The Prince of the Veil

by Hal Emerson

  But while they rejected his direct help, they pulled something much more important from him: inspiration. At night, after the sun had set and they were bedding down for what little rest they could find, he would walk amongst the fires, and whispers ran behind him, swirling his cloak, snatching at his ear. When he passed the large swath of ground cleared for sword practice, the soldiers and Commons, many of whom had never held a blade outside of a plowshare, threw themselves into whatever they were doing with renewed vigor.

  “You’re more than a Prince now,” Tomaz rumbled to him on the final night of their journey as they walked to their tents together. The giant had run a short demonstration on how to defend yourself with a shield, something he considered much more important for a novice fighter than how to properly wield a sword, while Raven had watched on. “You’re a symbol. You’re the embodiment of their why, like Goldwyn talked about.”

  “I don’t know if this is what he had in mind … I don’t know how he’d feel about me leading all these people to their deaths.”

  “Not death,” Tomaz said, pulling up short and forcing Raven to stop and turn to him. “Independence. These people, they don’t follow you, they follow what they see in you. They follow your cause. You – you’re important, it’s true, and your presence inspires them, something that will be invaluable on the battlefield. But they follow you because of what you stand for. They follow you because they’ve been wanting to shout at the top of their lungs, to rail and scream and rant, against the Empress and the Children for generation upon generation with no release. Each rebellion stopped by Geofred, diffused before it could even start, each uprising brutally quelled by Ramael. Every attempt by the Commons to fight back, to claim something for their own, to rule themselves in some small measure, to decide their lives, none of it has worked. But now there’s you – now there’s us, the first in a thousand years to do what we’ve done, the first since Aemon himself to stand up and fight back against the Empress, trading blow for blow. They didn’t come here to die; they came here to live. They came so that they could know that they, for once in their life, for once in the lives of every ancestor they’ve ever had, stood up to be counted. Some of them, like the ones from Banelyn and Roarke, they have no home left to go back to. One man at training lost his wife, his four sons, and his father in Lerne. He was gone – he’d been sent by his Elevated master to attend a specialty market in the Eyrie. He didn’t even know the city was gone until he found us on the road as he headed back.

  “That’s who you’re fighting with. That’s who these people are. You’re the living manifestation of the tears they cry at night not knowing where their next meal will come from. You’re their rage, their hatred, at a world they can’t predict, a world they can’t control.”

  He stepped up to Raven and laid a heavy hand on his shoulder.

  “And you’re my best friend,” he said, “so listen to me carefully. Tomorrow will be the hardest day you’ve ever faced. Dig down deep, and fight for them the way they fight for you. You have a family now; you have a people. Don’t forget it.”

  He ruffled Raven’s hair, and moved on.

  And so the final day faded into night, and no one slept as they contemplated what the next day held for them. The clock continued to tick in Raven’s head, but there was nothing more he could do. All the pieces were set in place, all the corners of the board squared away. He went to Leah after darkness fell to spend one last night with her, and they both lay awake in each other’s arms, watching the roof of the tent in silence. Raven’s thoughts turned to the distant city of Tyne, where he knew his brother’s forces were mobilizing and marching with equal haste toward them. Whatever had happened there, whatever Lorna and Davydd had done, it was over and they would meet them in the morning on the Plains. Thousands upon thousands of men and women from every part of the Empire would be there. All that needed to happen on all sides had to happen within the next two days; all events, the fate of the Empire, the Kindred, and hundreds of thousands of men and women, would be decided.

  As the night closed in around them, the world took the time to pause. The flowers closed their petals, and the wind died away; the night fell and deepened, as it always did, and as it always would. The world turned on, watching.

  And held its breath.

  Chapter Fifteen: Tyne

  Davydd ran along the rooftop in the dark night, no more than a shadow among shadows under the slivered moon that shone fitfully through the dark clouds boiling overheard. A storm was on the way, one of the infamous spring storms of Tyne that made the land so fertile.

  That will serve us well, he thought with a feral grin. I do my best work in the night.

  He slowed when he reached the end of the roof and crouched on a merlon that jutted up at the corner of the building. He felt Lorna come up beside him, taking her customary position on his left side; he fought right-handed and she left, and should they be surprised, they would need to react on instinct without thought of form or tactics.

  They were in the southernmost quarters of the High Blood, on the outskirts of Tyne itself. Tyne was unique among the cities of Lucia in that its Most High did not live in the center of the city; instead, they lived in elegant collections of manor houses called compounds on the far edge, with stables and acres of land that spread out from the urban center in rippling waves. There were well over two dozen such compounds, and most were open to the rest of the High Blood, if not to the Commons. But the seven most powerful families, among them Davydd and Leah’s birth parents, the Leoways, were protected by strong stone walls and connected to the inner most sanctum of the city by stone bridges, much like aqueducts. The bridgeways arched up and over the Commons quarters and allowed the Most High access to the city without the need to pass among the rabble, and led from the seven honored family homes directly to Rikard’s personal compound, where stood the immense fortress castle and military training center. Where Davydd and his merry band were intent on going.

  Now we just need to wait for the watch …

  Davydd and Lorna had done this a score of times now, and the key was always to wait for the guards, no matter how long it took. Once they’d gone too early and they’d had to fight their way free of the city only hours after they’d infiltrated it, and once they’d gone too late and been caught by the patrol on its way back. No, the best way – the only way – was to wait for the guards.

  Speak of the devil. Luck is with us tonight.

  He grinned manically at the thought.

  The dozen men came slowly up the path that led from the adjacent manor palace toward the compound bridge. They were formed up in six pairs, each in the gold and white of Tyne with long spears that reached up above their heads, and shields that weighted down their left arms.

  If they see us, I’ll draw the attack and let Lorna deal with them. Right-handed spearmen never know how to deal with left-handed axes.

  But, if all went according to plan, they wouldn’t be seen in any case.

  Davydd turned to look behind him, careful not to turn too quickly as his burned and blackened skin still twinged when he stretched it too far too quickly. The rest of the Rangers in the preliminary squad had come up behind him and were easing their weapons in their sheathes, ready to go on his signal. He’d brought just over a hundred of them with him from the main Kindred force, but half were securing their retreat through foothills to the east, clearing the fields and manors of guards. It was exciting – this was the first time Davydd had been here in significant force.

  We might even be able to force entrance to Rikard’s personal castle itself if we take them napping.

  Davydd could just imagine what it might feel like to twist the Lion’s tail before running away with something of value. His toes almost curled at the thought, but he managed to restrain himself.

  “We take the guards silently,” he said, barely more than a whisper. “We stow them in the stables below the steps, then we make the walkway. When you’re up there, stay low. I don’t want
anyone to see our silhouettes as we pass over the city.”

  He began to turn back, and then stopped and faced them again.

  “And leave the front six for me.” He flashed a manic smile. “It’s been far too long since I’ve killed an Imperial.”

  They grinned back and passed the word, and he turned to watch the guards slowly move into position as they passed below. He gave the signal.

  Arrows shot out of nowhere and pin-cushioned three men at the back of the line, killing them before they could utter a single word. Davydd ran forward, Lorna only a pace behind him, and jumped off the thirty-foot building.

  He reached through the Fox Talisman, the Aspect of Luck now, and half of his vision became streaked with golden lines that seemed to pull and push at him with an inexorable force, like that of an ocean tide. As he fell he pulled two daggers from his wrist sheathes, and as his luck kicked in, the two front guards turned and saw him, just as he bowled into them, the force of his fall dissipated by their weight, his daggers sliding effortlessly into their un-armored throats.

  He saw Lorna’s axe flash out of the corner of his eye as she fell and rolled, the Wolf Talisman painting gray lines along her hands and feet, and another man lost his head.

  The remaining guardsmen were dispatched in a matter of seconds, and just as quickly stowed away. Barely a minute later, the Ranger group was up and running again, ascending the staircase.

  I love this, Davydd thought, grinning again.

  They crossed the bridge with no trouble, doubled over so that no one could see them above the high railing. The moon was out, and while it was unlikely for anyone to look too closely at the bridges at night, it was still a risk. When they reached the other side, Davydd dealt with the lock on the wooden door that led through the guardhouse by twisting it and hitting the pommel of his sword against the metal. It broke off with a snap, and he motioned two Ranger pairs to ready themselves to go through.

  There shouldn’t be any more guards, but it’s always good to check.

  He opened the door, and they blew past him. No sound came from inside, and, after a wait that couldn’t have been more than thirty seconds, Terin came back and motioned them to follow her. They passed through, and as they did Davydd noticed racks of weapons and large Black Powder barrels carefully packed in sawdust. The fact Tyne had never been successfully invaded hadn’t dampened Rikard’s vision of a perfectly defended city.

  They were inside Rikard’s compound now, made up of a large, double wall around a huge slew of military barracks and academies, along with Most High guesthouses, gardens, and shops run by the Elevated. The gate that led to the rest of the city was closed and barred for the night, with a number of guards waiting in front of it just down the street. Not many – ten at most, and with the Rangers’ bows they were as good as dead already.

  But Davydd held back. He didn’t want to give away their position yet – they needed to find out what Rikard’s plans were, and to do that they might need to infiltrate Rikard’s castle itself, an enormous stone structure, all spires and towers with a dozen different flags flying from the keep. They already knew he hadn’t done what had happened in Lerne or Tibour – the Commons were still here, and the city seemed to be thriving. But they needed to know more.

  Movement from behind him – he glanced over his shoulder and saw a number of Rangers spreading out across the street, sticking to the shadows. But one of them, a tall, male Ashandel, was moving toward Davydd.

  No, not toward Davydd – past him.

  Davydd held up a hand and stopped the grizzled older man from continuing on. The man barely held himself back from simply pushing through and moving forward, straight for the distant soldiers. He was one of those that had been found in the dungeons of Formaux – one of the few that had been there only a handful of months. In normal times he would have been taken back to Vale, possibly even to Elder Crane for evaluation and help, and retested by Ishmael after the trauma he had suffered, but they had no time for such a thing. The man had working hands and feet, and appeared more or less unharmed, though Davydd knew from Tiffenal’s memories the kinds of things that could be done that left no physical wound.

  “Hold, Qoric,” Davydd whispered. “We don’t know what’s happening here – we move slow, and on my orders. Am I understood?”

  The veteran looked down at him – by the seven hells, this headache’s tall – and the thing that stared out at him from the haunted red-rimmed eyes of a maniac could barely be said to be a man. But Davydd stared right back at him, knowing his own appearance was less than sweet these days.

  Come on, big man. I dare you to even try it.

  Without willing it, the golden lines danced across his vision, and Qoric looked at his left eye with a sudden flash of fright – the eye the Talisman had taken over, the one that glowed a burnished gold whenever his luck kicked in. Qoric swallowed hard and stepped back.

  That’s right, how do you like me now?

  He turned back to the task at hand, and saw Lorna watching him with a raised eyebrow. He smirked and she rolled her eyes.

  A cry sounded from beyond the gate.

  Surprised, Davydd looked at the wall, though that was, of course, no help. He looked up and saw no easy way to ascend it here, nor any lookouts up above him. Strange, that. Come to think of it … there were far too few guards in general.

  That group we just killed could easily have been twice that size, and why hasn’t a patrol come down this street since we walked in?

  He looked back at the guards manning the gate and realized they were at half-force. The last time he’d done this with Lorna there had been nearly twice as many, with men walking the streets as well. Tonight, aside from the men at the gate, the area seemed downright abandoned.

  “Is it just me,” he whispered to Lorna, “or does it seemed like a large portion of the guard is otherwise detained?”

  “I noticed it too,” she whispered back. “They may have been sent to join the army – they’re massing just to the south, and we know they’re leaving at dawn.”

  Another scream sounded, and then another right on its heels. Two men started shouting, and then there came the sound of what must have been a splintering door knocked from its hinges.

  Davydd caught Lorna’s eye, and he knew they’d both realized simultaneously what was happening: the ritual was taking place tonight.

  Just our luck.

  “Guess that gets rid of our need for more information,” he said dryly.

  “We can’t leave them here,” Lorna whispered. “We can’t let them get away with this.”

  “How do we stop it?” Davydd whispered back. “We have a hundred Rangers, they have an army just to the south of a hundred thousand! We can’t even make them angry.”

  “We can sabotage the dams,” Lorna said immediately. “Like Tomaz did that one year. And not the ones at the grain fields – the Lionshead itself. If there’s a skeleton crew of guards in the city, there must be barely anyone up there.”

  Davydd felt a chill go up his back and smiled; now that would make for a great story.

  “We send the retreat force to the dam,” he said quickly, “and the others stay with us to make a distraction?”

  “Break the chain on that gate,” Lorna said, “and with speed and luck, the odds are in our favor. It’s the only way in or out of the compound outside of the bridges.”

  “Which we can break with the Powder,” Davydd said, motioning back inside. The guardhouse was lined with Black Powder barrels, as all the guardhouses were. In the event of an invasion, Rikard had ordered the Black Power ready with fuses so that they could be rolled out and launched at attacking enemies from trebuchets anchored to the guard post towers. The last time Davydd and Lorna had been here together they’d even toyed with blowing them as a distraction, but Lorna had convinced him at the last moment not to, saying they shouldn’t waste a trick that might work in the future.

  “Have I ever told you how much I like working with you?”


  “Always nice to hear it again,” she said, her eyes bright.

  “Qoric,” Davydd said, motioning the man over. “I want you to pick ten Rangers and kill those guards – do it quietly, and when you’re done, break the chain holding the gate in place. Wait for my signal.”

  The man’s eyes blazed, and he moved off to pick his companions.

  “Joli,” Davydd said to another Ashandel nearby. “Take Paulia, Jamin, Kyr, and their Ashandel around the compound – there should be Black Powder stashed in each of the seven gatehouses, and if I’m right, the guards tonight will be at a minimum. Set the barrels at the base of the bridges, and light the fuses. Make them long enough that we can get the hell out of here when you’re done.”

  Joli nodded and moved off, just another shadow among shadows, whispering to the others to follow her.

  Fifteen minutes, tops, to run the whole compound.

  “This is going to draw him out,” Lorna said. “We will need to be long gone by the time he tries to engage us.”

  “With any luck,” Davydd said with a cheeky grin, “we will be.”

  Another scream came from the other side of the wall, then another as they began to multiply. It wasn’t isolated now – they were pulling the Commons from their houses in droves now.

  “Topher,” Davydd said to yet another Ranger, “get out of here and find the reserve force securing our retreat – send half of them to the west edge of the city with our mounts under Jasper, and tell the rest of them to break the Lionshead dam in …”

  He glanced at the moon and marked its passage, factored in how long the rest of this would take, and how long it would take to get as many Commons out of the city as possible.

  “An hour,” he finished. “Exactly an hour.”