by Hal Emerson
Raven left the room, and left the mansion.
He walked the streets of Banelyn aimlessly for a time, keeping to himself. In the huge square outside the ruins of the Cathedral of the Empress, he saw rank after rank of Exiled Kindred training the stronger of the Commons in cobbled-together armor how to hold a sword. A number of the Eshendai had taken it upon themselves to teach short-sword and knife fighting to the more dexterous women and younger men unable to hold a broadsword. Still others, those who seemed at least coordinated enough to keep the pointy end of a weapon faced toward the enemy, though perhaps no more, were being trained with spears and pikes.
Raven moved on, keeping to the shadows of the buildings. The hood of his long cloak was up, and without his bulky armor he was able to avoid most detection. Some who saw him pointed to him, questioning others nearby about his identity, but no one approached. The city was full of refugees, soldiers, and a general chaos that prevented anyone from wanting to get too involved with others. Everyone had their own urgent tasks to perform – worrying about the troubles of another who clearly didn’t want company would only compound everyone’s problems.
He wandered farther away from the Inner City, aimless. He soon found himself in Banelyn City proper, the area between the Inner City and what had once been the Outer City on the other side of the Black Wall.
At random, he chose a path away from the center of the city’s middle tier that went through a series of pleasant, well-kept houses with tall trees and green grass. He saw an entrance to an alleyway up ahead, between a row of houses of startling height. They towered above the surrounding structures, and while they weren’t the gilded monstrosities of the Most High, they must certainly have belonged to the Elevated, those who had risen just high enough to leave the title of Commons behind. Raven moved toward the alleyway, only pausing in his stride when he heard noise further in. He almost turned around and walked away, but stopped when he heard voices.
“We can’t leave him here.”
“We have to – and we have to silence him. He knows too much.”
“Killing would look more suspicious.”
“He is fallen from the Path; convenience comes second to righteousness.”
“Yes … and the Empress would be better served by us staying concealed. He knows enough to be dangerous.”
“Indeed. They know there are Seekers; others who would defect have already been killed. One more death in a random alley will give them nothing.”
“Very well. Make sure the gag is tight – finish it before someone comes.”
“Hold,” Raven said.
The two men, one short and one tall, jerked around at his voice. They were the epitome of average, which was to be expected. They both had nondescript brown hair, skin slightly blotchy from the sun, and simple clothing that was well mended but threadbare. Raven almost reached out through his Talisman to get a sense of their lives, but stopped himself at the last instant. Instead, he drew on the Wolf Talisman, and felt warmth spread from the base of his spine, down his legs and arms, to pool in his feet and hands.
“Back away,” the taller one said. He pulled out a punching dagger – the kind used most by Seekers, with a simple handle grip below a razor-sharp three-inch blade.
The fight that followed was over very quickly. Raven ducked the tall man’s first blow, locked his elbows, and then rocked the man back with a vicious upward palm strike to the chin. Tallman staggered backward, unable to see straight, and Raven spun, sinking a booted heel into the man’s temple, knocking him out cold. The man’s companion, Shortman, swallowed hard, and tried to turn and run. Raven simply knelt, picked up Tallman’s punching dagger, and threw it in a quick sideways shot. It sunk into the back of Shortman’s knee, and he collapsed to the ground with a cry of pain.
Raven walked up to him as he tried to crawl away. With a sigh, Raven rounded the man as he tried to rise, and kicked him as well, smacking his head into the pavement at just the right angle, knocking him out cold.
Raven retrieved Tallman’s dagger from Shortman’s knee, and then went to the former subject of their attentions. He bent down and untied the gag from the mouth of the young man. He couldn’t be more than fourteen. Raven gripped the punching blade and sliced the ropes that bound him.
“Find Leah Goldwyn,” he said to the man, grabbing him by the collar as he immediately tried to get up and run. “Tell her what happened, and say that Raven, Prince of the Veil, sent you.”
The youth, dumbfounded, could only swallow hard and nod. Raven stayed where he was, squatting on his heels, covered in his black cloak. It was quite clear the boy now knew to whom he was speaking.
“I just saved your life,” Raven said. “Don’t make me come find you.”
The boy turned and ran, crashing into a building that jutted out slightly further than the others before escaping up the alley.
Odds he’ll actually go to her?
He should take the boy himself. Based on what Raven had overheard, the running form might have been something of an apprentice Seeker who had tried to back out. If it was true, he could be very valuable to them.
This war isn’t going to be won based on how many Seekers we catch.
The sound of running footsteps disappeared, and Raven stayed where he was. He glanced at the two downed men, the two Seekers, and saw them both sleeping painfully. If Raven had to guess, they looked like they’d be that way for hours. Still, he took the time to cut cloth from their robes and bind them. When he was finished, he looked up and noticed the roofs here were fairly low to the ground. If he wanted to, he could climb up to the top and even scale the height of the next building over, one of the towering Elevated houses.
He decided he wanted to, so he climbed.
He let go of the Wolf Talisman as he did, and the feeling of power and energy left him. Life dulled out, even though the sun was still in the sky; the bricks of the building were rough under his hand, coarse enough that his skin felt scraped raw by the time he’d ascended to the top of the first roof. He kept going, using a balcony to pull himself up onto the second building, then grabbed hold of an ornamental outcropping of carved stone and swung to a set of decorative buttresses that stuck out over the alley, and climbed those. With a final rush of breath, he rolled over the edge of the eave and found himself on a simple, slightly slanted roof made of flat shingles. He was breathing hard, and the honest strength it had taken to get here made him feel good. His heart was thumping fiercely in his chest, and he wished vaguely that he could just keep climbing. The exercise had driven the memories from him for a time … he could use more of that.
He looked around, and was surprised to find he could see all the way from the Inner City to the Black Wall. The ring of blacksmith hammers came to him on the light breeze that blew through the city; the sound mingled with strains of birdsong and was underscored by shouts and clangs from the makeshift training ground. The smell of baking flatbread floated up as well, combined with the earthy smell of smoked meat – the camp cooks must be making as much food as they could before they left the city.
He walked up the slanting roof to the apex, and when he reached it he squatted down on his heels, and pulled back the hood of his cloak. The sun had begun to dip quite noticeably toward the distant horizon. He sat and watched it sink, lower and lower, feeling the warmth coming off it, warmth only partly moderated by the last of winter’s chill.
Time passed, and the sounds of the city began to change. The orders to pack up and leave the following dawn had gone out, and he heard the sound of soldiers moving through the streets to form up outside the gates in tents so as to be ready for the march.
Raven realized he was muttering something under his breath, and stopped. He swallowed nervously as he realized what he’d been saying, glancing around the rooftop, though he knew there was no one there and likely no one who would ever come to overhear him.
The prophecy Geofred had given him through his memories wouldn’t leave him alone. He had waited as long
as he could – he had to confront it now, and he realized that was the reason he’d sought out solitude today. He began to recite the words under his breath, unable to keep them unspoken any longer.
There will be a seventh child, a child not worthy of your line - Keep him! Do not cast him out, but around his arms bind your power; raise him as your own until his seventeenth name day, in which year he shall be both key and lock to your ambition. Upon that day, and not till then, take his life, for if he lives, so fall the other six Princes of Strife; should he live, he will bring about the rise of Light, but should he die, the fall of Night. That living Seventh Child shall seek to inherit the Kingdom of the Veil, and should he claim his right, all your strength shall fail. But if, before the year is out, the child is dead beyond a doubt, you shall reign forever on,
For all who might oppose you shall be gone.
He stopped, feeling the pause, knowing this was as much as his Mother had ever heard. But there was more, and the rest of it cast the whole into a new and different light. He continued on, going slow, feeling the words roll out, tasting them as they did:
But with such chance comes perils too, for he, in equal measure, strives for you. If you go down this path so dark, you yourself shall bear a mark, for as you seek to seal your reign, so he will come to end his pain. A Mother’s vow lives in her son, and if you find that bond undone, the sword you use cuts many ways, and seals you both to a term of days. If he dies before he comes of age, then you will return beyond the waves; but in that time he has the chance, to bring you death in a final dance. Until it is finished, up and down, you need always fear a return with sword and crown; for as he is your key and star, so too is he your bane and bar; and on that day he turns eighteen, either he, or you, shall reign supreme.
He stood up and moved along the rooftop.
There was a ripple of motion at the edge of his vision, and he froze, standing completely still. Hidden as he was by his cloak and the shadows, he thought maybe he would remain unseen, but it wasn’t so. He’d been spotted – the form was approaching him. He turned to look, readying for another fight, and saw only a young boy. He looked to be maybe nine or ten, maybe older; Raven should know, but he couldn’t remember. He had saved the boy’s life during the winter he’d spent among the Kindred, and when the boy’s father had died, Tym had stolen away with the army as it had marched north. Ever since then he’d been acting as a camp runner, fetching and delivering messages, particularly for Davydd Goldwyn, who had a soft-spot for the boy.
“Prince Raven, sir,” he began, his blue eyes shifting nervously back and forth under his cap of fine blonde hair as he panted hard, trying to regain his breath. Raven thought about the climb, and was impressed the boy had made it all the way up here. “Ms. Leah said to thank you for the Seeker you sent her.”
Raven nodded and smiled, a quick flick of his lips.
“And Mr. Davydd told me to say they’re on their way.”
Raven froze, feeling tension creep back into his shoulders.
“What?”
“They – they’re on their way here. Mr. Davydd said they wanted to talk.”
“Who is ‘they,’ Tym?”
“Oh – Commander Autmaran, Mr. Davydd, Ms. Leah, Mr. Tomaz, and Ms. Lorna. They didn’t tell me if they wanted me to stay. I can go if you like.”
“All of them … you’re sure, Tym?”
“Yes, sir,” he said, looking confused. “I wouldn’t say it if it wasn’t true.”
Raven nodded slowly, and tried to keep the sick, rising feeling of dread from overwhelming him. He wanted to run.
“Thank you, Tym.”
Tym nodded, and turned to go, but stopped at the edge of the rooftop.
“Um, Prince Raven, sir, how do I get down?”
The boy looked back at him and Raven suddenly realized the boy’s hands were shaking, and his eyes were so wide they showed white all the way around. He only wore a light tunic and brown pants and boots, and between the breeze and the height, the boy looked frozen with both fear and cold.
“Come with me,” Raven said, taking off his cloak and wrapping it around the boy’s shoulders. He strode to the edge of the roof and looked down, careful not to step on any loose shingles.
There was no easy way down, not for the boy. Raven could do it, but not Tym.
“How did you even get up here?” he asked.
Tym shrugged, and shivered violently in a particularly vicious gust of wind.
“Right,” Raven said, reaching for the Wolf Talisman inside him. The energy came flowing through him once more; it was so different from the raw, jerking motion of the Raven Talisman. The Wolf built up slowly, like a finely wrought machine, humming along until it was at full speed and strength, ready to go for as long as necessary.
“Hold on tight,” Raven said, as he picked Tym up. The boy let out a startled cry, and looked terribly distraught, but Raven ignored that. No doubt Tym thought he was dirtying Raven by touching him, or some such nonsense. The boy was far too polite, and twice as stuffy as the Most High.
Raven stepped off the roof, into empty air.
Tym screamed, and Raven held him tightly as he directed himself, making sure to aim his feet at the ground as best he could. They fell in seconds the distance it had taken Raven a half hour to climb, and when they struck the ground, small fissures cracked through the dirty pavement of the alleyway. The shock ran through Raven’s legs, followed by intense, burning pain. He gasped as the sensations flooded him, but even as the pain broke across his body, shouting at him that he was injured, the feeling faded, and the wounds healed. Raven could feel the gray light rushing there, soothing the pain like a salve on burned skin.
“Impressive,” drawled a voice.
Raven looked up and saw Davydd walking into the entrance of the alley, Lorna, Tomaz, Leah, and Autmaran all close behind him.
“M-Mr. Prince Raven, sir? C-can I g-get down?”
Raven knelt and set Tym on the ground. The boy walked a few paces away from him, looking unsteady and shaky, but on the whole just fine. He pulled off the over-large black cloak and handed it back to Raven.
“Th-thank you for the drop, Prince Raven. H-here’s your cloak.”
“You can keep it, Tym,” Raven said, knowing the boy was still likely freezing. The sun had just dipped below the edge of the Black Wall and the air was rapidly cooling. The full heat of summer was still a few months away, and while sunlight warmed the days, winter still ruled the nights.
“I’m OK, thank you, Prince Raven,” Tym said, handing the cloak back to him anyway. Raven took it, standing up slowly as Tym took another few steps back, watching him carefully.
“We need to talk,” Davydd drawled from the opposite end of the alleyway.
Raven didn’t respond. He threw the cloak around his shoulders and tied it back in place before settling the hood on his head once more. The cold receded, and he felt warm and comfortable again.
“Did you hear me, princeling?”
“He heard you,” Tomaz rumbled, pushing past the Eshendai Ranger, “all of Banelyn heard you.”
The giant strode down the alley, and Raven felt a small piece of trepidation settle in his stomach. The big man might be twenty years older than he, but Tomaz was still his best friend. Had things changed between them?
Tomaz finished crossing the distance and smiled through his dense beard, clapping Raven on the shoulder with a hand that could easily encompass the Prince’s entire head.
“I’ve missed our sparring sessions,” he rumbled.
Raven felt a swell of relief and let out an unconsciously held breath. The Blade Master had his own history, Raven knew, but he was still under no obligation to side with him. He smiled weakly up at the big man, but said nothing.
“We can catch up later,” Autmaran said, though not unkindly. His tone was businesslike, not antagonistic. “For now, we need to talk, where the Elders and the Generals cannot hear us.”
Raven nodded slowly, looking at them all
. The alley seemed much more narrow now that it was crowded.
“I see you took care of the Seekers,” he said, ignoring Autmaran’s invitation to speak about what had happened at the gate. Tallman and Shortman were both gone, the only remaining sign a small trail of blood from where Raven had thrown the knife into Shortman’s knee.
“We did,” Leah said promptly, “thank you for that.”
He caught her eyes, but saw nothing there. She had her stone face on again.
“We need to talk about what’s going to happen,” Autmaran continued, stepping forward, separating himself from Davydd, Lorna, and Leah, and resting his back against the nearby brick wall. He shuffled his arms out of his red cape, and crossed them over across his chest, the motion pulling at the tight-fitting black coat he wore.
“You mean the Prophecy,” Raven said.
“He does indeed,” Davydd drawled.
“What do you want to know?” Raven asked, suddenly too weary to care.
“We want to know what we can expect from the Empress,” Autmaran said. “What will she send at us to get you?”
“Everything,” Raven said with a grim smile.
