The Prince of the Veil

by Hal Emerson

  “And you’ve already asked that question,” Leah said beside him, speaking to the General. “I’d like to remind you that no matter how many times you do, the man will still be dead.”

  She and Tomaz went to stand by the others, and Raven followed them. As he did, he noticed Spader and Ishmael watching him, scrutinizing every detail of his appearance. Dunhold paused and looked up, then exchanged an unreadable glance with General Gates, who stroked his mustache in agitation. But neither the Elders nor the Generals made a comment – the former simply went back to the maps and notes, while the latter continued to watch. He was suddenly conscious of the fact he looked far too old to be who he was. Certainly some of the way they were looking at him stemmed from that; he doubted they would even recognize him without Leah and Tomaz by his side and the black-and-gold coat he wore.

  What do they know about Elder Keri? What do they suspect?

  He pushed the thoughts from his mind again. The deed was done, and there was no going back; it mattered little if they knew or not, as long as they continued to follow him.

  “Good,” Davydd said, breaking the silence with an irreverent smirk. “He was an arrogant, traitorous ass that needed killing, and I’m glad someone did it.”

  Raven grimaced and hoped it would be taken for a smile, while the images of Henri Perci’s life, of his father’s dying words, echoed through him. Words he’d told Leah so long ago seemed to ring beneath the images of his former rival’s life:

  I have no desire to know you, and therefore have no desire to kill you.

  He strode forward to the map table, rolled up the notes and maps covered in Henri Perci’s bold, flowing script, and tucked them into the leather holder full of scraps and useless parchment.

  I am the Lord of Death, for my Mother cursed me as such on the day I was born. I know it as you never shall, and my life is tied to it as you should wish yours will never be.

  “How do we stand?” Raven asked.

  “Well,” Dunhold responded, “we stand very well.”

  “How many did we lose?” he asked, stealing himself for the answer.

  “Three thousand, seven hundred, and twenty-three,” Gates said. “The majority was from our invasion force, the ones who manned the Wall. There are many still unaccounted for.”

  “Wounded?”

  “Twice that number,” Dunhold said, “but many are healing well.

  “That doesn’t sound ‘very well’ to me.”

  “Tell him the good news,” Davydd said, leering at Raven, the look still tinged with anger.

  “The Commons have flocked to us,” Gates said, stroking his chin proudly. He even seemed to be grinning in his own odd way. “There are so many of them we’ve had to ask even the wounded to help train them.”

  “The Commons?” Raven asked, incredulous.

  “Indeed,” Dunhold said, handing Raven a sheet of parchment. “And with all the Imperial swords and armor lying about the field, we’ve even been able to arm them.”

  Raven glanced down at the sheet, though he knew before seeing the number that it didn’t really matter either way.

  Half-trained peasants don’t stand a chance against Rikard, no matter how many of them there are.

  Leah came up beside him, and held out her hand. He passed her the rough paper with the spiky, inked numbers, and turned away from her.

  “You’re certain this is correct?” She asked.

  “I had the men count twice,” Autmaran said. “I couldn’t believe it either.”

  “That almost doubles our number of infantry.”

  “What?” Tomaz rumbled, coming forward as well. A single glance at the parchment and the giant let out a very uncharacteristic oath. “How did you convince them to join us? How can this be right?”

  “We saved them,” Autmaran said simply. “They saw us bring them inside the Wall, and then they saw Dysuna burn their homes. They saw us pull the High Blood from their houses and force them to stand trial as slavers, a penalty that requires death under Kindred law. They saw us seize what was left of the winter grain stores and give them an equal share. And all of that is just in Banelyn – we have hundreds of men and women from Formaux that stole horses and joined us as soon as we’d liberated the city. We also emptied Tiffenal’s dungeons, and there were hundreds of Kindred down there – some were too injured to even walk, but half of them had the desire and the ability to burn the whole city down. We convinced them to come here instead.”

  Autmaran paused and then walked forward, looking at them each in turn.

  “In the space of three days, we may just have equalized this war.”

  Raven was shocked. He’d had no idea they were so well off. If everything went perfectly, if they managed to maneuver themselves into an equitable fight with Rikard, then maybe, just maybe, they had a chance at victory.

  They have a chance, he reminded himself. I lose either way.

  “There is something else,” Leah said, “something that I pulled from the Eagle’s mind. A prophecy concerning Raven and his –”

  “Yes,” Raven broke in quickly, “I was about to mention that.”

  She looked at him, surprised and more than a little angered by the interruption, but as he continued she didn’t stop him. Her eyes, however, narrowed, and he cursed himself: she knew what he was up to.

  “The prophecy she is referring to,” he said, “is one that … well, it is useless to repeat it verbatim, it is quite long. But the summary of it is … if we defeat the Empress before the month is out, we will overthrow the Empire.”

  Leah shot him a glance that was quickly covered over. Her eyes still flashed though, and he could see she was on the verge of speaking. He caught her gaze and held it.

  Don’t speak, Leah, he thought at her, for once in your shadow-cursed life, let me take the lead.

  Her jaw clenched and the fire in her eyes seemed to grow, but then just that quickly her face became stony again and all emotion was gone from it.

  I’m going to pay for this later, I can already tell.

  “We … we have barely enough time to make it north to Lucien with all our force intact,” said Gates, stunned, and completely oblivious to the silent conversation that had just occurred.

  “By the road it should only take us just under two weeks at a forced march,” Raven said. “That gives us time to besiege the city.”

  “Days,” Autmaran said, looking stunned. “It gives us days to besiege and take the greatest city ever built. Even an optimistic guess would say months.”

  “And you are also forgetting Lerne,” Dunhold said, his staunch, unyielding face full of internal calculations. “Symanta will be there, and she –”

  “Symanta will run for Tyne and the protection of Rikard,” Raven said, cutting him off smoothly. “There may be a token force left, and that may cause us grief. They may even be anticipating for us to stop and take the city, allowing them to get between us and Lucien. They think that they are the only one with the deadline.”

  “They have a … deadline too?” Ishmael whispered from the shadows of the far side of the tent. “What does this mean?”

  “It means that they need to kill me,” he said simply. “The Empress needs me dead before I reach my nameday, which gives us exactly a month.”

  “Three weeks,” Autmaran corrected. “Twenty-one days as of this morning, if I’m not mistaken.”

  Silence greeted this pronouncement, as everyone took a moment to absorb it. Raven waited, silently cursing himself for taking so long to recover. Another week could mean the difference between victory and defeat.

  “So we win by invading Lucien,” Spader said, “and forcing their hand.”

  “Exactly,” Raven confirmed. “They are on their heels – we cannot let up.”

  “So we won’t lay siege to Lerne,” Gates said, before clearing his throat. “Will we simply march right by or will you … will you be taking care of it on your own?”

  Everyone in the room fell silent and still. No movemen
t was made, no cloth or clothing rustled. Even the wind outside that had been buffeting the tent with lazy, questing fingers, suddenly held its breath. All eyes turned to Raven, and he felt something rise up in the room that had never been directed at him by this group before: fear. Some had been apprehensive about his presence in Vale before his election, others had questioned his motives, and even Leah and Tomaz had been wary of him on their travel south to Vale so long ago. But now, their gazes held more. They were the companions of Raven, Prince of the Veil, not the creature he held inside of him, and the fear that creature inspired was breathtaking. It was an instinct, a feeling that went deeper than the mind into the bones and the gut, a danger made all the more frightening by its directionless nature, by the senseless way in which it emanated from its source.

  It was the kind of fear his Mother inspired.

  “No,” Raven said quietly, unable to look any of them in the eye, especially Leah and Tomaz, lest he find them with the same look on their faces. “No – that was not what I had intended to imply.”

  He moved forward to the map table, breaking the silent tension. The wind picked up again and buffeted the tent once more; the others stirred to life and exhaled long-held breaths. Gates and Dunhold exchanged a glance, and so did Ishmael and Spader. But Raven refused to look at Leah and Tomaz, Davydd and Lorna, even Autmaran.

  He finished his cross to the table as General Dunhold moved to allow him room. He quickly brushed aside the top maps that showed only Banelyn and the Elmist Mountains, and pulled out instead the larger map that showed the whole of the northern Empire.

  “Here we are at Banelyn,” he said. “And here is Lucien, where we need to get.”

  He moved his finger slowly between the two marks he had pointed out.

  “The distance is negligible compared to how far it was between Roarke and Banelyn, and if we skirt Lerne here, which is only a few days to the north, we have plenty of time via the main road.”

  “The main road?” Dunhold asked. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes,” Raven said, suppressing annoyance. “The main road. The Imperial Road.”

  “Won’t it be easier for Rikard to find us that way?”

  “Tyne is on the other side of the Elmists,” Raven said, pointing to the map. “Likely he was waiting for word of a successful trap; he may not even know the details of what’s happening.”

  “I think he might,” Autmaran said. “We caught as many of the Seekers as we could, but I doubt we got them all when they fled the underground caverns. We cleaned them out – Leah and Davydd made sure we didn’t miss anything.”

  “And with the influx of new recruits,” Leah started.

  “There’s no way to tell whose really one of the Commons,” Raven finished. “Fine – it doesn’t matter. Either Rikard knows or he doesn’t, but all that underlines is the importance of leaving Banelyn. Now.”

  “Now?”

  “Please don’t continue making me repeat myself, Dunhold,” Raven said quietly. To his surprise, the General paled, and straightened up immediately.

  “Yes, my prince.”

  Raven forced himself not to grimace – he had to be more careful with his reprimands in the future. If he said something too harshly the man might pee himself.

  “Send the word out,” Raven said, looking at everyone in the tent one by one. “Tell your troops, and all the Commons. We leave at dawn.”

  “Where shall we tell them we’re going?” Gates asked.

  “To Lucien,” Raven said softly. “To kill a god.”

  His words sent a shiver around the room, and a silence descended on them all as they contemplated the road that lay ahead.

  The final road. One way or another.

  “Please leave me,” Raven said. “I would like the room to myself.”

  Slowly, the others nodded. Davydd and Lorna were the first to leave; the fiery-eyed Eshendai didn’t salute or acknowledge Raven at all, though Lorna nodded as she passed; Autmaran was next, nodding as well, his face unreadable; Gates and Dunhold saluted and left together, already speaking to each other in clipped, rushed sentences before the tent flap had fallen back into place; Elders Ishmael and Spader were next, though they waited until after leaving to speak.

  Tomaz was the last to leave, and he did so only reluctantly. For a long moment, Raven wasn’t sure why he looked the way he did – as if he were worried for the Prince’s safety, but had been convinced to leave anyway.

  And then Leah rounded on him, and he understood.

  “What was that about?” she hissed. “You know as well as I do that that wasn’t all I wanted to say. Don’t you dare try to dismiss this as unimportant – they need to know!”

  “No, they don’t!” Raven hissed back just as fiercely, shocking Leah and making her take a step back in surprise. He didn’t blame her – his mood felt slippery, and he wasn’t even sure himself if the next moment would find him angry, numb, or weeping.

  “The only people who need to know are those whom it concerns – and only when it concerns them. For now, only you and I need to know, and that is fine.”

  “But what about the Elders?” Leah continued. “The Generals? How can they plan for something they don’t know about? You know this means we will be attacked at every turn – you will be hunted by Death Watchmen, Seekers, anything the Empire can throw at you! Geofred had them convinced it was under control, but it wasn’t, and now that the Empress knows you’re still alive, she will come for you – she has to. This isn’t about a battle or even a war for her –”

  “I know,” he said intently, stepping forward so that their bodies were almost touching. Now that they were the only ones left, Raven realized that this was the first time they had been truly alone since she had kissed him goodbye before he’d left for Formaux. He saw the realization flash behind her eyes as well, and for a moment they both rocked forward on their heels, about to touch.

  She reached out a hand and gently cupped the side of his face, tracing the line of his chin and cheekbone with her thumb and pinkie. He felt her skin rasping against the scruff of his unshaven face and hoped she didn’t mind. He reached out to touch her face as well, to bring her closer, to remind both her and him that in spite of everything that had happened, they were still the same.

  But at the last moment, Raven remembered what had happened to him, and knew things weren’t the same. He looked old enough to be her father now – he had lived enough lives to be her grandfather a hundred times over.

  He stepped back, disgusted with himself, and saw the hurt and confusion in her eyes, but before she could voice her question, before she could speak and force him to air his insecurities, he spoke instead.

  “The Generals are less than useless,” he said. “Both of them are in far over their heads, and with the death of Commander Wyck and what we learned about Oleander and Perci, I cannot trust them. Gates and Dunhold will stay behind when we attack – they’ll hold in the Elmist Mountains should we need to retreat. They are defenders and ambushers – we’ll use them for that. As for the Elders … I don’t know where their loyalties lie after Keri’s death. I can’t confide in them. We need to march north, to attack and defeat Rikard and force a fight with Lucien – one way or another, we need to end this, or it will never be over. I may survive, but we both know the Kindred will not. They may not die today, they may not die for a hundred years more, but if we don’t do this now, if we don’t end it one way or another, the Empress will. We must … ”

  He swallowed past the lump in his throat.

  “End it forever,” he finished, his voice suddenly sore for no reason, his throat constricted as if he’d been yelling. He looked up at her and saw she had masked her pain.

  “We need to tell them,” she insisted again, this time gently. “Why do you always have to bear everything yourself, alone? They know the Empress needs to kill you before your nameday, why does it hurt to tell them you have to kill her?”

  “Because it hurts me to even think about it!”


  He felt tears of frustration well up in the corners of his eyes and he bit back his words, pulling his emotions back, keeping them hidden.

  “Because if I tell them the only way they survive is if I kill my Mother, then they’ll make me do it,” he said. “Because then it will become real.”

  “You have to know they already expect it from you,” she said, coming closer again, nearly touching him. “They expect you to fight her. No one else can.”

  Raven’s jaw began to cramp and he tried to loosen it.

  “No,” he said. “They know we need to defeat her before I turn eighteen, and they know she needs to kill me. They don’t need to know the rest – not now. Maybe never.”

  He caught her gaze and held it. His hand twitched in an unconscious desire to grab her hand again, to hold her the way she’d tried to hold him just now. He realized suddenly how much everything had affected him, and the sudden desire to run away and never stop invaded every corner of his mind. It didn’t help that he could see it from the outside, didn’t help that he knew he was acting out of fear and irrationality. She was right, but he couldn’t admit it. His hands began to shake and his vision blurred, and suddenly he was back in that dark night; images of spraying blood and flashing lightning rocked him, and the sensation of tearing and ripping apart bodies hit him with such force and vividity he was half convinced it had happened only seconds before.

  Leah reached to touch his shoulder, and he flinched away.

  “We leave at dawn,” he said, and left.

  Chapter Nine: The Clock Ticks

  Raven spent the rest of that day alone.

  He returned to the bedroom laid aside for him and told the Healers using the other rooms to use it for the wounded. They resisted at first, but he refused to listen. It was a large room, and before he left he saw they had fit two women with missing limbs into the bed, and two men, who were heavily bandaged but able to walk, on piles of blankets on the floor.

  It hadn’t been hard for him to clear out of the room – he owned nothing besides what he wore, and the ceremonial armor of his office stowed inside the closet. The pieces of his former outfit were scattered over the battlefield, and not all of them had been found, so the armorers had simply made him a new one. It was identical to the last: hard steel, somehow dyed black, with gold scrollwork along the edges. He had the full suit – chainmail, breastplate, great helm, gauntlets, greaves, a leather jerkin to go beneath it all, and a full black cloak to be worn on the top. It was much less ornate than most of the ceremonial armor he’d seen worn throughout the Empire, but for the Kindred it was downright opulent. They asked him if he wanted to put it on, to wear it when he went out to see the Kindred. He declined, and told them to send it to the command tent, but before they left, he pulled out the long black cloak, and hid himself in its depths.