Vis wardrobe is a good fi t.” Freath nodded. “The legate had exceptional taste, if I may say so.”

“So I look every inch a Set man, you think?” Loethar tested, moving slightly to show off the cut of the clothes on his frame.

“Every inch, sire,” Freath agreed. Loethar sensed the man was unnerved, though he couldn’t gauge why. “Forgive me,” the aide continued, “I mean no offense when I say that I hadn’t realized you could not only speak our language but read it also?”

“I can’t. It’s interesting that all of you believe we don’t share the same language, though.”

Freath nodded. “You are right. I don’t know why I assumed you’d have a tribal language.”

“Oh we do, or at least we did. Some of the old folk still know it, and we keep it going with the youngsters so it’s not lost entirely. But Set is what the Steppes people have spoken for centuries. We have no need for writing or reading, though.

I need someone to help interpret for me.”

“Perhaps I can—”

“No, Freath, I have another job for you. Presumably there was a custodian of some sort, someone who looked after these books?”

“We had Jynes, but he died in the fighting,” Freath replied.

“I see. There was no one else?”

Freath shook his head.

“This was a private Valisar library. Brennus was the only one who used it. The queen was not interested in history, nor were her sons.” He glanced at Piven, who was stroking the leather bindings of some of the books on the lower shelves nearby.

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“Er . . . well let me see—”

“Oh, come now, there must be someone left. Even your Vested helpers . . . didn’t one of them come from the Academy at Cremond?”

“Forgive me for thinking so slowly, sire. Of course, there is Master Kirin but I think you may find Father Briar to be of better assistance.”

“Father Briar? I haven’t met him yet.”

“He helped with the cremation of the princess; he was the man who delivered the ashes to the rooftop that day.”

“I can bring him to mind now. I can find him in the chapel?”

“Or the infirmary. He is a placid, very learned man. May I ask what it is you seek? If it’s something specific I might be able to help.”

“I want to know all the Valisar secrets hidden in these books, Freath. The dynasty, I gather, was one of the most, if not the most, pedantic hoarders of information. The family didn’t pass down its secrets by word of mouth. I suspect it recorded them, and that I can fi nd most in the pages of vel-lum right here.”

“What sort of secrets, my lord?” Freath asked, a quizzical expression creasing his forehead.

“If I knew I wouldn’t have to search,” Loethar admonished. “I’m not sure, although talk of the Valisar Legacy reached even as far as the Steppes.” Freath smiled indulgently. “Yes, the story is bigger than the myth that began it.”

“So you don’t believe in it?”

Freath looked back at him, surprised. “Me? No, sire. No one did, not even the king. Believe me, had there been any key that unlocked the magic of coercion, I feel absolutely convinced I would have been privy to the Valisars’ knowledge. I honestly can’t remember King Brennus even searching for it.”

“The Valisars were always a secretive lot. Perhaps you were not privy because you are not of their blood.” Roya l Ex i l e

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Freath nodded. “You could be right but I was very good at spying on the royals, my lord. I’m sure I would have picked up some snippet if such a magic existed. I’m not even sure I know what it is.”

“Coercion? Exactly what it sounds like, Freath. The person with this talent can coerce another to do his bidding.”

“I see. A talent anyone would wish for,” Freath said, chuckling softly.

His humor seemed patronizing. “So you find me amusing, Freath?”

The aide’s mirth fled instantly. “No, sire, I beg your deepest pardon. I smile only because the other realms in the Set have been jealous of the supposed power of the Valisars for centuries, when in fact I am firmly of the belief that the Valisars under Cormoron likely made up all these magics to keep their rivals on the back foot. Cormoron was extraor-dinarily cunning. Although he was a great warrior, he also understood that might did not necessarily equal respect. It was Cormoron, as you probably already know, who established the Set, who united all the families but gave each inde pen dence to run their own realm.”

“So long as fealty was paid to Penraven.”

“Not fealty so much, sire, as simply being allies. Penraven was the largest and most powerful of all the realms, with the longest coastline and plenty of natural wealth. It soon had the highest population and the best trained army. It did lead and the other, smaller realms followed, but each carved out its own style.”

“Why was Droste not invited to join the Set?”

“It is my understanding that Droste refused to recognize Penraven as any sort of leader. Cormoron, all those centuries back, probably believed he’d made the greatest sacrifi ce in uniting the realms; undoubtedly he didn’t want a rebel in the ranks. But history has shown that equality was in fact achieved.

The Valisars have never had to use their might to enforce anything. The Set has been peaceful and each ruling family has run its realm in harmony for centuries. The families 266

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have bound themselves through marriages as well to ensure the links remain strong.”

“Except Brennus, it seemed.”

Freath looked suitably sheepish. “Well, there you have me, sire. Our own king went looking further afield. I gather his marriage to Iselda was not planned. And to all intents and purposes the linking of Galinsea and Penraven—and thus the whole Set—was a formidable and much envied bond. Iselda brought more than just beauty to her king.”

“You sound impressed, Freath,” Loethar said, replacing a book that he had been leafing absently through back onto its shelf.

“I hate the Valisars, my lord. But that doesn’t mean I have not admired them or been impressed by their ruthlessness.

Marriage is but one area King Brennus made tough decisions.”

“I appreciate your candor. When exactly did you join the Valisar employ, Freath?”

“I was appointed the day Princess Iselda arrived in our realm. I am originally from Penraven, although I travelled widely in working for a number of noble families. As fate would have it the duke I was working for was visiting Barronel at the same time as the king was passing through. Brennus called in on the same noble family and he saw something in me, I suppose.”

“Ambition, perhaps?”

“Perhaps. I cannot say. But I was employed to look after the young princess, to help turn her into a queen.”

“You did well.”

Freath simply nodded.

“So you were not aware of the plight troth made to the king and Queen of Droste for the hand of their daughter?” Loethar spoke casually, feigning interest in another book as he watched the man carefully. His barb hit the mark. Freath blanched.

“Pardon, my lord?”

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“Brennus offered marriage to the Crown Princess of Droste.”

Freath’s mouth opened and closed. “I’m sorry. I don’t know about this.”

“It must have happened before your time. And it seems it was kept quite secret.”

“Are you sure?”

“As sure as I stand here.”

“How can you know about this?”

“Because I know the crown princess and I have no reason to doubt her. In fact you two make a fine pair, both with deep grudges against Iselda.”

Freath blinked furiously, his lips thinning. Loethar could almost see the wheels turning in the man’s mind. “Lady Valya?” he suddenly asked, incredulous.

“Crown Princess Valya, no less, Freath.”

“You’ve shocked me, my lord.”

“So I can see.”

“Valya is a pop ular Set name. It never occurred to me that she could be the princess. And we had so little to do with Droste.”

“And now you know why.”

“Why have you told me this, sire?” Freath asked.

“Because I intend to right the Valisar wrong.”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“I will marry Valya. She will be the Queen of Penraven and indeed Droste, once I make sure her father understands who exactly is in charge in this region. But most importantly she will be Empress of the Set.”

He watched Freath swallow; he had to assume the man was playing for time and was convinced this was so when he uttered his next question.

“Are you certain about this, my lord?” Loethar wasn’t sure whether to be insulted or amused. He chose the latter, quirking an eyebrow and lifting one corner of his mouth.

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Freath hurried with his assurances. “Forgive me, this is not my place, but I intend to be your ears and eyes as you’ve asked, sire, and both senses tell me that your feelings for the lady . . . er, Princess Valya, do not stretch to love.” Loethar was impressed. This man, however sneaky Negev felt he was, was endowed with acute judgment. He sighed. “In this assumption you are correct, Freath. But should you ever breathe a word of my admission I will first deny it and then kill you with my bare hands. Do you understand?”

“Implicitly, my lord.”

“Good. This will be a strategic marriage. Droste comes into the Set and thus allows the Steppes people to move and trade freely.”

“I see. And does the princess understand your marriage is for this reason?”

“I suspect Valya is not as dimmed by love as some might think. I believe she is a realist and I know she is a survivor.

She is happy to take her advantages wherever she can fi nd them; if she weren’t, she would never have come looking for me in the fi rst place.”

“She looked for you?”

“Oh yes. She hunted me down, fearlessly entered the Steppes alone. Dirty, bedraggled, with no weapons, little food, and a half dead mare beneath her, she came to offer her hand in marriage with the promise that the Set could be taken if I worked with her.”

“Princess Valya masterminded your campaign?” Freath asked, clearly unable to hide his astonishment.

“Entirely. She understands the west. Your king should never have misjudged or shamed her the way he did. She has taught me plenty. We knew when and where to strike because of her; and it was Valya who advised us to hold Penraven until last.

My inclination would have been to take Penraven fi rst, driving the rest of the realms to capitulate once their leader fell.

But Valya said Brennus was so arrogant, always so sure of his mighty Valisar reign, that if we struck hard into Cremond and Roya l Ex i l e

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Dregon, effectively cutting off any flight, other than via ship, we would have the Valisars cornered.”

“She was right, sire,” Freath replied with just the right amount of admiration to impress Loethar.

“My mother

doesn’t credit Valya with much sense, although I’m sure you’ve already worked that out, Freath. It seems you have the measure of all of us.” Freath nodded graciously. “My role has always been one of diplomacy, my lord. And now my role is to protect you as best I can using the same skills in diplomacy, politics and—”

“Cunning?”

Freath gave a short, mirthless smile. “I was going to say knowledge, sire, but perhaps knowledge allows one to be fore-warned and therefore cunning.”

Loethar mentally applauded the man. Slippery, indeed.

He would be a real asset. “Anyway, I need a wedding organized. I want all the Set involved.”

“Very good, sire,” Freath replied, although Loethar heard understandable apprehension in the man’s voice.

“But before the marriage takes place we have something far less palatable for the people to cope with.”

“Really? Do you think the people of the Set have not already seen enough to turn their stomachs, sire?” Loethar laughed at the aide’s dry humor. “I want to be absolutely sure I have their attention, Freath. I actually came in here hoping to find someone who could help me with census rec ords.”

“Census? Really? Why?”

“I want to quickly assemble the names of every child born approximately a dozen years ago.”

Freath frowned and blew out his cheeks but Loethar was not fooled. He knew the man was already leaping to the right conclusion. “It is very important that the people throughout the region understand that I will not tolerate any rebellion. I plan to quash it before it begins.”

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still in such shock—their royals are dead, their armies decimated, their realms fully defeated. Many have fled to lands far away. Where do you suppose rebellion will spring from?”

“From the lad we allowed to slip through our fi ngers,” Loethar growled, flinging the book he was holding across the room, startling Piven and making Freath fl inch.

The aide wisely waited until Loethar’s anger had cooled again. “Leonel is too young, too cowardly, and too inexperienced to even think of rebellion.”

“But people will rally to him, Freath, and you know that.

The boy is Valisar. The name is enough. I vowed to destroy all who come from the Valisar seed. I am sparing the halfwit because he is not of the blood but perhaps I should destroy him as well.”

“No need,” Freath answered calmly. “I still believe his humiliation is worth far more to you. Ask Princess Valya. It will turn everyone’s stomachs to see the Valisars’ act of charity paraded about on a leash.”

“I do believe you’re right in this.”

“So you intend to round up all the boys of like age to the prince, am I right?”

“No. I intend to slaughter them.”

Freath paused only a heartbeat before starting to clap.

“Oh, sire, that is a plan worthy of any king,” he said, his tone filled with admiration. “But surely the threat is enough. The people will yield the boy quickly.” Loethar walked over and picked up the book he’d hurled, studied the corner that he’d damaged. Making a soft sound of admonishment, he replied, “I don’t think so. I think they need to see their sons’ blood running through the villages to truly understand how determined I am to have Prince Leonel in my possession or dead at my feet. So take me to Father Briar now, Freath.”

“I can fetch him for you, sire, if you wish to remain—”

“No, let us walk. I want to tell you what I’m going to do should the first pass of killings not deliver the prince.”

Nineteen

——————————————

Genrie eyed the approaching unlikely pair. One glided ahead, head held high, the other lumbered behind, head hung.

“I can’t remember your name,” Valya said to her, “but this is Belush. He is now my servant.”

Genrie’s gaze slipped from the vile woman to the hulking terror of a man who surely belonged in the barracks. “You wish him to sleep nearby?”

“The emperor would likely wish him chained to the wall but I am a merciful person. I was raised in the west and we do not chain our servants, do we?”

All sorts of responses sprang to mind but Genrie gave the answer Valya wanted to hear. “No, of course not. Can I make up the anteroom for Belush?”

“No, you may not,” Valya snapped. Taking a slow breath, she continued. “Give him anything you wish him to carry and have my things brought over close to Legate De Vis’s former chambers.”

Genrie made the mistake of hesitating, raising her eyebrows in query.

“Now!” the woman snarled. “How dare you not curtsey and act immediately upon my words.”

“Forgive me. It’s just that we were given instructions by the emperor to accommodate you in the chambers we’ve already settled you into.”

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though she were talking to an imbecile. “The emperor—just for your information—has barely an hour ago proposed marriage to me. Do you think he wants to be separated from me? I need to be close for all his needs. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Genrie said, noticing the blood spattered on the woman’s riding garb.

“Good. And he will do precisely as you say,” she said, pointing to Belush, “or he knows his entire precious Greens will be punished on his behalf.”

“I didn’t ask you to spare my life,” the man growled.

“And I didn’t spare it for any other reason than my own amusement,” she replied. “You are my slave now, Belush . . .

my toy, and as I promised myself when you were doing your best to humiliate me, I am going to make you pay every waking moment of your days.” She turned to Genrie.

“Show him the way to my former quarters. And then have a bath drawn for me—in my new chambers. Don’t fill it with that essence of goat or whatever you’ve palmed off onto me.

I can smell the oil of miramel up here so take a look in your former queen’s rooms. She has no use for it now. Make sure it’s poured into my bath generously. And wipe that defi ance from your gaze or I’ll have you gutted. And since it’s now public, from now on you call me by my true title, princess.”

Genrie lowered her eyes and heard rather than saw Valya stomp away, her boot heels loud against the stone stairs. Finally she looked at Belush. She wasn’t sure what possessed her to speak but her words were out before she could stop them. “We are enemies, yet we are bonded by our singular hatred for Valya, I’m sure.”

He stared at her and for a few heartstopping moments she thought she’d read the warrior wrong. Finally he replied, “I shall see her dead as soon as it is politically possible and I shall dance on her bones before I scatter them to the six winds.”

Genrie felt a flare of satisfaction burn brightly for just the Roya l Ex i l e

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shortest but sweetest of times. She knew that the enmity between her and Belush could not stifl e their shared hatred.

Perhaps here was their first ally in the enemy camp.

“Follow me, Belush,” she said softly.

They found Father Briar after a long search and much to Freath’s growing anxiety precisely where he’d hoped he would not be.

“Father Briar!” he called, hoping his fear did not sound as alarming in his voice as it felt inside his mind.

The priest turned from where he was buckling down a cartload of goods beneath a canopy. Upon catching sight of Loethar Briar instantly looked terrifi ed—downright guilty, in fact—as far as Freath was concerned. The priest must have a Vested hidden somewhere under the goods.

“Emperor Loethar, this is Father Briar, no doubt about to take a load of no longer needed produce to the needy.” Freath hoped his tone could urge Briar to agree, to do something other than look so very mortified, so hideously culpable.

“Father Briar,” Loethar said, nodding politely. “You’re a difficult man to pin down.”

Briar’s glance flicked conspiratorially to Freath before settling back on the emperor’s calm gaze. His chins began to wobble and Freath, against his own inclinations, closed his eyes with silent despair.

When Briar remained silent, Freath pulled himself together. “Forgive him, sire. I think Father Briar is disarmed by your arrival,” he tried, begging Briar with his eyes to answer for himself.

“Surely Father Briar has a tongue in his head and can speak for himself, Freath?” Loethar admonished.

Once again the priest hesitated, once again glancing Freath’s way.

“Are you scared of me, Father Briar?” The man nodded.

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surprised.” He looked over at the cart, moved closer to it.

“What have you got under here, Father?” Freath held his breath.

“It’s stale food mainly, my lord,” the priest stammered.

“Stale, eh?”

Briar mercifully found his voice. He nodded. “Mainly bread, though also some greens, fruit, old cheeses, that sort of thing. People are starving, my lord. I am trying to offer families some respite now that the fighting is done. There are children who need feeding.” He glanced over to where the young Valisar, on his leash, skipped toward them. “Not all are as fortunate as Piven,” he added.

“What does that mean?” Loethar said, absently lifting the corner of the canopy.

Freath felt fear race up his spine. He deliberately tripped Piven, who fell down loudly, his wail strange and mournful.

“I’m so sorry for the noise, my lord,” he said, reaching down to lift the youngster back to his feet.

Loethar frowned. “That’s the first sound I’ve heard him make. I forget how silent he truly is.”

“Nevertheless he is blessed by your favor,” Briar said.

“That was not my intention, Father Briar.”

“If you mean that it humiliates our people to see the Valisar child as nothing more than a pet dog, you are right, highness.” He hesitated, then, much to Freath’s astonishment, continued. “But don’t ignore the effect that not killing him may have, er . . . highness.”

Loethar looked at Freath, equally bemused. At least the cart was forgotten for the time being, Freath thought. But what was in Briar’s head to goad the barbarian king like this?

Briar seemed to have found his voice fully. “And although you didn’t mean for this effect, my lord, it cannot be a bad thing. The realms are in turmoil. The emotional state of the people is at the lowest ebb. Perhaps this small mercy of yours will give them hope. Perhaps this food should go out to the needy under your name?” Freath couldn’t believe it Roya l Ex i l e

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when Father Briar actually shrugged nonchalantly. “We have no royalty to challenge you, sire. Your rule has to start somewhere and it doesn’t necessarily have to continue with bloodshed. It could start with mercy.” He looked up, fi nally raising his eyes to Loethar’s.

Freath couldn’t breathe.

“It could,” Loethar replied softly and Freath sensed the barbarian had not entirely rejected the priest’s counsel. “But first we need to impress upon these same people my terms.”

“Which are?”

“No Valisars.”

“But Piven—”

“Piven is not Valisar by blood, Father Briar,” Freath censured. “He could not wear the crown even if he were of sound mind.” His stern look warned the priest to rein in his personal thoughts.

“Who are Piven’s parents, do we know?” Loethar suddenly asked.

“They were not even from Penraven, as I understand it, my lord. Isn’t that right, Master Freath?”

“Indeed. They lived in Barronel.”

“And how did this adoption come about?” Loethar gestured for Father Briar to hook up the mule to the cart. “Carry on.”

Freath let out a silent breath of relief. “The queen was passing through Barronel on a goodwill visit to the royals of that realm. She was grieving over the loss of yet another baby—a son, this time dying at the moment of birth—and obviously every child she saw tugged at her heartstrings.

But Piven won her attention because she learned his parents had drowned in an accident during a fl ash flood. He had no other living relatives, and was barely a day or so old. She offered to take him from the woman who was caring for him alongside eight other children.”

“I didn’t think any royal cared that much. There is plenty of suffering around them. To single out one peasant child seems rather extraordinary.”

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“I agree. I think it was hypocritical,” Freath said, suddenly realizing he must have sounded too admiring. “And selfi sh too. Iselda was thinking purely of her own hurt when she offered Piven a home.”

“If she was as uncaring as you make out, Freath, I would have thought she’d have adopted a healthy child, not this strange creature.”

Freath shrugged. “Iselda was conniving. She cared very much about presenting the right image even if she didn’t live up to that image in real life.” He glanced over at Briar, who nodded to say he was ready. “You see, my lord, in the same way that you hope to mock the Valisars using Piven, I think they mocked their people through him. He was a symbol of their caring and yet people like me were made to suffer right under their noses.” He spat, refused to even meet Father Briar’s gaze. “Piven made them look every inch the generous royals. He was a showpiece of their magnanimity.”

“I had no argument with our royals, sire. I have no argument with you other than the killing must stop,” Briar spoke up, rather courageously, Freath thought.

“For someone who was scared of me, priest, you seem rather brave in telling me how to run my conquered realms.” Briar flinched. “You terrify me, my lord. But because you could have me killed at the mere glance to one of your henchman, I realize I have nothing more to fear from you. I might as well be true to my god and behave as he would want.”

“The killing will stop when the people give me what I want. And what I want is the Valisar heir. He was here all along, did you know that?”

The priest paled. “Here? No, my lord, how could I? I thought he must have been sent away just before the palace was taken.”

“So did I. But Freath saw him and one of the legate’s sons running back into the palace.”

Briar looked at Freath, genuinely astonished. “It’s true,” Freath said, his tone as uncaring as he could achieve. “If he’s still here we’ll fi nd him.”

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“He won’t be found in the palace,” Loethar cut in.

“Oh? Why’s that, my lord?” Freath asked, a chill spiking through him.

“He’s been spotted, we think. Slinking away from Brighthelm with his friend.”

Freath felt his throat tighten. So they’d made their dash for freedom. “Really? Who saw them?”

“Valya did, when she was out riding. I’ve already sent out a hunting party, but in the meantime I shall press ahead with my plan to flush him out using his own people. Father Briar?”

“My lord?”

“When you return please send word and I shall meet you in the library. I require your assistance.”

“Very good, sire,” Briar said. Freath was relieved he resisted glancing toward him in enquiry. “I shall make my deliveries and be back before the next bell, my lord.” The forest was cloaked by darkness. A fat new moon loomed inordinately large overhead, throwing a watery glow between the leaves. Leo had always thought of the moon as being silvery white but when it was full like this, he could swear it possessed a golden hue. He preferred it silver and far away—

this yellow felt somehow sinister. He wondered if Vyk was watching them from the treetops. As the sounds of night erupted Leo was convinced the space beneath the trees became noisier than by day. Crickets sang loudly, an owl hooted mournfully and somewhere not too far away various animals were scrabbling through the undergrowth.

Gavriel pointed. “Badger,” he whispered, as though dropping in on his thoughts.

Leo nodded. It could be the bleaching effect of the moonlight but he felt sure Gavriel look paler than was safe. The blood- soaked fabric at his arm looked black. “Are you all right?” he asked.

“Don’t worry about me,” his friend replied, pushing Leo forward.

Leo halted suddenly. Caught in a trap in front of them was 278

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a hare, large enough to be a buck. It stared at them, glassy-eyed and frantic, and judging by the blood, it had already begun tearing at its own leg in an attempt to free itself. As it gave a low squeal of fear, Leo re-lived his father’s gutting, his mother’s terrible plunge, the knowledge of his baby sister’s ashes being blown into the far corners of the realm, and then Piven’s ever smiling face turned sorrowful. The hare reminded him of himself. Trapped, helpless, lit up in the clearing where it lay defeated and breathing hard from its exertions at escape.

“What are you doing?” Gavriel said as Leo approached the animal.

“I’m cutting him loose.”

“Are you mad? That animal could feed a family.”

“He’s a fine beast. He shouldn’t die like this.”

“How should he die, then?” Gavriel asked, irritated.

“Bravely, fighting in spring for his territory, for his mate.”

“Leo, you old romantic! And you’ve never even kissed a girl.”

Leo blushed, glad of the cover of night. “Give me a blade.” Gavriel obliged. “Keep it,” he said, sounding suddenly weary.

Leo tried to calm the wild animal but the hare was suspicious, angry and injured. A bit like Gavriel, he thought, smiling. “Be still, won’t you,” he begged it and fi nally was able to cut through the braided string that had held its leg so effectively. “Count yourself lucky we didn’t bring beagles,” he said as he watched the hare dart, not so nimbly, off into the trees and safety.

“Not even a thank you, Leo,” Gavriel said.

Before Leo could reply a new voice startled them.

“You bastards! Don’t even move.” They both looked up in surprise to see a woman, her arrow trained on Gavriel, the bow held taut between long slim arms. Instinctively, both raised their hands.

“That was our meat!” she snarled at them.

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Leo kept his hands raised but began to rise. “Miss, I’m sorry but—”

“Be quiet, boy! You. Who are you?”

Gavriel pointed at himself. “I’m Jon, this is my brother Mat. We’re—” Gavriel suddenly stopped talking, slumping over in a dead faint.

“Ga—, er, help!” Leo yelled, leaning over Gavriel.

“What’s wrong with him?”

“He’s bleeding, can’t you see?”

“Get back. I know this is a trap,” she warned.

Leo looked at her, anguished. His temper, already well and truly frayed, suddenly snapped. “Oh sod off, would you!

Go back wherever you came from. I’ll pay you for your damn hare but just leave us!”

She lowered the bow, astonished. “How dare—”

“Listen, either help me help him or get away from us. Do we really look that dangerous? Damn him, I knew he was lying when he told me the cut wasn’t so bad.” Leo had already turned away from the woman. Gavriel was conscious, groaning softly.

“Well how you do think you look with all those weapons?

How safe do you reckon I feel?”

“I couldn’t give a hog’s arse. Please either help or just leave.”

“What happened to him?” she said, flicking dark hair out of her eyes.

Leo looked up at her wearily. “We ran into the wrong sort.

He fought them off but he got hurt. I think he’s burning with fever. Can it come on that fast?”

“Oh, get out of the way,” she said, irritated, pushing Leo aside. She laid her hand on Gavriel’s forehead. “Yes, big fever. Help me get him up. Neither of us can carry him alone.” Impossibly, Gavriel appeared to rouse as they hauled him to his feet.

“Where to?” Leo asked, genuinely glad of her help.

“My father’s hut.”

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“What’s your name?”

“Not until you tell me yours. I know he was lying.”

“Mine’s Lewk. His is Gaven. And we don’t mean you any harm and I am sorry about losing you your hare.” She nodded. “I’m Lilyan . . . Lily.”

“Thank you for your help, Lily.”

“Neither of you deserve it,” she replied, still clearly angry, but nonetheless bearing the greater burden of Gavriel’s weight as they half walked, half dragged him through the forest. Almost impossibly Gavriel began to sing deliriously at the top of his weakened voice. Leo recognized one of the soldiers’ favorite ballads—comparing a woman’s arse to a ripe peach. He didn’t know whether to grin helplessly or blush even more furiously, for Lily certainly had a delicious arse.

Finally a small hut came into view. Leo dropped Gavriel as they approached and his sudden letting go dragged Lily down with his friend. She landed on top of De Vis but Gavriel made no protest.

“I think he’s unconscious,” she said, alarmed.

“What’s all this, Lily?” asked a tremulous voice from the doorway. Leo looked up to see a robed fi gure, illuminated from behind by the glow of a single candle. He was pulling on a hood, though it really wasn’t that cold. His voice sounded old and fragile; perhaps he felt the cold more, Leo thought.

“It’s all right, father. They’re no danger.”

“What’s happening?” he asked, walking out toward them, suddenly sounding much stronger, much younger.

“I came across these travellers. They’d been set upon by thieves. This one’s wounded. This other one’s name’s Lewk.”

“Lewk,” the man acknowledged.

Leo couldn’t see his face, shrouded beneath the hood, but he held out his hand. “Lily’s been very kind to help us. I’m afraid we owe her for the hare we let go.” She shook her head. “Let’s not worry about that for now.

Let’s just get your friend inside. Here, father, you take the other arm.” The father and daughter hauled Gavriel into the hut, leaving Leo to trail behind.

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“Onto the bed,” the man said.

Leo wondered what he meant. He saw no bed. They laid Gavriel down onto a rug beneath which was strewn some straw on a pallet. Ah, the bed, he thought, surprised, suddenly acutely aware of how unfamiliar he was with life beyond the palace gates.

“Get the candle, Lily,” her father said, ripping Gavriel’s sleeve open. “This young man’s lost quite a bit of blood, I think.”

Lily placed the candle on a small shelf just above Gavriel’s face. The man pulled back his hood and Leo reared back, unable to stop himself. His reaction drew their gazes and though neither looked embarrassed—they were obviously used to this—he read a fleeting pain in Lily’s eyes that made him feel instantly contrite.

“I’m sorry,” he bleated, honesty coming before he could think of anything polite.

“We’re used to it, son,” the man said, “and that’s why we prefer to live here in solitude. Not that it’s good for my daughter, but—”

“Hush, father. That’s our business and it’s very old ground we’ve trodden too often.”

The man sighed, flicked a wry glance at Leo and focused his attention on Gavriel. “This is a deep wound. It’s also infected. Must have been a filthy blade that cut him.”

“Can you help him?” Leo asked.

“Let’s get it all cleaned out and see what we’re up against,” the man said kindly. “I’m Greven, by the way.” Leo nodded. He wasn’t very good at aging people but Greven looked no older than his own father. His graying hair was neatly tied back and, despite the ravages of his face, his body looked lean and fit. “What can I do?”

“Help Lily to get some water boiled. She’ll show you where everything is.” He directed the rest of his instructions to Lily.

“We’ll need some willow sap, comfrey balm, and a posset with some liquor to get his strength back. Oh, and mix up some henbane for the pain.”

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“But we have so little left, and it’s for your—”

“Oh, Lily, don’t fuss. Let’s do what we can for this young man, shall we? And then we’ll worry about ourselves.” Leo felt another stab of guilt. To think he’d deprived these good people of that hare. It probably would have lasted them several meals.

“I’ll also need some of that white lichen. We’re going to have to cover the wound with that once we’ve done the clirren leaves.”

“I wish I understood all this,” Leo said, impressed. “He’s going to be all right, isn’t he?”

“Is he your brother?”

Leo nodded, hating to lie outright.

“Where have you come from?”

“Er, around Brighthelm,” Leo said, sticking as close to the truth as he could.

“Is it true the barbarian has moved into the palace?” Lily asked, wide-eyed, as she gathered up various small pots and containers. “Here, hang this over those coals,” she said, pointing to a spouted container. “It’s not long since it boiled anyway,” she said.

Leo did as asked. “He has,” he said, turning away.

“So the king and queen are dead? The rumors are right?”

“Yes,” he answered coldly.

“We heard that the queen gave birth—” Greven began.

“She did. The news from the palace is that the baby died immediately.”

Lily’s expression darkened. “Too much sadness for one family. Is the mad son—”

“Not mad,” Leo corrected too abruptly, wishing he hadn’t as both of them looked up sharply. “I have met him once or twice. Our, er, father worked at the palace. One of the royal guards,” he said, thinking it up as he went along and hoping the story held enough weight. “Piven is just simple, not mad.” Lily nodded. “And the heir? Where is he? He’d be about your age, wouldn’t he?”

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“Bit younger I think,” Leo said, amazed by how easily the lies rolled off his tongue. Gav and Corb had always said he acted well beyond his years. He prayed that characteristic would hold now for him. “I’ve only seen him from a distance and I don’t know his fate.”

“I saw the queen once,” Greven mused. “A beautiful woman. She paused on her journey back into the palace to say hello to me. Can you imagine that? And me so ugly.”

“You’re not ugly, father.”

“I’m hardly pretty, Lily.”

“What . . . is it?” Leo asked hesitatingly.

The man sighed. “Leprosy, son.”

“The townfolk insisted he wear this robe and although he does that much I’ll be damned if I’ll agree to his having to cover his mouth or make the noise with the wretched clappers to signal his approach,” Lily said, and Leo could hear the anger driving her words.

“I’m sorry,” he said, at a loss for further words.

“He doesn’t want pity. He just wants to be left alone. So now we live here in peace.”

“What about you?” Leo asked.

“Me? The leprosy doesn’t touch me but that doesn’t matter to them. I’m tainted by his sickness. So long as I keep my distance and don’t infect them,” she snarled, “they will tolerate me. They won’t even accept our money because it’s deemed unclean. The few things that we need are bartered.” Leo frowned. “What do you exchange?”

“Father’s a herbalist, if you hadn’t guessed. Your brother chose the right people to collapse in front of.”

“A shaman?” Leo asked, his interest fired further in the man.

“No,” Greven said brusquely. Then his voice softened. “I just understand the natural world.”

“Then why can’t you cure yourself?” He shrugged. “I love a youngster’s logic. I’m afraid there’s no cure for me.”

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Leo looked at Lily, who wore a sneer she wasn’t disguising very well. “Father believes this is a punishment. A divine curse for being a coward.”

“Hush, child,” Greven admonished. “Hurry with all that stuff.”

Leo followed Lily, carrying the tray she handed him, while she carefully lifted the boiled water and carried it over to her father.

“Coward?” Leo asked.

“My mother died not long after I was born,” Lily explained.

“She was very sick. We used to live in Cremond and some of the local folk brought in a healer who wanted father to make an offering in blood to Lo. They believed it would save her.”

“The boy doesn’t need to hear any of this, Lily,” her father warned as he carefully cleaned Gavriel’s wound.

Lily tipped a bitter- smelling liquid into Gavriel’s mouth as she spoke. “This will dull the pain,” she explained. “Anyway, father knew more than them about healing and, as he says, his beloved wife was already past help. But the villag-ers thought he was frightened of the blood price, which had to be drawn from me as I was the cause of her sickness.”

“Absolute claptrap!” her father growled as he worked.

Leo smiled in spite of the sad story.

“After she died,” Lily continued, threading a needle she had heated in the candle flame, “we came here.”

“And I got leprosy,” her father fi nished.

“As his punishment,” she said in the same tone, as though mocking him. Then she turned to Leo. “And I grew up alone with my grumpy old leper father and learned much about living in a forest. There’s our story, Lewk. How about you?” Leo hesitated. He wasn’t ready to craft the right sort of lie.

Greven saved him. “Right, enough jawing. Start sucking on those leaves, both of you.”

Lily gave Leo a look of disgust. “Now the nasty bit. Come on, you don’t get out of it. He’s your brother.” Roya l Ex i l e

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“What do I do?”

Greven handed him some silvery green leaves. “Chew on these, son, and then spit them into this bowl. These are amazing leaves from the clirren, powerful infection fi ghters. Once you’ve chewed them into a paste, we need to put as much into the wound as possible, which we’ll also pack with the lichen. In a few hours we can stitch him and then it’s up to his own defenses—and he’s got plenty of them, lad.”

“What about the fever?” Leo asked, after spitting out the first gob of chewed leaf. “That’s awful,” he added, pulling a face.

Father and daughter smiled. “The fever is just the body’s way of showing infection. It will pass once his body starts to fight back. We’re just going to help the fight get started,” Greven explained.

“How do you know all this?” Leo asked, spitting again.

“Careful, Lewk,” Lily said, flicking some of his leaf de-bris from her blouse.

He gave her a look of apology, reddening with embarrassment. He caught himself staring at her breasts, before quickly looking away.

“He won’t tell anyone,” she continued, “so don’t bother pursuing it.”

“It’s a gift,” Greven declared loftily. “That’s plenty. Let me have the bowl.”

Leo watched as Greven worked dexterously to push the chewed clirren into the wound. He winced at the way the fl ap of skin was lifted until the wound bulged with the soggy medicine. “Now, the moss,” Greven said, applying the white lichen.

“Why has only one side of your face been affected by the leprosy?” Leo blurted out.

Greven sighed. “I’m not sure. I have only seen one other case and the poor man’s whole face had erupted with weeping sores. His lips, nose, and cheekbones all looked as though they had been bubbled over a furnace.” Leo felt ill, more than 286

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able to imagine it from Greven’s description. “Mine looks different, and it doesn’t weep. It’s always dry and a bit warm to the touch.”

“Is it anywhere else on your body?”

“Just my face for now,” Greven replied, stretching. “Ah, well, we’ve done our best. Now we wait.”

“A few hours, you said?” Leo confi rmed.

“That’s right. Why, are you in a hurry?” Leo had only just begun to think about the fact that they could already be under hunt. If anyone had seen them leaving the palace—although he wasn’t convinced anyone had—

the barbarians would know they were in the forest. And of course Al and Jok might help spread the word.

“Are you worried about those thieves who set upon you?” Lily asked.

“Yes, I am.” Leo leapt upon the easy excuse.

“We’re well hidden, Lewk,” she assured. “And in case you hadn’t realized it, we travelled at least a mile with Gaven.

You won’t be easy to fi nd.”

“Trackers could find us, though.”

“Trackers?” Greven queried. “Why on earth would you be considered so important? Have you done something criminal?”

“No, no, nothing like that. We were, er, just passing through the forest, minding our own business.”

“Where are you headed?” Greven asked conversationally but Leo was sharp enough to note the glance between father and daughter.

“North,” he said. “I don’t know why. Gav said it was best.”

“North, eh? Bit dangerous for a couple of youngish fellows, don’t you think?” Greven said, seating himself at the tiny table. “How about some food for the boy, Lily. Must be hungry, eh, Lewk?”

Leo nodded. He was starving, to tell the truth.

“Sit down,” Lily offered. “I’ll get something. I’ve nothing warm, mind.”

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“I wish I could pay you for this. I lost Lily’s hare,” Leo explained to Greven.

“Lost it? You set it free!” she said, scowling.

“I’m sorry,” he said again.

Greven smiled, contorting his face horribly on the ravaged side. “Do you know the folklore surrounding the hare, Lewk?”

He shook his head as Lily set down a cup of creamy milk.

Nodding his thanks, he began to swallow it in greedy gulps.

Nothing had ever tasted so good.

“Well, the hare is associated with the moon. There’s even a series of stars that take their shape and name from the hare.” Lily hacked off some cheese she’d unwrapped and put it onto a brick of bread. She reached for a jar of preserves.

“Chutney?” At Leo’s nod, she raised her eyebrows. “Very grown up,” she murmured. After dolloping some on top of the cheese, she set the delicious looking pile of food before him.

“Don’t waste a crumb.”

He didn’t intend to and began eating hungrily. “It’s a full moon to night,” he said to Greven, although with his stuffed mouth it came out as more of a mumble.

The leper seemed to understand all the same. He nodded.

“The harvest moon, burning brightest of all. Well, as I say, hares and moons share some folklore. Maybe it was a good thing you turned that buck free to night, Lewk.”

“I don’t know what struck me. I saw it struggling and I just didn’t want to see it die.”

Greven looked thoughtful. “There’s been enough killing in our land. Perhaps it was an omen for you. After the harvest moon comes the hunting moon.”

Leo’s food turned sour in his mouth. He swallowed the fi nal chunk. “I think Gav and I should make tracks as soon as he wakes.”

“Wakes?” Greven laughed. “There will be no waking for him to night, lad. He may surface but he won’t really be aware of much.”

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Leo couldn’t even swallow the rest of the milk now. He imagined what would happen to these good people if Loethar tracked him to this hut. “As soon as he wakes we have to leave.”

“What’s troubling you?” Lily asked. “You can stay here to night. We won’t cast you out. The hare is forgotten; stop worrying about it.”

“I can see that something’s amiss here, Lewk,” Greven added. “If hiding is what you’re after, Lily will show you a place you can stash yourself for the night. Fret not, you won’t be discovered, and we won’t disturb you.” Leo looked at them both. He dared not tell the truth.

“Thank you.”

Lily looked perplexed. “All right. Come with me, then.” She led him to the back of the hut and moved aside one of the few items of furniture, a small sideboard. Then she easily pulled up a handful of fl oorboards, revealing a specially excavated area. It smelled musty but looked safe. “In there is a crawlspace. Here, take this blanket. It’s mild up here but cool down there, I can assure you.”

“Why do you have it?” Leo asked, amazed.

“Father worries about my living out here with him. He still frets that nasty men might come looking to abuse people, men like that pair you met today.” She shrugged, embarrassed. “He feels better knowing I can hide myself very quickly if need be.”

“Thanks for everything, Lily.”

She nodded, looking slightly skeptical. “Sleep well. Hope you’re not scared of spiders.” Once Leo had lowered himself, she replaced the boards and he heard her pull the small chest back. He could follow the footsteps of Lily returning to her father and then muffled voices. There was nothing he could do now except wait. And with a full belly on top of being exhausted it didn’t take much to convince Leo to curl up as best he could and sleep.

Twenty

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Overhead the sky had paled to a murky charcoal. Glowing slashes of light were scored across the eastern skies; dawn was close. Buffeted by winds coming off the sea, the bird, which had covered much ground during the night, searched for the marker that would prompt it to swoop and soar downward. The forests were well behind it and it was now into open country, tracing the cliffs. In the distance it spotted a tiny pile of stones and flew faster toward it, hitting its highest speed now despite its fatigue. Once over the stones, it banked skyward and then in a display of acrobatics that would have impressed anyone watching, it twisted mid- air, performing a complex series of barrels before soaring downward. At the precise moment when it seemed it was going to plunge into the sea it swooped, skimming agilely above the waves. As it reached the beach it slowed and then, spotting what it looked for, it flapped its wings once again, gliding more gently now to land on a low ledge.

Show off, the man said, lightly disgusted. Hello, Ravan.

You took your time.

I have been occupied, the bird replied, doing your bidding.

Well, you’re looking thin. I’ve trapped you some voles.

I’ve been hoping for your return the past moon. Hungry?

Ravenous.

The man turned, smiled wryly at the jest. I hate it when you go silent on me, you know. I miss you.

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You know I must not risk it.

He sighed. Yes, indeed. So come on in. Tell me everything.

The bird hopped heavily behind, following the man into the small hut that was built on the ledge but protected by cliffs that curved around in a natural crescent. Inside it was warm and dry. The dull roar of the waves crashing to shore was a comforting rhythm in the background.

Go feed, the man said, pointing to the small pit where a pile of freshly killed rodents was heaped. He shut the window against the rattling wind. And then we can talk.

While Ravan fed, the man busied himself warming a small pot of water over the fire. He never worried about the smoke being seen. Courtesy of the sea breezes, it seemed to disperse long before it ever reached the cliff’s summit. No, he was well hidden here. Had lived here in this hut he built himself for over two decades now, although he had long ago stopped keeping track of the years, or of his age. He threw some herbs and leaves he had dried himself into the fi zzing water and waited patiently while it came back to its gentle boil. After a few minutes, he took it off the flames and set the pot aside for its contents to cool and infuse. Still not looking at the bird, he reached for the honey jar from his meager supplies and stirred a generous spoon into the mug once he’d added the amber liquid.

Finally Ravan turned from his food.

Better? the man asked.

Much. How are you anyway?

The usual. Same old aches and pains.

Ravan hopped closer. Then you’d better drink more of your healing tea. It has begun.

I know, Ravan. I know it has. It began before Loethar conquered Penraven, before he even invaded the Set.

I have been away too long.

The plains are too far for me to expect you to visit often.

We are much closer now. I can see you regularly.

Does he suspect?

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How can he, Sergius? I am simply Vyk, the sinister, silent raven.

The man nodded. Tell me everything you have learned.

Ravan began to recount everything he had witnessed or heard since he’d last been with his oldest friend.

In a trice, Lily leapt into bed beside Gavriel.

“I’m awake,” he said, noting the sudden fear in her eyes.

“I can hear them.”

“You’re my husband Jon,” she hissed. “You got wounded chopping down some branches. You fell, and a sharp stake ripped through your arm. All right?” He nodded, helplessly held by her gaze. Her skin was creamy, soft against his own.

He felt a surge of desire that betrayed him and her instant scowl told him she felt it too.

Dizzy from the pain in his arm and a different sort of ache between his legs, his head felt dull and thick. “What’s your name?”

“Lily. My father is Greven. He’s—”

“Who lives here?” bellowed a voice from outside.

Gavriel started, anxiously rubbing his face only to realize he suddenly had a beard.

“Don’t touch it!” Lily warned. “Who is it?” she called, but before she could move to the door, it was kicked in and three huge men piled in.

“What is happening?” the old man Gavriel hadn’t noticed until now quailed, his voice tremulous. His face hidden behind a hood, he stood, reaching out blindly toward the men.

“Please!” Lily screamed. “What do you want? My father’s half blind, my husband is hurt.”

“Out, all of you!” the leader ordered.

Lily continued a barrage of pathetic complaint. Two of the men hauled Gavriel out of bed but he managed to protect his arm. He felt light-headed and unsteady on his feet but the tatua on the men terrified him more than his discomfort and he gave not a word of complaint. “Names?” the leader said, looking first at the elderly man.

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“I am Greven,” he said, pushing back his hood. The three intruders stepped back, disgusted. “A leper!” one of them cried.

Greven shrugged humbly. “I live here well away from other people, with my daughter, who is also in the early stages of leprosy, and her husband, who is wounded. We’re a sorry lot, I’m afraid.”

“She’s a leper as well?” one of the others asked, scowling.

“Early stages, very contagious. Her sores are angry today,” Greven said, nodding toward Lily’s bare arms, which bore raised red welts. “I would keep your distance. Me, I’m not so infectious any more.” He sneezed and the men stepped to the side.

“Pity,” the second admitted. “She looks tasty.”

“What do you want?” Lily asked, ignoring the comment, scratching gently at her welts.

“We’re your new rulers,” the leader said viciously.

“So I’ve heard,” Lily replied, her tone polite. “Can we offer you something?”

“We’re searching for two people.” He looked over at Gavriel. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Jon Farthing, married to this man’s daughter, Lily.”

“How do you fuck a leper?” the second warrior muttered to the third behind their leader.

“In much the same way you’d fuck one of your women,” Gavriel said, knowing it was a mistake before the words were even out of his mouth.

The leader struck fast, punching Gavriel’s now stitched and ban daged wound as hard as he could. Gavriel fell to the ground, retching with pain. The barbarians laughed.

“The next smart comment that comes out of your mouth means I’ll kill the whole family,” the leader warned.

“No need for that, sir. Please forgive my son-in-law,” Greven soothed. “He’s in pain and unable to work. He’s angry and he’s stupid for saying what he did.”

“Who are you seeking?” Lily asked.

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“A tall young man travelling with a boy. The boy’s about twelve.”

Gavriel, still on the ground, had stopped heaving. The pain was like a white fire in his arm but he had the presence of mind to realize how intensely dangerous their situation had become. Where was Leo? Had the king shared their secret with Lily and her father?

“I saw tracks yesterday,” he offered from the ground.

“Get up!” the man ordered. Lily helped Gavriel back to his feet.

“Backaways, opposite direction. We were trapping hares and it seems someone got to my beasts first—one was missing. I think whoever you seek probably took it.”

“What do you want with these people?” Lily asked.

“They’re on the run,” the man growled. “Go check inside,” he ordered his two soldiers.

“You’re after a child?”

“Not an ordinary child, leper-woman. The Valisar heir!” Lily glanced up at Gavriel, unable to hide her shock.

Gavriel took her hand, squeezed it reassuringly.

“And the other?” Greven asked, not looking at Gavriel.

“Your former legate’s son—one of them, anyway.” The men emerged from the hut. “There’s nothing in there,” one replied. “Just the stench of death. Shall we kill them?” Gavriel’s heart lurched in his chest.

“I don’t want to get that close to the lepers. Leave them; they can rot out here alone,” the leader said, his mouth twisted into a cruel sneer.

“Thank you,” Greven said, so politely it made Gavriel’s anger flare. Wisely, however, he held his tongue, enjoying seeing the barbarians fl inch as the older man stepped to offer his gratitude.

“Back off, leper,” one man warned.

“What does your king want with our prince?” Lily persisted.

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“But this realm is huge. How will you find him if he’s on the loose?”

“We’ll keep tracking,” the leader said, making to leave.

“And if we don’t find him, the Set people will give him to us anyway, especially when the killing begins.”

“What do you mean?” Gavriel asked.

“All sons of the Set aged eleven to thirteen summertides are to be beheaded, starting today. You Set people shouldn’t be so eager to keep rec ords. You’ve made it very easy for us.” They left the trio standing in a heavy silence that continued long after they heard the men disappear. Finally, Lily broke the awkward impasse.

“You’re the legate’s son?”

Gavriel nodded. “Gavriel de Vis, my lady,” he said, giving a brief, awkward bow.

“And that’s the crown prince hiding beneath our hut?” she asked, incredulous.

“Not crown prince, no.” He saw relief briefl y flicker in her eyes. “King Leonel of Penraven is his title now.” Gasping, Lily clutched her hand to her throat.

Gavriel rubbed his face, pulling off the false beard in clumps. “Thank you for this and for helping us.”

“Your arm’s going to need re- stitching,” Greven said, approaching.

Gavriel hadn’t looked at the older man fully until now and didn’t want to stare. Though his disfigurement was hideous on one side of his face, in profile—on the right side—he looked perfectly whole. “I’ll fetch Leo and get us well away from here. We’ve put you in enough danger as it is.”

“I put the King of Penraven down a hole beneath my hut?” Lily repeated, dismayed.

“And saved his life,” Gavriel said, still pulling at his beard.

“Strike me, what is this?”

“Otter fur,” she answered, glaring at him. “We had to make do with whatever we had.”

“Get the boy out,” Greven said. Lily headed into the hut, Roya l Ex i l e

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the two men following behind. “Tell me what happened,” Greven ordered. “How did you end up here?” Gavriel gave Greven a shortened version of their circumstances from the moment he had seen his father’s head hacked in two.

Leo emerged from the crawlspace looking defi ant. “You told them?”

“I had to.”

Leo looked embarrassed and surprised when Greven and Lily uttered “Your majesty,” in tandem. They both bowed.

Leo cleared his throat, embarrassed. “Thank you.”

“What can we do to help?” Lily asked, searching Gavriel’s face. “They’re going to kill him.”

“You’ve done enough. You’ve already risked everything.

We must leave.”

“But—”

“No buts,” Gavriel replied. “I would be grateful if you’d fix up my arm as best you can, and perhaps pack us some food, but we’ve got to be gone from here as soon as possible.

They could come back.”

Greven shook his head. “They won’t. Lepers scare people.”

“I’m sorry we lied,” Leo said. “I felt badly because you’ve been so good but we had no choice.”

“We understand,” Greven said.

“Lily, your arms!” Leo suddenly gasped.

She rubbed at them self-consciously. “Nettles. They work a treat and usually fool people—another of my father’s very bright ideas. I’d better find some dock leaves. Resisting the itch is not easy.”

“My king,” Greven began. “Tell us what we can do. I mean it. We are loyal to the Valisars. Those men alone were terrifying.”

“And they were nothing compared to the leader of the Greens.” Gavriel pointed to his face. “Each barbarian tribe wears different colored tatua. No, Greven, we are not leading a rebellion yet. Just now we are merely trying to survive.

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I gave my word to King Brennus and my father that I would protect Leo with my life. I have to keep him alive, on the run for many years if necessary, until he’s of an age to think about rallying his own forces.”

“Now is not that time,” Greven agreed. “Our majesty is too young, too vulnerable and the realm is presumably in tat-ters.”

“It is,” Gavriel agreed. “But not just ours. Every royal family has been slaughtered throughout the Set. Leo and his adopted brother, Piven, are all that remain of the Set royalty.” He gestured at Leo. “He is precious for all the realms of the Set.”

“Where will you go?” Lily asked, anxiously.

“We’re trying to find a band of outlaws led by a man named Kilt Faris.”

Lily nodded. “I’ve heard of him. They say his camp is in the far north.”

“That’s what we’ve heard too. But I haven’t been able to find out exactly where his camp is.”

“I suspect if he’s as elusive as the rumors suggest, if he doesn’t want to be found, he won’t be,” Greven said.

“He’s our hope, though,” Leo joined in. “We think that, aside from hating the barbarian invasion, he has a genuine interest in keeping the Valisar throne safe.”

“So he can keep plundering taxes and exploiting the king’s wealth,” Gavriel explained. “We hope to make a bargain with him.”

Lily shook her head with disbelief. “Good luck,” she said wryly. “If the right price is offered by the barbarian king I reckon Kilt Faris would sell his very soul. Please don’t tell me you’re counting on Faris having any loyalty to the realm.”

“No, not loyalty,” Leo answered. “You don’t get to be as successful as Faris without keeping a close eye on the palace and its comings and goings. My father believed Faris not only had spies but that he was never overly greedy with what he stole from the crown. Enough to be irritating, not enough to warrant an all-out price on his head. Father believed he still Roya l Ex i l e

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had some measure of respect for the crown. More, I’m sure, than he’ll have for Loethar, who will not grant him quite the same grace that my father permitted.” Lily walked away, shaking her head, and busied herself packing food.

“Go with them, Lily,” Greven suggested.

“Are you mad, father? Walk into an outlaw’s den? One woman amongst all those desperates?”

“Travel as a leper. You know how to do it.” Lily gave a sound of disgust just as Gavriel shook his head. “Absolutely not. It’s hard enough keeping the king safe without another person to protect.”

“I don’t remember your doing much protecting last night.

I was able to sneak up on you pretty easily,” Lily snapped, slamming the hunk of cheese from the previous eve ning into a sack.

“I didn’t mean—”

“Lily, go. You know this part of the forest like the back of your hand. And you’ve got a good sense of how to travel the woods silently, quickly. These two are like lumbering bad-gers by comparison.”

She smiled at her father with genuine affection. “Father, I can’t leave you alone.”

“You can, and you will. I’m not an invalid. I’m a leper, that’s all. More than capable of looking after myself. We have to do this, don’t you see? We can’t stand by and meekly hand over our king to the barbarian invaders. We have to protect him. All of us, not just Gavriel de Vis.” She looked down.

Glancing from Greven to Lily, Leo began, “Listen, I appreciate—”

“I’m sorry, majesty,” Greven interrupted. “But this is not your decision. You may be royal and you may be king, but you are still a child. Our job, as grown- ups, is to protect our young. And I’ve made my decision and unless my daughter’s a coward—which I know she’s not,” he added as she opened her mouth defensively, “then she will pack 298

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herself some food in that sack and set out this very morning to lead you north.”

Silence gripped the room.

Gavriel broke it. “It’s up to you, Lily.”

“Father’s right. We have to protect our king.” Greven nodded. “Good. Let’s see to your arm, and let’s make some porridge—no one should travel on an empty belly—and let’s get you on your way.” Sergius took a long breath. Searching for an aegis, eh? Are you sure they didn’t see you, don’t suspect anything?

They didn’t see me. Everyone ignores me now.

Very cunning of this Freath fellow. I’m impressed.

How do you find a stranger with no name, when you don’t even know what he looks like?

Sometimes they find you. Otherwise you have to know what you’re looking for. Leonel’s aegis will be within eight to ten anni of his own age, I’m guessing. It’s not certain but it’s a starting point.

Was the Vested man right in how he said it must occur?

Absolutely right. To bond the aegis, part of him must be consumed by the Valisar. That’s the trammelling. It’s not for the faint- hearted.

What about Brennus’s aegis? Does he just die?

Well, the aegis is already dead in a way. His spirit is owned by the king and it is the king’s life that sustains his aegis. So if the king dies, so does his spirit.

Ravan thought about this. What if the king never found his aegis, never trammelled him?

Ah, interesting question. Then the aegis lives his normal life. He is never bonded, so he dies only of natural causes.

Can anyone else trammel him?

People have tried over the centuries but no, only a true heir can trammel an aegis. Yes, Leonel could bond his father’s aegis but there’s only one aegis per king. So if that were to happen Leonel’s own aegis would go free.

And there is an aegis born for all heirs.

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Of course, Sergius said, pouring himself a fresh brew. If one of Iselda’s other sons had made it past childbirth, he would have had his own aegis.

Speaking of Iselda’s other sons . . . there’s something about Piven.

What do you mean?

I’m not sure yet. There’s just something about him.

Brennus assured me he is completely lost.

He is, but . . .

What? Sergius sat forward.

I could have imagined it but when Brennus died it was as though I sensed something fl are within the boy. I wasn’t really paying much attention to him in truth—there was a great deal happening that night. But the child was paying attention to me. He likes me, recognizes me or at least is drawn to me.

When you say “sensed,” what do you mean exactly?

It’s hard to describe. It was like an awakening. Piven is always stroking me or near enough to me that our bodies touch. We were touching when his father was killed and I felt something pass through the boy. As Sergius fl inched, Ravan cut off his train of thought. Don’t ask me what it was, exactly, because I don’t know. It was a feeling, a sensation . . .

a . . . a pulse.

Have you noticed a difference in him since then?

Well, increasingly I get the strangest notion that he’s trying to actually communicate with me.

Sergius pushed away from the table and stood. He paced, frowning, arms folded, deep in thought.

What are you thinking, old man? Ravan flew to his shoulder.

I don’t know what to make of it but I also don’t think we should mistrust your feelings. Fly back now. Keep a close eye on the boy. Try and communicate with him, perhaps. If you notice any substantial change I must know about it.

Twenty- One

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Kirin and Clovis had moved relatively freely throughout the palace thanks to the ribbon that proclaimed them Freath’s servants. They had got chatting with a young barbarian, whom they found playing with a kitten he’d obviously found that had been skulking near the kitchens. His name was Barc and Clovis was sure he recognized the youngster from part of the armed guard that escorted the Vested through the Set ultimately to Penraven.

Kirin soon worked out that Barc’s youth and need to boast meant his mouth was looser than other of the barbarians and had suggested to Clovis he might as well see if the kitchens could spare some food as neither had yet eaten. Clovis had taken the hint and moved off in search of the food they did not need.

“How are you feeling being so far from home, Barc?” Kirin continued.

The boy dangled a long stem of grass in front of the kitten who found the game irresistible. “I miss it. I love the horses, the open plains. Everything here smells strange. And it’s so closed in.”

“You speak excellent Set. All of you, in fact.” Barc nodded. “We all speak it from birth.”

“I didn’t know that. How did that come about?” Barc shrugged. “Perhaps many years ago we had teachers from here.”

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“Prisoners, you mean, or paid teachers?”

“I don’t know.”

Kirin suspected it was both. As much as the Set ignored the tribes of the plains politically, at a more domestic level there was a brisk trade. Plains people bred magnificent horses and were excellent craftsmen and good farmers. There was a natural flow of Set people into the plains, and over the centuries some must have stayed. “You’re awfully young to go to war, aren’t you?”

The young man beat his chest and grinned. “Warriors must prove themselves as soon as they have lived past fi fteen plains blows. Then we are ready to fi ght. I have proven myself.” He pointed at the intricate pattern on his face.

“And you belong to the Reds,” Kirin said, hating to state the obvious but trying to learn as much as he could.

“The tatua is very fresh. It still stings.”

“Will your family come and join you now?” Barc smiled. “Yes, now that we have been triumphant, all our families, especially the women, can join us. Our leader wants the tribes to mix with the Set people. He will form a new race, he says.”

“Does that worry you?”

“Why should it?” the boy countered, frowning. He stroked the kitten. “This was the plan. And because I bear the tatua I can now take a wife, start my own family.”

“Will you remain Red even if you take a Set wife?”

“I will.”

“Do you think your leader would mind your talking to us?”

The youngster looked untroubled. “No. You are defeated.

You have no army—your soldiers are either dead or under our control.” He flexed his muscles, beating the left side of his chest as he added, “And you have no heart now that all your royals are dead. Your people have to accept the peace terms and our rule. They’ll get used to it.” Kirin nodded, wondering how the Set that worshipped Lo would be expected to easily give their faith over to countless 302

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new gods from one that was responsible for fertility to another that could just as easily visit plague upon your kind.

“And what of the Vested that were gathered up?”

“Vested? Ah—the people who possess magic, you mean?

I was among the warriors who brought them here.”

“I was one of them. How are the others?”

“You have magic?” The boy looked impressed.

Kirin shrugged. “Not really. I can predict weather patterns,” he offered, “not always as accurately as some would like, but I get it right a lot of the time.” This didn’t seem to interest Barc much, as Kirin had hoped. “We have people who use magic. We call them The Masked. But we use them to communicate with the gods; each family has one.”

This didn’t interest Kirin but he nodded as though paying close attention. Clovis returned, bearing a bowl of porridge.

“I ate outside the kitchen,” he said. “Couldn’t wait.” Kirin began eating the porridge as he talked. “I was hoping to see some of the people I was rounded up with. Do you know where they are?”

“I have a feeling they were taken to some important religious place south of here but I don’t know for sure. I was given other duties once we arrived at Brighthelm.” A bell sounded and Barc leapt to his feet. “I have to go.

I’m back on duty now.”

“Thanks, Barc. It’s been nice talking with you,” Kirin said.

“We are meant to be enemies,” the boy said, “but perhaps in time we can live together easily.” He hurried away.

“Not likely,” Clovis said.

Kirin murmured agreement. “Do you know what he meant by the religious place south of here?” Clovis shook his head. “No, but Freath will.” They found Freath pale and anxious, hurrying through one of the corridors with Genrie.

“We know where the Vested are being kept,” Kirin said, sensing the tension and keeping it brief. “Apparently they’ve been taken to a religious house south of here.” Roya l Ex i l e

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“Buckden Abbey,” Genrie murmured.

Freath nodded. He looked around carefully. “We shall have to head there. But you should know what Loethar has commanded in our realm. It could spill into the others. He wants all males aged eleven to thirteen summertides to be killed.”

“Every boy?” Kirin queried, his mouth suddenly dry.

“And we’re going to provide the census rec ords so they are easily found. Our most recent was last Harvest Festival, so it’s very accurate,” Freath said, mournfully. “I don’t know what to do. I can’t save these children. I can’t even save the boy we strive to protect. Valya thinks she saw the king and De Vis fleeing into the woods.”

“Is she sure?” Clovis asked.

“No, but it must be them. They’ve taken their chances and gone on the run.”

“So Loethar will fl ush him out by killing all the males of the king’s age across all realms.”

“Starting with Penraven. That’s hundreds of innocents savagely murdered in our realm alone.”

“How can we stop it?” Kirin asked.

“We can’t,” Freath growled. “But we will use it to fi nd and protect Leo. We have to.”

“Use it?” Clovis frowned.

“I’m going with Stracker because I can read the census.

He can’t. I can ensure that the killing is as merciful as possible. And you two are coming with me.”

“What?” Kirin and Clovis roared.

Genrie bundled them all into a chamber. “Hush. If we are found now, all is lost. Speak, Master Freath. You two, shut up and listen.”

The three men obeyed her command. Freath explained,

“We cannot stop this now. Loethar is a man driven beyond all reason. He wants Leo dead. But I think I have a way to halt his madness before the headcount gets too high. In the meantime, with the freedom we’ll have to travel, perhaps you will find it easier to hunt for the aegis. Either way, I could use your help, your eyes and ears.”

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“What about the Vested at the abbey?”

“At least we know where they are. This new development takes preference. To be honest I doubt whether the person I seek is among those who were rounded up. Anyone with potential to be an aegis would have hidden himself beneath many layers of life’s disguises.”

“It could be a child again,” Clovis reminded him.

“How many children were with you?” Freath asked.

“Very few. I think almost all, if not all but the very young, were killed.”

“Are you sure the aegis will even know what he or she is?”

“No, but the old writings suggest that each aegis is born with the inherent knowledge of who they are and what they’re capable of. But these people run from their calling. They fi ght its pull every day; they know that once they are trapped in the net of championship, their lives are over. They will die of old age, bonded to their king—unless their bonded dies of poor health or accident first, in which case they die then, too.”

“They can’t be released?”

“I don’t think so. But that’s an irrelevant detail right now.

All that matters is finding this person.” Clovis turned away. “I can’t do it, I won’t. Kirin can accompany you. I would rather die than bear witness to the slaughter of more children.”

“We need you, Clovis,” Freath urged.

“What makes you think I’m capable of it?” Kirin asked, horrifi ed.

“You haven’t lost your own child to the barbarian! You forget I saw Stracker spear my daughter with his garforsaken blade. No, I refuse.”

The other three shared glances and Freath nodded. “All right, Clovis. I understand. You will remain behind. Keep your ears and eyes open and keep Genrie abreast of everything you learn. You now have more freedom than she.” Clovis nodded unhappily but said nothing.

“We’ll be missed if we spend another moment here,” Gen-Roya l Ex i l e

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rie cautioned. “Have you heard that Loethar’s bringing in a new set of servants for the palace?” Freath shook his head with exasperation. “No.”

“It was the old woman’s suggestion and she’s supervising it. She’s also planning a barbarian celebration. No one in the Set will be permitted to celebrate Harvest Festival this year.

It’s going to be replaced with a new event. I should also tell you there’s a wedding in the air.”

“I’ve heard,” Freath said sourly. “Still, we have no control over any of this. We must remain focused on securing our king’s protection.”

“I must go,” Genrie said. “Don’t leave immediately after me. Good luck, Freath.” Her gaze rested momentarily on the older man before she nodded at the other two and slipped out of the door.

It was difficult saying farewell to brave Greven, even harder watching Lily hug her father goodbye. Leo wondered if they would ever see him again. He doubted it. The leper had already said in passing that without his daughter’s wel-fare to think about, he might not stay put. He had admitted that the hut and even the forest would seem horribly empty without her. Leo felt the guilt of more people’s sacrifi ces settle around his shoulders. Perhaps it would be easier to simply give himself up to Loethar, to get it all over and done with.

Both Gavriel and Lily had halted, looking at him with a mixture of astonishment and anger, and Leo realized he had spoken his thoughts aloud.

“I didn’t mean to say that,” he said.

“I should hope not,” Lily said. “I’m not doing this because it’s an adventure I’ve been longing for.” Gavriel threw him a sympathetic look. “Leo, this is not just about you. This is about our realm, about the Set, about preserving our way of life and fighting against the oppression of the barbarian. We know he’s got his own agenda and 306

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from what we saw it is not simply about claiming triumph over the Set.”

“What do you mean?” Lily said.

Gavriel had already told her how they’d hidden in the ingress, even though Leo had scowled at him, preferring to keep it a secret. But he understood that Gavriel’s admission was necessary; Lily would demand to know how they had seen so much or knew so much about Loethar. If they hadn’t been honest with her from the beginning, she would have begun mistrusting them. And right now, Lily was their guide, their hope for reaching the den of Kilt Faris quickly. “Tell her,” he said.

Gavriel made a rueful face and Leo realized he hadn’t been seeking permission. “Loethar’s angry. He’s on a personal crusade of destruction. If he could he would wipe the Valisar name and its history from all rec ords and everyone’s memories, I think that—and only that—might appease him.

But that’s not possible, so instead he’s settling for destroying every living Valisar. Ruling the Set as an emperor is not yet enough . . . not until Leo dies. And we know he’s hardly threatened by a child, not with his marauding army. So his quest goes deeper but I don’t understand it.”

“I don’t think you’re meant to,” Lily said, clambering up a new incline. “Watch it here, it’s quite slippery,” she said, reaching for a tree branch to haul herself up. “By the sounds of all you’ve said, he’s obviously quite mad.”

“I don’t think so,” Leo said, accepting her hand to pull him up and then turning to do the same for Gavriel. “He is frighteningly sane when you watch him up close.”

“His half- brother is the reckless one, the brute who does his dirty work. Loethar is far more sophisticated in thought and action,” Gavriel agreed.

“None of this makes sense, of course,” Lily added. “My father said the Set and Steppes people have historically been on good terms with one another. We’ve had centuries of peace.”

“Was your father really serious about leaving the forest?” Roya l Ex i l e

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Leo asked. “Surely it’s familiar, home?” Somehow the man reminded him of his father. Perhaps because he was about the same age as Brennus.

“Oh, that man!” she replied, exasperated. “He’ll get himself killed. I know it appears to you as though he has hidden in the forest for his own sake but the truth is he lives within the cocoon of the woods for me. I am the one who craved its peace and solitude. I was the one who wanted him to be away from those who treated him badly. He lived the quiet life to please me but my father is a traveller at heart. He doesn’t like to be still. If he could have convinced me, we would have wandered the realms as travelling herbalists, with me as the face of our service.”

“They’d have still made him wear the hooded robe,” Leo began.

“And sound his clappers, yes,” she sighed. “But he never minded the humiliation. I did.”

“I’m sorry we’ve taken you from him, Lily,” Leo said, taking her hand, feeling a thrill at touching her. He’d already worked out that this woman was not one given to crying. But she was clearly very sad.

“We’re all making sacrifices, Leo. I make mine gladly for you because I don’t want to be a barbarian’s woman and that’s what I face if we don’t make a stand.”

“Then marry me now, Lily. I’ll save you from the tatua oafs,” Gavriel said theatrically.

Leo scowled at him. “You’ll never be a barbarian’s wife. I won’t let it happen.”

“Thank you, my king,” she said and kissed his hand playfully.

She had no idea what that did to Leo. For a period after the kiss he could say nothing. He knew his cheeks were burning, and his mind was racing down pathways it shouldn’t. He suddenly really minded Gavriel’s easy-going manner and even easier conversation with Lily.

“. . . after all, we have now shared a bed,” he heard Gavriel say as he came out of his thoughts.

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Leo stopped walking. “What?”

“Pay him no heed,” Lily soothed. “He’s delusional.” Gavriel grinned broadly. Leo suddenly became aware, perhaps for the first time, how helplessly handsome Gavriel was. Leo knew girls had always found Gavriel irresistible but that knowledge had never interrupted the fun he’d shared with the De Vis twins. Now he felt he was competing against Gavriel—and that he had absolutely no chance in the contest.

“I was not delusional when I awoke to find you naked and next to me this morning, Lily,” Gavriel continued, playfully.

Leo thought he was either going to be sick or he was going to punch Gavriel. He stomped ahead.

“Shut up,” Lily said, grinning at Gavriel, unaware of how their fun injured him. “He jests, Leo, ignore him. I climbed into the bed only when we heard the men arrive so I could pretend we were husband and wife.”

“Why?” Leo rounded on them.

Gavriel must have sensed Leo’s unease, for he stopped leering at Lily. “Because they were obviously searching for two people who fitted our description. We must have been spotted somehow. And even if they hadn’t found you, they might have grabbed me for simply looking like the fellow they were seeking,” he explained, frowning at Leo. “Are you all right?”

Leo didn’t want to feel angry with Gavriel, especially after all they had shared, but he couldn’t quite resolve how he was feeling. “Yes, of course,” he said, backing down. “I had no idea what you’d all gone through when I was hiding below ground.” He sighed, changed the subject. “I think I’m hungry.”

“No time to stop, your majesty,” Lily said. “Come on, let’s speed up. We’ve got a journey ahead of us.”

“How long, do you think?” Gavriel asked.

Lily’s expression turned unsure. “I don’t really know. All I can do is keep heading us north.” Leo rallied. It would not do to create a diffi cult atmosphere between the three of them. “Please, no more calling Roya l Ex i l e

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me ‘majesty.’ Not even Leo if you want to protect me.” They both nodded, although Gavriel had long ago given up titles.

“On my father’s maps the forest was roughly six miles from Brighthelm to its northen point.”

“And how do you know Faris is north?” Lily asked.

“Father once showed me on the map where he thought the main outlaw hiding area was. It was almost at the northern tip of the forest.”

“Then as the crow flies we’ve got at least another four miles of this rougher terrain to travel,” she confi rmed.

“Speaking of crows, you didn’t happen to see a huge raven around the time that we came along, did you?” asked Gavriel.

Lily stopped walking. “What an odd thing for you to say.”

“It’s just that we were sure a raven was moving through the trees with us when we were making our escape.”

“He’s big,” Leo added.

“I’m really staggered,” Lily said and sounded it. “I did see a raven. He was very still but I was extremely aware of his presence. Huge black bird he was. I didn’t see a mate, or a nest, either, and he wasn’t acting territorially. He seemed rather tame, in fact. He certainly wasn’t scared of me—he even flew down to the ground and hopped around, making lots of clicking and clacking sounds.”

“Then what?” Gavriel demanded.

She shrugged. “Then nothing. I followed him a short while before I lost sight of him. Next thing I knew I had stumbled upon you two letting my trapped hare go.” Gavriel and Leo shared a glance.

“Why? What does that mean?” she asked, noticing it.

“Nothing,” Gavriel replied. “Nothing important.” He shrugged. “We’d convinced ourselves he was following us.”

“I doubt it. Ravens are intelligent but not that cunning,” Lily said airily. But Leo knew better and he suspected Gavriel felt the same way. He was sure they would agree that Vyk had not only followed them but had led Lily to them. Why?

Twenty-Two

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Freath nodded as he poured wine into Loethar’s goblet. “I do think it’s the best solution, sire. I can read the census and I can also offer insightful information to your brother if he needs it.”

“Half-brother,” Loethar corrected. Freath acknowledged the correction with a dip of his head. “I wouldn’t have thought witnessing killing was quite up your alley, though, Freath.

You realize what you will have to watch?”

“I don’t have to watch it though, my lord. My aim is to ensure it is carried out precisely to the letter, that we do indeed select the right sons from the census. I shall take only one of my Vested, so I shall be no burden on Warrior Stracker.”

“He wishes to be known as general.”

“Are you comfortable with this, my lord?”

“Every emperor needs his general, Freath. Stracker is mine.” Loethar sipped his wine and nodded his approval.

Freath noted that Loethar didn’t precisely answer his question but couldn’t care less. He prayed one day the brothers—

half or otherwise—would come to blows and fi ght it out for supremacy. So long as they killed each other, he’d be happy.

For the time being he kept his expression composed, blank.

“As you wish, my lord.”

“I will need to send one of our tribe with you for your own protection. Stracker can be unpredictable.” Roya l Ex i l e

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“He’s already on his way to the fi rst town—Devden, correct?” Loethar nodded. “I will need to leave quickly.”

“I shall brief a runner to accompany you.”

“My lord, I hope you will not take offense at my question, but I wonder whether this mass murder is in your best interest?”

“I know what you’re saying, Freath, but you seem to think that I care about diplomacy—about the way that you perhaps might ingratiate me into Set life. I don’t share your vision. I don’t care if people don’t like me at the outset. I care only that we do integrate at some stage. For now I have but one request to keep me

happy—that all Valisars be de-

stroyed.”

“Then may I make an equally simple suggestion?”

“Go ahead.” He drained the goblet as he listened.

“As soon as the boy is found, stop the killing. The people from the Set will hate you for taking their sons, but I think we can achieve some measure of unspoken respect if you do halt the killing the moment you find your prey. Though General Stracker, I fear, may not approve of this plan.” Loethar studied Freath. “You have us well measured, Freath. No, he will not stop unless I insist. But your suggestion is a good one. When the child is found—and we know he can’t be that far away yet—the slaughter ends.” Freath schooled his expression to look unimpressed. He didn’t want Loethar to think he cared one way or the other.

“Very good, my lord. What would you like me to arrange for Crown Princess Valya?”

“In what way?”

“For the wedding, my lord.”

“In our culture we leave that to the women, Freath. I just turn up.”

“So we’ll be following a Steppes ceremony, my lord?” Loethar looked irritated. Freath could tell he didn’t enjoy administrative life. And being imprisoned in the palace must be hard on him, too. “What do you think?” 312

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“Well, your bride is Drostean, after all. I think some western influence is important to show good faith to her family.

Perhaps we run concurrent rituals.” Loethar nodded wearily. “Fine. Whatever she wants.”

“Very well. Now, I’ve heard you wish to bring servants back into the palace. We’ve certainly been operating on the slightest number of staff—I know help would be appreciated, help in the kitchens and Genrie definitely needs more help in housekeeping. The gardens and orchards—”

“Freath, stop! Are you doing this deliberately?”

“What, my lord?”

“Boring me senseless with your tedium.”

“In order to run the palace for you, I need your orders.

Forgive me, sire. Perhaps I should discuss this with the crown princess?”

“How did Brennus operate?”

Freath gave a soft shrug. “The former king left us all mostly to our own devices. We had our duties, and we knew how to run the palace, sire. Iselda took charge of the house hold.

Brennus worried about politics and running the realm.”

“So include Valya. It will give her something to do.”

“And perhaps Dara Negev also—unless that will cause disruptions between them?”

“Oh, you are certainly sharp, Freath,” Loethar said, as much admiration as weariness in his voice.

“I have to ask, sire. We’re bound to have problems if the two se nior women in the palace are vying for position, especially if your servants don’t fully understand the hierarchy.

How would it work in Steppes society?”

“My mother would be in charge.”

“Shall we keep it that way, then?”

“Yes, yes, whatever you think is best.” He held out the goblet to be replenished.

“I’m sorry to test your patience, sire.”

“Just find me the boy and all will be well.” Freath feigned a smile. “And there’s one more thing, my lord. I would like to hire you a taster. I could have poisoned Roya l Ex i l e

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you just now.” Freath registered the sound of the goblet clattering across the floor before he realized the barbarian had him by the throat.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Freath

couldn’t answer. He gasped for air but couldn’t

seem to take a breath. Loethar pushed him and the older man stumbled back against the wall, banging his head. “See what happens when I’m angered, Freath? Next time I’ll choke the last breath out of you.”

Freath was seeing stars. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had manhandled him in this way. It must have been back in my childhood, he thought idiotically, his head swimming. Suddenly he felt himself being hauled to his feet, Loethar’s fist at his shirtfront. “Are you all right?” the barbarian asked.

“I’m not sure, my lord. I can’t focus properly.”

“Take a drink.”

“No, I’ll just lean against the wall a moment. Er, forgive me my indiscretion. I meant only . . .” He had to think for a moment about what it was that he had intended to say. “I had meant only to warn you against assassins. If you are to bring in new servants, you may care to take some precautions with yourself, my lord.”

Loethar looked contrite but Freath didn’t expect him to back down or apologize. “I’ll leave that to you to organize if you’re so keen on looking out for my health.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Freath said. The man was suspicious of everyone, everything. He would have to keep working at gaining his trust. “Er, your raven is noticeably absent,” he added.

“Vyk, yes. I have no idea where he has gone. But he is contrary like this.”

“How did you come by him?” Freath asked, massaging his throat.

Loethar had turned away to pour himself a fresh goblet of wine. “That’s an interesting tale. I found him as a baby in the very old forests in the far north where the plains end and 314

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mountains threaten. He’d fallen out of his nest and although I could hear his parents calling to him from the pines they refused to come to the ground. I raised him on the plains, and he adapted well enough, though he’s never forgotten the forest. That’s probably where he’s flown off to now. I was a young warrior then, so Vyk has to be three hundred moons old now.”

“Three decades! That’s a wise old raven, my lord.”

“Indeed.” Loethar actually smiled. “No. He and I are more like brothers than Stracker and I could ever be. Vyk understands me.” Freath was surprised that Loethar was being so candid. It was unnerving but he didn’t want to stop the barbarian talking. “Of course, he agrees with everything I do,” he went on, before pausing and adding, “because he never answers back.” Freath wasn’t sure whether he was supposed to chortle at what he presumed was a jest. He smiled be-nignly instead.

“The odd thing is,” Loethar continued, sipping his wine and moving to the window as though expecting to see the raven in the distance approaching, “our people are suspicious of any bird associated with crows. They consider the crow a creature who straddles the worlds of the living and the dead.

A shaman once warned me against him. Said he was dangerous.”

“Why? He’s just a bird.”

“Well, shamans see more than the ordinary man, Freath.

You and I are ordinary men. But the shaman never did explain his caution, if that’s what you meant.”

“But still you keep him.”

“If Vyk is my enemy—and I have no reason to doubt him after all these years together—well, I still believe in keeping my enemies close.”

“Is that why you allow your half- brother to remain next to you, sire?”

Loethar turned and Freath believed for one heartbeat that his life was forfeit, that he’d overstepped Loethar’s tolerance for his sharp observances. But the barbarian simply stared at Roya l Ex i l e

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him coldly. “You are like my raven, Freath. I am unconvinced whether you are friend or foe. Though I am usually a reasonable judge of character, I cannot quite take your measure. You show incredible insight and everything you say appears to be for my benefit, but somehow I just cannot decide whether to trust you.”

“Then I shall have to continue proving myself until I have earned your trust, my lord. I have told you that I have no loyalties to the Valisars. The truth is, I have no loyalty to anyone. But I might as well take my chances now with the new regime. I am your man, Emperor Loethar. As long as you continue to reward me, I will work tirelessly for your benefi t alone.”

“So allowing you to live is not simply enough any more?” It was a facetious comment.

“There’s no point in living if you can’t enjoy it, my lord. I want money, I want status, I want respect. I am prepared to earn those things, to prove my value to you.”

“You’ve done well so far, Freath. You’ll have to ignore my previous indiscretion.”

They both glanced at the wine spilled on the fl oor. It looked like blood to Freath and he thanked Lo that his life had been spared . . . this time.

“It’s already forgotten, my lord. Let me organize someone to clean up that mess. In the meantime may I suggest Genrie as your taster? I trust her and I think she’ll do a fine job until you find someone more appropriate.” Loethar waved a hand. “Whatever you think best, Freath, as long as she doesn’t start her haranguing again. You are dismissed to prepare for your journey. I shall see you on your return, hopefully triumphantly bringing me the head of Leonel of the Valisars.”

This was their third morning and they’d fallen into a com-panionable silence. Food was scarce but no one had a particularly large appetite. Every step north seemed tinged with either sorrow at what they were leaving behind, or tension 316

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for what was ahead. Temperatures had cooled noticeably and although it was late summertide—nearly the onset of leaf-fall—Lily explained the drop in warmth was mainly due to the thickening canopy of dense trees, at fi rst hawthorn, then beeches, birches, ash and oak, and fi nally, fi r.

There was no more dappled sunlight, no more joyful birdsong; suddenly the surrounds felt a lot more threatening even in the middle of the day.

“It’s very silent here,” Leo said.

“We must be close,” Lily replied. “Except we don’t really know what we’re looking for, do we?”

“Why don’t we just yell for him?” Gavriel suggested. “You said he’s not going to just show himself to us. We have to lure him out. What have we got to lose?”

“Other than our lives, you mean?” Lily asked. “What makes you think Kilt Faris is the only one in the forest? Or even that he will welcome us with open arms?”

“I don’t,” Gavriel admitted. “I agree that this is an enormous risk but it’s one Leo and I decided to take when we were trapped in the palace. You can’t imagine what we witnessed there, Lily. I won’t subject you to even hearing it repeated.”

“Nor do I want to,” she said quickly.

“My father would think much less of me if he knew he’d raised his heir to allow others to risk their lives—give their lives, even—while I ran away from the same challenge,” Leo confi rmed.

“Brave words,” Gavriel said understandingly.

“No! You’re getting this wrong, Leo. Listen to me,” Lily demanded. “Everyone who is taking these risks and giving their lives is doing so to preserve yours. It’s your responsibility to stay alive, no matter what.”

“Lily, I—”

Leo never finished what he’d begun to say, as quivering arrow shafts struck the ground all around them.

Gavriel sounded surprisingly calm as he murmured, “Well, at least we know they don’t want to kill us . . . not yet, anyway.”

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“Gavriel . . .” Lily murmured. Leo heard the fear in her voice even as he hated the fact that she turned to his friend fi rst.

“Be calm, Lily. Leo, you all right?”

“Not dead yet,” Leo said through gritted teeth.

“We’re looking for Kilt Faris,” Gavriel called, turning and yelling to the trees. His words were greeted with silence; there was nothing but shadows among the trees.

Gavriel tried again. “We’ve trekked three days from Brighthelm. The barbarian has proclaimed himself emperor, in case you didn’t know, and we’ve escaped the palace to bring news. I’m sure Kilt Faris would want to hear what we have to tell him.”

“We’re not buying,” boomed a voice.

“Fair enough, because we’re not selling.” A single man, huge, with thick dark hair swirling about him strode down the incline.

“It’s Algin,” Leo breathed. Algin was the giant of Set myth. Gavriel seemed to find this funny but Leo was sure his chuckle was nervous laughter.

The large man arrived before them and, without a word, punched Gavriel so hard in the belly that he didn’t have time to utter a protest. Silently, he crumpled to the ground like one of the paper lanterns Leo’s mother used to make him.

“What in Lo’s name was that for?” Lily shrieked, bending down to Gavriel. “You could kill him punching him like that, you oaf.”

“Really?” the giant said. “Then perhaps he shouldn’t laugh at strangers . . . especially when he’s trespassing.”

“Trespassing!” Lily hissed. “On whose land?” Below her, Gavriel groaned, then coughed.

“Mine!” the stranger said.

“These are crown lands,” she hurled upward. “They belong to the Valisars.”

“Sounds like they belong to the barbarian now.” Leo took immediate offense and used the trick Legate De Vis had taught all the boys in the cohort, taking a fl ying kick 318

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between the man’s legs. Though it came without warning, at least Algin had time to yell his wrath before he joined Gavriel on the forest fl oor.

“Good kick, Leo,” Gavriel congratulated, still wincing.

“Enough of this!” said a new voice as more shadows melted from behind the trees. The speaker was a normal- sized man who descended from the hill, followed by a number of men, presumably the archers. “Get up, Jewd.” Jewd was still groaning on the ground. “Little bastard,” he growled. “When this pain stops I’m going to tear him limb from limb.”

He sounded serious. Leo glanced at Lily, but she ignored his worried look. “Are you Kilt Faris?” she demanded of the new stranger.

“You’ve got until the count of ten until these men loose their arrows again. And this time they won’t deliberately miss you.”

Leo noticed how calmly and softly the stranger spoke and yet the words sounded all the more threatening because of it.

He had not yet stepped fully out of the shadows so his features were not obvious but he wore a closely shaved beard and from what Leo could tell he was not nearly as intimidating as his giant friend. He was lean, as tall as Gavriel perhaps.

Both Jewd and Gavriel had dragged themselves to their feet. A worried glance at Gavriel told Leo that De Vis was injured again. His complexion looked pale and clammy. And his arm was bleeding.

“Come on, Lily,” he said, tugging at her sleeve.

“Six,” the man counted.

“We’ve come a long way,” Lily persisted. “We have something of importance to tell Faris. If he’s among you—”

“Seven,” he continued, unmoved.

The men stepped back. They’d already retrieved their arrows and now nocked one in each bow.

“What, you really need all these bowmen to kill us?” Gavriel snarled. “You creep. She’s unarmed, and that’s a boy there, in case you hadn’t noticed.” Roya l Ex i l e

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“Eight.”

“Let’s go, Gav,” Leo said.

Lily was not easily deterred. “You have to listen to us. I’m begging you. Please tell us where Kilt Faris is. We have a message for him.”

“Nine,” the man uttered. At his word the bows trained on them were stretched taut in instant unison.

Leo looked around wildly. The man felt no sympathy for their plight, didn’t even appear vaguely interested in their important message. He was also at home in his surrounds, confident of his place. This had to be Faris. He took the chance even though he knew Gavriel would be furious.

“Unless you’re prepared to kill your king, I suggest you lower your weapons,” he ordered, surprised by how commanding his newly broken voice sounded.

The man shifted his gaze. “My information tells me the king is dead—that the whole royal family is dead, in fact.”

“King Brennus is dead,” Gavriel replied. “As is Queen Iselda. And unless you like the idea of barbarian rule, the whole Set’s only hope right now is his son, Leonel, the new king.”

Their captor’s attention slid once again, this time to Leo.

Leo couldn’t see his eyes clearly in the shadows, but he felt their weight resting heavily on him.

“You are Leonel?”

“I am,” he said, as defiantly as he could.

The stranger stared at Leo a moment longer. Then he abruptly uttered a guttural command. The archers lowered their bows.

“Prove it,” the man demanded.

Leo looked around, unsure. “How?”

The man shook his head. “That’s your problem.”

“Now wait a—”

“Be quiet, woman, or I’ll have someone shut you up by force.”

Lily went silent but Leo could feel her seething next to him.

“Well?” the man said, still calm.

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Leo’s mind raced. “Can you at least get him some help, please?” he said, trying to buy time, motioning toward Gavriel.

“He’ll be fine. And if not, it’s not our problem. You came here uninvited.”

“I don’t think so,” Leo countered. “My father, King Brennus, told me to come here. He didn’t say it directly but I think he hoped that you might become an ally. You are Kilt Faris, aren’t you?”

The man stepped out from the dark that had been shading his face. He was younger than Leo had anticipated, although it was difficult to judge his age. Perhaps thirty anni, no more—and yet this man had been giving his father problems for many years—a decade of trouble at least.

“I am,” he replied. “But you have still not convinced me of who you claim to be.”

Faris wore no adornments, Leo noticed. His clothes were simple and practical, although the sword at his side looked to be of exceptional quality. In fact—Leo frowned—he was sure he recognized it.

“That’s Faeroe,” he blurted, pointing.

Faris studied him, his hand instinctively moving to touch the hilt of the sword.

“Gav, he’s got Faeroe!” Leo exclaimed, now angry.

Gavriel looked at the sword, incredulous. “Are you sure?”

“No question of it. I love that blade. I’d know it anywhere.

I think I even cried the day my father said he had given it to someone special. I’d always hoped it would be mine.” For the first time since they’d seen him, Faris looked remotely interested. “Bring them! Blindfold them fi rst,” he ordered and suddenly the three of them found their eyes covered before being bundled up the incline, still deeper into the forest.

Freath could hear the screaming in the streets. Mothers were swooning to the ground as precious sons were dragged from their arms. He could hear the pounding of his blood in his Roya l Ex i l e

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ears as his heartbeat soared with fear and his throat became parched. But the ale before him was no respite, tasting sour in his mouth.

“This can’t be happening,” Kirin said, his lips as blood-less as his suddenly paled complexion.

“It is happening. We must remain stoic.”

“Stoic? You’ve nine names on that list. Nine lives. Nine sons of this town.”

“I can count, Master Kirin,” Freath reprimanded. “I cannot prevent this.”

“But why are you helping the barbarians?” Kirin demanded. “You led them here, read out the names, assisted in the hunting down of these innocents. Are any of them the boy in question?”

Freath shook his head. “That’s not the point. You and I both know this is about fear-mongering. They want word of this to spread like fire to other villages, towns, even realms.

They want the king to be untouchable. Not only will no one offer protection, Loethar is counting on this brutal tactic to yield the boy sooner rather than later.”

“But in the meantime hundreds must die . . . to what, make a point?”

“Sadly, yes, to make a point. So the Set understands that Emperor Loethar will not be defi ed.”

“Well, I won’t be part of it any more. I’m with Clovis. I’d rather die than soil my soul with this.”

“War is ugly, Master Kirin. And, trust me, we are at war even though the cries of battle have ended and armies no longer march. You and I, Clovis, Genrie, Father Briar . . .

we are all the Set has. If we don’t fight—and, believe me, we are fighting in our own very tiny way—then not just your soul but all our souls are lost.”

Kirin stared back at him angrily. “So you’re just going to sit here, sip your ale, and allow that monster to behead nine boys in this town? While you do nothing.”

“I didn’t say I would do nothing. But I am saying to you that these first nine lives are indeed lost. You must pull 322

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yourself together. No amount of railing from you can save them.” Freath squeezed Kirin’s hand and although the Vested tried to snatch it away, Freath gripped it fi rmly. “Now calm yourself. And listen to me.” He removed his hand, laid it back in his lap and took a deep breath. “I want you to travel ahead—go to the town of Berch. There are twenty- two lads eligible for death there. According to our census, one of them, a boy called Tomas Dole, belongs to a large family of ten children. He is destined for slaughter.” He threw a pouch of coins onto the table. “Give this to the boy’s parents.” Kirin stared at the leather pouch with dull confusion.

“Why?”

“I’m compensating them for giving us their son.”

“I don’t get it.”

“We are going to say that boy is King Leonel. The parents are going to swear to it too. You are going to drug the boy with this,” Freath placed a vial with iridescent blue liquid in it on the table in front of Kirin, “and then you’ll get word to me . . . so I can behead him.” Freath swallowed hard, surprised he could even say it. Whether he could do it remained to be seen.

“What?” Kirin roared.

Freath looked around. They had been left well alone. The innkeeper, knowing they were with the barbarian party, had cleared his inn, poured them each an ale and left. Their isolation suited Freath’s purposes. He had fully anticipated a loud argument with Kirin and he certainly didn’t want by-standers.

“Stop bellowing. If Stracker or one of his men overhears this, all is lost. Listen, Kirin, this way we relinquish only up to thirty-four lives at worst. If I don’t try this we’ll lose scores across this realm alone. If you help me I can try and stop the killing before it goes much further. The Dole family lives on the fringe of the forest. It will sound plausible that Leonel was found there.”

“But the child . . .” Kirin bleated, all the fi ght gone out of him.

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“I know, I know,” Freath soothed. “But his life is forfeit already. With his death he will save countless others—and he’ll also protect our king.”

“How will you convince Loethar that the boy is King Leonel?”

“Not that many people knew Leonel outside of the palace and I took the precaution of removing the only painting we had of him. Loethar might have seen the cross- stitch rendition that the queen made for her bed cushion but really all that gives Loethar—if he’s seen it—is a very rough likeness. The queen used to have a pendant that had a very good likeness of Leonel painted on it but she told me she’d lost that many moons ago.” He frowned, recalling her sadness at her carelessness. “Anyway, providing Tomas Dole is sandy haired, or golden haired . . . fair, in other words, we can pull this off. If he has dark hair, we don’t go ahead and we try again with a new family. I have another marked as a potential just in case.”

“This is so thin, Freath. It won’t work.”

“You’re the one demanding I try to stop the killing. I am trying.”

“And if we fail?”

“Then we go to our deaths knowing we did all we could to preserve the Valisar line, and that we risked all to stop the taking of innocent lives. Remember, Loethar just wants Leonel’s death. He doesn’t care about these boys. I’m sure he’d prefer not to be taking this action—not because he’s squeamish or feels anything for these people, but because it’s a nuisance. He wants to get on with ruling and to do that he needs the Set people compliant. This killing spree will set his timing back. So if we give him what he believes is the king’s head, he’s going to be content and the killing will stop. So will the hunt for our king. We just have to be convincing.”

“Who knows of this plan?”

“Everyone who needs to. Most of the palace staff died in the initial storming of Brighthelm. Loethar has been running the palace on very few staff, as you know. The ones 324

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who matter, who come into contact with Loethar, I have on our side. They know about this plan and will support the false identity.”

Kirin pushed his chair back and stood. The chair fell over in a loud clatter but Freath waited for the man of magic to reach his decision. He had pushed him hard enough. It was up to Kirin now. The Vested began to pace.

The silence between them was shattered with the shrieking that they’d managed to drown out with their own talk and anxiety.

Freath glanced out the window and saw a youth’s head hacked from his shoulders. The body slumped forward slowly, almost sorrowfully, as Stracker picked up the head and tossed it to a waiting Green. Freath felt the bile rise in his throat as the family’s screams rose in unison. He closed his eyes to banish the image as Kirin ran from the room, obviously having witnessed the murder himself. Minutes passed as the heartbreaking wails of men, women and boys rang through the village square. Freath kept his eyes tightly shut, his mind closed to the sounds, even though he knew his ears were hearing them.

He finally heard Kirin return and then a jingle as the Vested picked up the pouch of coins. Opening his eyes, he saw the man wiping his wet lips with his sleeves. He’d been weeping too. He looked sweaty, and understandably shaken. “What will you tell Stracker?” Kirin said coldly.

Freath shrugged. “That I’m using you as a spy. He believes you have weak magical ability—I’m going to tell him we’re putting your skills to good use, seeking out who lies.”

“Will he believe you?”

“He is immersed in a blood lust, Master Kirin. I don’t believe much is registering at all right now. Now go.”

“And you?”

“I must go out there and check that only nine boys have been killed. Make this work, Master Kirin. I shall see you in Berch in two days.”

* * *

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The blindfolds were removed and they were suddenly squinting into daylight. They stood in a small clearing.

“Is it me or is it hard to breathe?” Gavriel wondered, clutching his arm.

“You’ll have to get used to it. Some people suffer more than others at this height,” Faris said.

Around them enormous trees encircled them in a natural amphitheater. In those trees Leo spotted a remarkable network of timber structures. “You live in the trees?” Leo asked, unable to hide his awe.

Faris nodded. “Gives us a view in all directions. We saw you coming—or should I say blundering—from miles away.” Lily made a sound of exasperation. “Well done,” she said sarcastically.

This drew a fleeting grin from Faris. “But you’re a good guide, Lily. You took a very direct path.” She folded her arms and looked away from him, pretending to take in her surrounds.

He seemed to enjoy baiting her. “Why don’t you go and tend to your lover’s wounds while I—” The three companions protested in unison.

Faris held up a hand and they silenced. “Well, well, that touched a nerve. You can’t blame me. You acted very concerned,” he said, shrugging at Lily.

Leo’s eyes narrowed when he noticed the smirk on Gavriel’s mouth. “We travel together,” he said, as firmly as he could. “We have no secrets.”

“Are you sure about that?” Faris said, glancing across at the other two. “It’s best you are attached, Lily, for my men have not seen a woman in several moons.” Leo felt his cheeks burn. He hated himself for being so young and, worse, for realizing his feelings must be obvious even to a stranger.

Lily ignored Faris’s barbs. “Why don’t you show your king some respect,” she demanded.

“Because I’m not yet sure he is the king,” Faris answered softly.

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“You know he is,” Gavriel pressed. “I saw it in your face when he mentioned the sword. No one other than those close to the royals would know its regal name . . . the name only the Valisars use.”

Faris pointed to a huge old tree stump. Stools had been placed around it. “Welcome to my dining table,” he said.

“Oli, get them some food and ale, would you?” He turned back to his guests. “You all look very hungry,” he admitted.

“We don’t need your food, Faris. The king wants to talk with you,” Lily said, scowling.

Faris leaned back and regarded Leo. “So talk.”

“What do you want to know first?” Leo asked, glancing at Gavriel.

“We tell him everything. It’s why we’re here,” Gavriel urged. “Go on, start from the beginning, Leo.” He did. He spared the outlaw no detail. He didn’t care how it hurt Gavriel to hear his father’s death described again, or that his own eyes glistened when he described Brennus’s suicide, or that they welled when he told Faris of how his mother perished. But he did not weep—he refused the tears, as he had promised himself he would. He kept talking, his voice steady, getting angrier as his story built. “. . . and Lily agreed to guide us north,” he fi nished.

Silence engulfed them. Lily looked shocked to hear the grisly details they’d tried to spare her. All the while he’d been talking, the outlaws had gathered, sat down quietly and listened to the torrid tale of siege, imprisonment and then audacious escape into the forest.

Faris had sat very still throughout the story, his chin resting on his linked hands, elbows on his knees. Leo knew the outlaw had been watching him very carefully, no doubt looking for signs of deceit. But he had spoken only truth. Now it was up to Faris.

“And what made you think of me?” the outlaw fi nally said.

Leo shook his head. “I honestly don’t know why your name came to mind but it did. I’d heard my father and the Roya l Ex i l e

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legate talking about you often. You were a nuisance to

them.” Faris nodded, but said nothing. “Not long before we were invaded they’d begun talking about you a lot more often. I was permitted to hear these private discussions, although I did not join in, obviously. But I realize I was paying a lot more attention than I thought. And I suppose if I try and work out why you did come in to my head it’s because I figured you have the most to lose by my father’s—and thus perhaps my—not being on the throne.”

“How so?”

Leo blew out his cheeks, slightly embarrassed. His plan had always been based on the very brave assumption that the outlaws preferred the enemy they knew rather than one they didn’t. But now a fresh thought occurred to him. “I believe my father tolerated you. I seem to recall that Regor De Vis offered many times to send men to hunt you down. He always seemed frustrated by my father’s reluctance to put the weight of the Penraven army against you.”

“Is that so?”

Gavriel nodded. “You’re right, Leo. My father used to complain that for all the king’s ruthlessness he was surprisingly lenient with the famous outlaw of the north.” Leo regarded Faris, held the hazel-eyed stare. “I think my father—unbelievable though it seems—indulged you.”

“But surely we were sworn enemies?” Faris offered softly.

Leo shook his head slowly. “Only publicly. I think privately my father saw you as the opposite. Possibly he even admired you.”

“No, Leo,” Gavriel broke in. “My father hated that this man stole so much from crown monies. And although the king was generous to all his people, I don’t think he would admire any thief.”

But finally the piece of the jigsaw Leo had been searching for fitted neatly into place. “You’ve met my father, haven’t you? That’s how you have Faeroe. Something was exchanged, a bargain reached. He turned as much of a blind eye to your wicked deeds as possible and in return you’ve 328

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given him something. What is it? What did you give my father?”

“I gave him nothing,” Faris replied.

Leo rocked back. “But you admit you’ve met one another?”

Faris nodded. “Four moons ago.”

The man called Oli arrived bearing a large cloth by its four corners which, when he undid it across the tree stump, revealed a small array of food. “No ale, Kilt,” he said, “but Tern’s bringing some watered wine.” Faris nodded. He looked at the newcomers. “Rough fare, I’m afraid, for people used to much fi ner.”

“Is this raw?” Lily asked, picking up a piece of dried meat.

“Cured. We light as few fires as possible,” Faris explained.

“You’ll get used to it,” he added, flashing her a tight, brief smile.

Gavriel reached for a hard biscuit instead. “We appreciate this,” he said.

Leo had no appetite, even though he knew he’d been hungry not so long ago. “Why did you and my father meet?” Faris looked over his shoulder. He muttered something to Jewd and the huge man strode away.

“I will explain. But first, tell me about Faeroe.” Leo loved the story attached to the sword and didn’t hesitate to re- tell it. “Faeroe belonged to Cormoron, first king of the Valisars. It was said to have been forged by the last of the great Tiranamen weaponmakers of the Canuck Islands. It was forged out of three secret metals and the beautiful design on the hilt was crafted in silver by the smiths of Dornen.

I’d love to tell you it has magical abilities, but it is simply a sword. A very beautiful one, of course, that probably claimed many lives down the ages.”

“There is a spiritual element attached to it, though,” Faris pressed.

“You refer to the snake on the hilt. That represents the mythical serpent-woman who is said to have appeared to Cormoron at Lackmarin on the Stone of Truth.” Roya l Ex i l e

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“Wait!” Gavriel interrupted. “We talked about this not so long ago and you claimed to know little of the ancient story.” Leo felt abashed. “I feel badly about that. It’s habit, Gav.” He shrugged. “My father taught me everything he knew about Cormoron, everything he’d learned from my grandfather and his father before him. It was meant to be passed privately down the generations. It surprised me that you knew even as much as you did.”

“But Corb and I learned it from our father,” Gavriel said, looking wounded.

Leo nodded. “I’m sorry, Gav. I didn’t know. I was following a promise I’d given the king. Doesn’t mean I didn’t enjoy talking about it with you, though.”

“But now it’s all right to tell Faris, Lily, all of these men, I suppose?”

Leo could feel his friend’s hurt. This must feel a bit like betrayal after all they’d been through together. He hated secrets but he had been raised in a family of them. “This is a time for sharing. And apparently I’m king now,” he said, hoping to lighten the mood, “so I can choose with whom I share it.”

Faris stared at them both with a look of mirth. “And?” he said, obviously trying to bring Leo’s attention back to the specially wrought hilt on Faeroe. “The serpent?” Leo had no choice but to ignore Gavriel’s glare and continue. “The serpent appeared to Cormoron and accepted his blood oath. The story goes that it granted him the fabled Valisar magic, of which I’ve never seen any indication in my immediate family.”

“But you admit magic is attached to this sword,” Faris insisted.

“Only by association,” Leo said, a weariness creeping into his voice. “It is a warrior’s sword. It kills as it is meant to. It uses no special powers but the skills of the man who wields it. Which is why I find it strange—offensive, even—

that you have it strapped to your hip. That sword belongs to me now that my father is dead.”

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Jewd returned to the group, placing something in Faris’s hand.

Lily spoke up. “If it’s just a sword, don’t worry about it, your highness. You have bigger things with which to concern yourself than what this outlaw has stolen from your father.”

“I did not steal the sword,” Faris replied, indignation in his tone.

“Then what are you doing with it?” Gavriel demanded.

“It’s a relic of the Valisars. It belongs to the king and the king sits before you. Do you still refuse to believe he tells the truth?”

“No, I do believe him.”

Leo breathed in, relieved.

“What—?” Gavriel said, astonished.

“Well, firstly, you,” Faris said, nodding at Gavriel, “look hauntingly like Regor De Vis. There is no question that you are his son. Which of them I can’t be sure but I’ll take your word as an honorable man that you are the one called Gavriel.”

Gavriel looked lost for words. Finally he offered sarcastically, “How generous.”

The outlaw’s gaze crossed to Leo. “And I know you are the crown prince, yet to be crowned King of Penraven, your majesty, because of this.” He dropped a necklace with a locket attached onto the stump.

Leo looked stunned. “That belonged to my mother. She lost it. How did . . . ? Did you steal this?” Faris shook his head. “I stole nothing but tax money from your father. King Brennus gave me this necklace.”

“Why?” Leo remembered how much his mother had grieved over the necklace’s loss.

“You do recall what it contains?” Faris tossed it across the stump and Lily picked it up.

“Shall I open it?” she asked Leo tentatively.

“You can,” he said, “but I know what’s in it. It’s a miniature painting of me.”

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“That’s right,” Faris acknowledged. “Created by the great Claudeo himself, if I’m not mistaken. Although how he got a small child to sit still for long enough is beyond me.”

“Bribery,” Leo said. “So my father allowed my mother to believe she’d lost her precious locket but instead stole it from her grooming table to give it to you. Why?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Faris asked. “He wanted to make sure that I had a likeness of his precious Leonel, for when the boy came looking for me.”

That comment provoked a fresh taut silence as the three newcomers digested the import of that information.

“He knew I’d come?” Leo finally said, his words clipped, his tone a mixture of anger and astonishment.

Faris nodded. “Though only if it became too dangerous at the palace, he told me.”

Leo turned to Gavriel. It seemed unthinkable that his father had been second- guessing them long before their trauma had even begun. Four moons, Faris had said. How could the former king have possibly known what would happen or how they’d react?

“I can imagine what you’re thinking,” Faris said. “If it’s any consolation your father said he could only hope you’d think it through and choose to flee here. He was never sure that you would.”

“So Faeroe was the exchange?” Leo asked, feeling distraught. He didn’t know whether to be angry with his father or grateful. “He gave you my sword in return for your help?”

“No.” Faris unbuckled the belt and lifted the heavy weapon, placing it before Leo. “He gave this to me for safekeeping, and to give to you when and if you came. He believed you would need it.”

Leo felt his world begin to spin. He stared blankly at Faris.

Faris continued. “Your father was a cunning man. He liked to win, was prepared to take risks, but at the same time he also took the time—the careful, planning and thinking time—to outplot his enemies. Leo—may I call you that?” When the young king did not answer he pressed on. “Your father believed 332

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that the rumors of an army amassing on the plains was just that.

And when that army’s tribal warlord marched them into the Set, he firmly believed that the strength of the realms would hold strong. When the first of the realms fell, he decided not to send any more reinforcements but to wager everything he had on Penraven prevailing—and prevailing peaceably. He miscalcu-lated, Leo, and badly. The tribal warlord was never interested in a simple victory. Something very dark motivates him, Leo, something beyond dreams of empire. But your father had considered all eventualities, and took the precaution of setting up a

‘pathway,’ shall we call it? . . . just for your purpose. His single desire was to preserve his heir, to ensure the Valisar line lived on no matter what occurred. He counted on your seeking me out if he failed, had primed you, in fact, by ensuring you’d heard plenty about the rebel in the north who was enjoying making the crown look like a buffoon.” Faris lifted an eyebrow. “No doubt he planted the seed in your mind that I would be happier being an outlaw against the devil I knew than the one I didn’t?”

“Who else knew about the meeting?” Leo asked, refusing to meet Faris’s eyes, his gaze instead fi xed determindedly on the serpent hilt.

“No one. He came in secret. Sent De Vis on some seemingly vital errand and then came here, disguised, with these two items that I am now glad to return to their rightful own er.”

Leo shook his head with baffl ement. “What did he ask of you?”

“To be a caretaker of these objects. But also that I offer you the protection of anonymity until you are of an age to make a decision regarding your realm, regarding the Set. He told me that if you came to me the invaders would have taken the Set. My job, he said, was to hide you.”

“And what do you get out of this, Faris?” Lily asked, clearly unable to stay silent any longer. There was an accu-satory edge to her tone.

“I received ongoing amnesty,” Faris replied evenly. “Bren-Roya l Ex i l e

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nus promised he would never punish me. Your father impressed me, Leo. He was courageous coming here, rather daring even making contact with me. I was curious. I couldn’t imagine what the King of Penraven could possibly want with the likes of me. And when I learned I tried to convince myself I believed his tale even less. At that time there were only rumblings from the east, rumors that the barbarians were marching toward the Set. Nobody believed that Loethar had either the capacity or fighting knowhow to take one of the realms, let alone all. And Penraven? It was unthinkable. I remember laughing at the king, suggesting that I thought the bargain rather one- sided. Your father didn’t care. He said I could keep the sword and sell the necklace should you not turn up within three moons of Brighthelm’s fall . . . if it fell. And yet here you are, not so much different from the artist’s miniature, just days after the barbarian claimed conquest. You followed the plan much faster than even the king anticipated.”

“I’m still surprised he consorted with the enemy,” Leo said. From the corner of his eye he saw a youngish man arrive breathlessly, whispering to Jewd. Jewd remained expressionless but listened carefully.

“Not really enemies, majesty,” Faris continued without shifting his gaze, although Leo could tell that he too was aware of the runner’s arrival. “I was simply someone who didn’t follow the law. I have never killed when thieving, I always picked my targets very carefully and if you knew me better you would know that I hardly live the life of a wealthy man.”

“Are you saying we should have respect for your deeds, Faris?” Lily said, incredulous.

“Not respect, no. Perhaps understanding,” he said softly.

“The king certainly could appreciate the benefits of treating me as an ally rather than a foe. I am no enemy to this realm.” Gavriel had clearly tired of the semantics. “So what else did he plan? Is there anything we should know?” Faris shook his head. “It never stretched beyond the idea that we were to offer sanctuary. Oh, actually there is one more 334

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thing,” he said, returning his gaze to Leo. “He did specify that I was to take you to Lackmarin. It is not too far from here. He wished you to make your oath, as all Valisar kings must, at the Stone of Truth.”

“How long will it take to get there?” Leo asked.

“Two, possibly three days’ walk. It depends how fast you’re prepared to journey.”

Leo nodded. “Good. Let’s go.”

“Now?” Faris asked. For a second time Leo saw the man caught off guard.

“I’d rather stay on the move. The barbarians are tracking us.”

“Have no fear, they’ll never find you here. We track better than anyone. Jewd, do you have news for us?” Jewd nodded. “None of it good. The barbarian is not content to simply hunt the king. He’s hoping to flush him out with tricks.” Faris frowned, and Leo felt a splinter of ice move through his gut. “He’s sent out an edict that every boy over the age of eleven summertides and under thirteen is to be beheaded.”

“He’s mad!” Lily gasped.

“We’ve known that since the beginning,” Gavriel said, rising to his feet and pacing. “So he’s doing this so that the people will have no inducement to hide Leo—are compelled, in fact, to give him up.”

“That’s about the size of it,” Faris agreed. “He’s clever, turning the people against their king. It matters not that this is a barbarian order; the people will, without really meaning to, blame the crown.”

“They’ll think I’m a coward if I don’t give myself up,” Leo said.

“And he’ll kill you the second he lays sight on you if you do,” Gavriel warned. “Don’t even think about it.”

“Surely this is an empty threat?” Lily asked hopefully.

Jewd shook his head. “Our messenger has just come from down in the valleys. The killing’s apparently begun; seven-Roya l Ex i l e

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teen lads already slaughtered. They’re on their way toward Berch.”

“I can’t let this happen!” Leo said, standing, looking around wildly.

“You can’t stop it, majesty,” Faris said, irritatingly calm.

“But he could kill hundreds.”

“He already has. This is really no different from what he’s been wreaking across the entire Set these past moons.”

“We’re talking about boys! How can you sit there and be so rational?” Lily accused.

“Because someone has to be rational. Someone has to stop our young king making the emotional and ridiculous mistake of believing that giving himself up will appease the barbarian. Loethar will not kill every boy across the Set who fi ts his age group. Trust me. Something will stop him— but it will not be you,” he said to Leo. “You have another path to follow.

If you diverge from it, you mock everything your father risked to put it in place.” He shrugged. “I watched you struggle to control your emotions when you spoke of how your father died; how that barbarian roasted him and feasted on him in front of your mother.”

“Shut up, Faris!” Lily yelled.

“I watched you fight those tears again when you told me how your mother was thrown from her window by her treacherous aide. And how Loethar humiliates your family, parading your simple orphan brother on a leash. Feel the anger, majesty, let it fester. This is the time to feel rage. To walk down and meekly present yourself to Loethar now would be a grave error. Live to fight another day, and to meet Loethar as a man . . . that was your father’s plan.” Leo felt the words melt into his mind. Live to fi ght another day, as a man. Faris was right. He nodded, unclenched his fists. “I’m all right, Lily. Come on, Gav, we’re going to Lackmarin.”

He reached for Faeroe and strapped it on, not bothered that it felt too large for his slim hips and still shortish stature. It 336

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made him feel like the king he had become. And when he looked up from buckling on the sword he saw everyone gathered—Gavriel, Lily, Faris and the rest of the outlaws—

bowing low.

“Valisar!” they said as they straightened, fists over their hearts.

Gavriel read his thoughts. “It’s a start, King Leonel,” he murmured grimly.

Twenty- Three

——————————————

Kirin stabled his horse and half-walked, half-ran toward the Dole cottage. All the way to Berch he had tried to imagine how he might start the conversation that would end in the parents handing over their son to have his head chopped off.

Every time he tried to make plans he abandoned them with a mixture of fear and nausea. And still he had pressed on to Berch, knowing that however much he despised what had been asked of him, it was still the only way they might attempt to halt the slaughter of hundreds more.

It seemed news of the terror had arrived before him. The town felt jittery and the streets seemed too quiet. He imagined how many mothers must be trying to pack up families to flee, or were packing food and sending their boys off to try their luck in the forest.

He passed through the town and took the lonely small road that led up toward the forest. It was a bright late summertide’s day and he could hear the hum of bees near a hive not far away, and birds chittering happily in the lower woodland.

Butterfl ies flitted among the wildflowers that grew along the road and it felt impossible that all this beauty was about to be shattered. A cottage sat alone on the fringe of the woods, as Freath had predicted, and a woman was standing outside, seemingly waiting for him.

“I know what you’re here for,” she snarled. “You won’t fi nd him.”

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“Mistress Dole, I’m not who you think I am. But you are right about what I’m here to discuss.”

“I don’t care who you are. My boy is gone. So hunt him down yourself but you’re wasting your time.” Kirin felt as though he carried the weight of the entire Set’s despair about his shoulders. As he stood there looking at the defiant expression on the Dole woman’s face, he thought of Clovis and his daughter. He knew Clovis would never be free of the horror of that loss. If he could view Leonel in the same context then yes, any pain was worth saving the life of one child. And that was the only way he could view this now because if he thought about Tomas and the lives that still must be lost to save Leonel, he might as well lie down by the side of the road and will himself to death. Freath was right; someone had to fight for Leonel.

That boy represented all the innocents of the realm and freedom from Loethar’s oppression. Tomas was their chance to staunch the bloodshed, minimize the death count.

He rallied, pulling out the small sack of coins. Freath had been

generous—perhaps used all his own resources, although Kirin privately hoped he’d stolen the money from the crown’s coffers. A family like this wouldn’t see even a quarter of the amount in the sack if they toiled all their lives.

And as sick as this whole bargain was making him feel, he prayed that Lo would put the right words into his mouth to allow this mother to see that her doomed son’s death could count for something.

He threw the sack and it landed with a heavy chink at her feet. “I have to discuss something very important with you, Mistress Dole. May I come in?”

It was early eve ning but it was still light and warm. Loethar found her where she said she’d be. He’d taken the precaution of letting men know where he’d be. He looked at the seated woman and the set of her mouth told him droves. “Come on, Piven, let’s take our medicine.”

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The boy’s permanent smile did not falter. He hopped alongside him, no doubt, Loethar thought, not understanding the words, just following movement.

“Mother,” he began. “I didn’t know you were one for appreciating a garden.”

“I’m not and you know that, Loethar. I am a woman born and bred of the plains. Look at this, will you! What is all this for?”

He knew her remark was rhetorical but he chose to answer it as though taking her comment seriously. Anything to hold off the inevitable confrontation. “Well, I think if you just consider its sheer beauty and the peace it can bring, you’ll understand why the people of the west cultivate them. I—”

“Oh, stop, Loethar. I’m not here to pass the time of day with you in empty banter.”

“Then why did you summon me, mother?”

“I’m surprised you came, to tell the truth. Does that ridiculous child-pet have to come with you everywhere?” He tousled Piven’s dark hair, surprising himself with the show of affection. Giving the boy a small push, he undid the leash. Piven seemed to grasp he had some freedom and Loethar watched him wander as far as the herbs. The boy sat down, chewing some fragrant leaves, quietly humming random notes. Loethar sighed, glad that the boy was using his voice, even so tunelessly. He finally turned away from Piven and sat down to face his mother. “I’m here. What is it you wish to speak with me about?”

“You’ve offered Valya marriage.”

“I have.”

“Is that wise?”

“Strategically, yes.”

“I don’t believe you need to do this even for strategic reasons. If you threaten her parents they’ll bend over like the plains grasses in the wind.”

“They gave us access into the Set.”

“Bah! What does that tell you about them?” she said, rising 340

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imperiously. “They could hardly deny you. They are weak and cowardly. At least I can respect Barronel, Dregon— they all fought with valor. You don’t have to marry their daughter to have Droste compliant.”

“I don’t want Droste compliant. I want to make it part of the Set and I gave my word it could be achieved without bloodshed.”

She turned away, seemingly disgusted.

“Why are you using a stick?” he asked, noticing only now the gnarled and yet beautifully fashioned walking aide she used.

“My hips ache, if you must know,” she said turning. “I found this in the palace.” She understood his silence, adding, “We all get old sometime.”

“You’ve always seemed rather invincible to me, mother.”

“That Genrie woman found this for me when she noticed me limping.”

“I recognize that timber. It’s very beautiful.”

“I’ve never seen it before. I remarked on it. She called it weaven.”

He nodded. “There’s not much in the palace but I have some in my chamber. That was quite thoughtful of her.”

“Genrie? I suppose. There’s a defiance in that girl but she’s effi cient.”

“You like her?”

“I don’t care one way or the other for her. Or any other Penravian, for that matter.”

“Freath says I should use her as a taster. He trusts her.”

“To do what, though?” The way she loaded her comment with derision made him smile.

“Yes, she could poison me, but I don’t think so. The palace staff is too scared of Stracker and the tribes. They know that I am all that stands between order and a lot more heartache for the Set. In this I am their ally. Ironic, don’t you think?”

“I still don’t think you should trust a westerner. Which is why Valya troubles me.”

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“Listen, mother, Valya needs me a lot more than I need her.”

“Precisely! She’s like dead wood around your neck. Marry a woman from the Greens.”

He looked at her, exasperated. “We’ve been down this road before.”

“Marrying into the tribes only makes our hold over the Set stronger.”

“No, it weakens it. I know you can’t see this yet, but I need to produce heirs that look western, are raised in the western way.”

She nodded, a grim smile at her lips. “You certainly look the part all of a sudden.”

“You always knew I would. Why else did you set me on this path?”

“You know why. This was your only path. Keeping you on the plains would have allowed him to make a mockery of me, of you, of our people. We’ve made him pay for his ignorance and for his cruelty.”

Loethar sighed. He’d heard it all before—all his life, in fact. “Valya is western. Any sons I sire on her will look like they belong. It’s my intention that if we rule well, we will be accepted in time. Who’s to say a fresh era is not beginning?

Gradually as I get to know the families in the other realms we will allow them some say in the running of their realms.

Actually—they are to be known as provinces now. There are no more kingdoms in the Set.