Stracker looked confused. Piven sighed, tired of the big warrior already.
“Look, Stracker, there will be plenty of blood to stain your sword soon. You’ve told me Loethar escaped you—where would he head, do you think?”
Stracker shook his head. “I don’t know. I told you he was taken by a huge woman and a Denovian man.”
“Huge woman. You mean fat?”
“No. She was as tall as I am, as broad and lean. She was strong, used a catapult like a warrior.”
Piven thought about this. “Sounds like a Davarigon. My father took us north one year when I was very young, maybe three anni. He met with a group of Davarigons at the base of the mountains.” He frowned. “Is there a monastery at the entrance to the Teeth?”
Stracker nodded slowly. “A convent. It’s where, I believe, Loethar’s wife, Valya, has been banished to.”
Piven’s face lit. “Excellent. Now there’s someone I’m looking forward to executing.”
“She lost Loethar’s child.”
“Good. I hope she’s suffering.”
“He let her off easy. She poisoned our mother.”
“Good,” Piven said savagely. “Now, general, remember what I told you. Every attempt on my life is worth ten of your Greens.”
Stracker made an animal sound, close to a growl. “Maybe I will kill some Denovians. I’ll make sure it’s done in your name.”
Piven shrugged. “Tell them what you like. I am all they have now. I am emperor.”
“It’s going to be entertaining watching you tell that to my Loethar.” Stracker smirked.
“Then let’s go find him, shall we?”
“You think he’s in the mountains where the Davarigons live?”
“It’s a place to start. And while we’re up there, general, we will also be hunting my brother.”
“Yours?”
“Leo is alive. He has been harbored by Kilt Faris and his outlaw gang.”
Stracker’s mouth had fallen open. “You have confirmation of this?”
“I have no reason to lie to you, Stracker.”
“But how do you know that?”
Piven shrugged. “My companion, Greven, harbored my brother when Leo first escaped your clutch. He was instrumental in getting Leo to safety.”
Stracker gave a low snarl of disgust. “How does your companion know Kilt Faris?”
“He doesn’t.”
“Then how did the Valisar scum meet up with Faris?”
“Greven’s daughter. She . . .” Piven never finished. The pieces of the puzzle he had been absently pondering seemed to suddenly fit into perfect place. “Lily took him,” he said, as if in a trance, no longer looking at Stracker but searching his mind for further clues.
“Er, what do you—?”
“General Stracker,” Piven suddenly interrupted. “What was the name of the woman who married Kirin Felt?”
Stracker frowned, thought about it for a short pause. “Lily.”
“Lily! Are you absolutely certain of this?”
Now Stracker looked puzzled. “Yes, why?”
Piven’s expression had turned dark. “Crafty old Greven. He thinks he can thwart me but he has played into my hands more than he might imagine.” He sat forward. “Pay attention, general, this is what I want you to do . . .”
Chapter Fifteen
Gavriel had sufficient money on him to buy a horse but he’d opted against going back into Francham. His mood was pensive, his thoughts so fractured that he’d found it easier to keep to the comfort of the forest. Without any real direction in mind he’d instinctively headed north, toward the Dragonsback Mountains.
His time with the Davarigons had taught him all that he needed to know about surviving in the mountains. He knew food, water and even cover for the the night was accessible to anyone who had the knowledge of what to look for and where. He was moving quickly, unencumbered by anything but his sword and his heavy heart.
He missed Elka desperately and he hated what had occurred between himself and the king. But the more he thought about Leo’s intentions for the young lad, the more Gavriel quailed at the notion that he had almost been party to something so savage.
It began to make sense now, all these years later, why Loethar had committed the truly barbaric act of consuming some of King Brennus. Gavriel could now understand how the man had been driven to such lengths after years of such enmity. He was the true king—and Brennus had probably known of his elder half-brother’s existence.
Gavriel found himself torn. Just a day ago he’d had no doubt in his mind about his loyalty and then within hours it had been turned upside down. Suddenly Leo seemed to be acting like a villain—grasping for rulership, prepared to take any route to kingship he could, even if it meant the most ignoble of behavior.
Gavriel spat on the rock he was clambering up. Regor de Vis would surely squirm to know that either of his sons had any part in this, Gavriel thought, and was reassured by his decision to let the young lad Roddy go. But then the nagging notion occurred to him that his father had obviously urged Corbel to follow Brennus’s order to kill a child and get the princess to safety.
Gavriel was suffused with anger and confusion. Nothing was as it seemed. He couldn’t shake the deeply personal revulsion that his family had been forced into such dishonorable behavior. No matter what his circumstances Gavriel didn’t believe he would ever deliberately attack a child, especially one who was defenseless and blameless of any guilt. And as much as he found Kilt Faris an arrogant sod, he wouldn’t be party to maiming the outlaw either, on the presumption that it might transfer some legendary magic.
But this stance now left him not only without a single companion but, more disturbing, without any reason not to just disappear into one of the compasses with a fake name. It was tempting. He could vanish, live a quiet existence under whomever ended up ruling or he could board a ship and sail away from his homeland. That option hurt, though. He’d never see Corbel again if he fled.
Besides, Elka also loomed large in his mind. She was now on the run with the Emperor, his former enemy. The worst aspect of this whole mess with Leo was that Elka no longer trusted him; she was now as much on the run from Gavriel as she was from Leo.
Where would she be? Loethar was injured. Knowing Elka, she would head for the mountains. That’s where she felt safest. But she may have needed supplies; she may even have sought help. Francham was the closest town big enough that she could achieve some anonymity—although Elka was hardly easy to forget. If she had gone into Francham then he suspected she would likely retrace the steps they’d made just days ago, back toward the convent and into the foothills of the Davarigons. She wouldn’t have access to horses unless she stole them so he guessed she would be moving relatively slowly and that gave him an advantage to catch up with them.
Feeling calmed that he’d made a decision, Gavriel found new vigor in his stride. He sped up his pace to a trot and turned east, determined now to hunt them down.
Leo stewed. He’d forced himself to sit and calm the anger that had enveloped him at Gavriel’s betrayal. This was war! Why couldn’t Gavriel see that a Valisar must do whatever was required to preserve the family name? His father had drummed into him that the king was expected to be resourceful, courageous . . . ruthless.
Leo shook his head at Gavriel’s lack of spine. He himself had no trouble accepting that war had its casualties. And he wasn’t even asking either Roddy or Kilt to die—why couldn’t everyone accept this? He felt his fury rise again and quickly put Roddy out of his mind so that he could find calm to think. He needed a clear head to plot his next move.
It was the first time in his life, he realized, that he had been alone. It was odd. It was certainly lonely. He missed Jewd and Kilt even though he knew they were lost to him, were now his enemy. And Gavriel had proved himself a traitor as well. What would Lily make of all this? He could imagine her repugnance at how everyone had turned on him.
He was the true king. They owed hi
m fealty, irrespective of his hard approach. He shook his head with disgust for the umpteenth time and closed his eyes to find his sense of calm again.
He needed an aegis. That was of the highest importance. If Loethar trammeled Faris, Leo knew he could wave farewell to any chance he had of actually sitting on the throne that he rightfully owned. But where did one begin to look for someone who refused to declare himself? Faris, after all, had lived alongside him for ten anni without revealing even a sign of his hidden life.
Leo pondered as he chewed on some stale bread and his favorite fally paste that Lily made up in jars for him. He was on his last jar. And the fally didn’t grow again until next leaf-fall.
Where would I hide if I was an aegis?
He kept returning to this question. Initially Leo was convinced that the best place to hide was out in the open. If you lived among others in a busy town, you could virtually disappear. If, like Kilt, you were strong enough that you never used your powers, no one would suspect anything; you’d just be the local miller with a family, or the blacksmith who drank hard at the inn. He frowned. Should he start looking in Francham? Perhaps an aegis had passed him in the street on the occasions he’d been allowed into the lively town.
Leo tried to recall if he remembered anyone shying away from him or whether anyone found it difficult to be in his presence. But he came up blank.
He sighed, tossed aside the knuckle of bread and stood. He needed to make a firm decision about where to go. He couldn’t remain here in hiding, waiting for someone to come and make an attempt on his life. He had to at least go out and try and find an aegis. No one knew what he looked like. He didn’t even need a disguise.
He gathered up a few belongings into a sack and then looked around at his home of ten anni. There was little to show that he’d ever been here. But although it was no palace, it had been a good home to him. He was sorry that he was leaving under these circumstances, all but hated by everyone. He didn’t deserve that. But kings couldn’t trouble themselves with whether they were liked or not.
He reached for Faeroe, feeling the familiar thrill of pleasure whenever he wore his family’s sword. As he buckled up the belt, a fresh thought breezed through his mind as though his inner voice had found inspiration.
If I were an aegis I’d hide among the Vested and appear to have only the most simple of powers.
Leo straightened and blinked.
Among the Vested!
Hadn’t Tern said that when Lily had followed Felt they were interrupted by two wagonloads of Vested being transported from Brighthelm and the south? He searched his memory. Where had Tern said he’d overheard they were headed? His fingers drummed against his lips as he searched back over old conversations, certain it would come to him if he nagged at it long enough. Barronel, that was it.
The more he rolled this notion of heading to Barronel around in his mind the more right it began to feel. At least it was somewhere to start.
With one final sentimental glance back at the camp, Leo was gone. He headed north. Once he was out of the forest he would begin to track west into Barronel. He needed protection and he prayed that Lo would have an aegis waiting for him soon.
Loethar had begun to feel the positive effect of Janus’s ministrations. He liked the doctor and inwardly considered himself very fortunate to have these two companions. Elka’s strength, physically and mentally, was a gift from the heavens. And she was beautiful—inside and out. Even through his pain he had developed an enormous admiration for the Davarigon woman.
When her laugh came it was hearty and infectious. It made him feel warm for the first time in so many years that he only now realized how unhappy he had been, even before war was declared on Denova. He trusted Elka, he realized. And he had never placed full trust in anyone before, so this was an unnerving new experience for him. But she had proven herself to be someone who valued her own integrity and he respected her for her capacity to make her own decisions. It was obvious that she and de Vis were very close; he didn’t believe they were lovers but there was something wistful and sad about Elka whenever she spoke of him. Perhaps she loved him and it was unrequited? Nevertheless, she had chosen Loethar over de Vis, a decision that, he suspected, cost her dearly in her heart. But he sensed she walked with a clear conscience, and he respected that.
Elka could make the hardest of decisions when she felt she was right and she made them using only her head, not her heart. She was calm and always composed—he liked that aspect about her perhaps more than any other. When he thought of Valya’s temper, wreaked on the most pitiful of people—like a messenger boy, or a maid—it made him feel almost jealous of de Vis having the attention and loyalty of someone as special as Elka. She certainly deserved better than she was getting from him.
She was tracking back toward him. He’d insisted on walking on his own and while it was hardly comfortable he refused to be carried any longer. Janus remained ahead, and although the doctor was grumbling loudly Loethar suspected he hadn’t had so much fun in ages. And his hands were steady for probably the first time in an anni.
“All right?” Elka asked as she drew back alongside him.
“Just rosy,” he replied, using an old Denovian phrase that made her smile. “So where are we now?”
“Well, much against my wishes we are now fringing the Dragonsback Mountains. Hell’s Gate is just ahead but we’re approaching from the west—and few do—so that’s why it’s deserted.” She looked up. “By midday we’ll be seeing a lot more people.”
“Coming into Francham?” he inquired.
“Both ways. In this milder weather the traffic into and out of the mountains triples, quadruples even. Bigger caravans, more people on horseback traveling alone or in wagons.”
“And how will we go—” He stopped and straightened, concentrating.
“I hear it, too,” she acknowledged. She frowned and listened. “Two voices, I think,” she said, concentrating again.
Loethar felt vaguely blurry. He blinked a few times, wondering if the seeds Janus had given him to suck or the bitter plant concoction he’d had him drink might be taking a late effect on him.
He shook his head. “Forgive me.”
“What is it?”
“I’m not sure. I feel . . . dizzy.”
“Sit down.” He obeyed without protestation. “Any better?”
“Not really.” Loethar felt his bile rise and suddenly he knew what this was. “Elka, go and stop Janus. I don’t think he’s realized we’ve stopped.”
“I’ll call—”
“No, don’t. Just in case. Go and get him. I’ll wait here.”
She frowned as she regarded him. “You’re worrying me.”
“I’ll be fine. I’ll just sit here and let this pass.”
Elka nodded and began trotting up the incline toward Janus, who had disappeared over a ridge. Loethar didn’t pause. He withdrew the dagger that Elka had entrusted him with and, ignoring the nausea, and the increasing sense of distraction, he hurried, as best he could, straight toward the source. If Kilt Faris could withstand it—and not show it—so could he.
Their voices were loud enough now that he could hear individual words. They were close; a man and a child. Which one was it? He crested the rise and then he saw them. Something about the man resonated deep inside but it was the child on whom his eyes helplessly locked.
Heedless to his injuries and engorged by the desire he had recently become familiar with, he began to run, lopsided and aching, ignoring the pain. They were strolling, the boy eating as they walked. Neither carried any belongings. The man, dressed in black with a long stride and powerful build, looked like someone who was used to fighting, which made it seem all the more odd that he carried no visible weapon.
Neither saw him rushing from the side and neither heard him; a well-trained warrior of the Steppes could move soundlessly.
With a snarl of triumph as much as despair at his nausea, Loethar snatched the boy, dragging him away as though he were a
predator bringing down a helpless calf. The boy screamed and his companion stood suddenly still, looking confused more than shocked.
“Stop struggling!” Loethar roared at the child squirming in his clutch. At his commanding tone the boy instantly fell still. Loethar watched the man warily as every fiber of his body responded to the child. It was like a drug. No, it was worse than that. It was desire, passion, lust, rage . . . it was compulsion!
“Loethar?” the man murmured. He sounded calm but he threw worried glances at the child. “Please do not hurt him, your majesty.”
Loethar’s shock at being recognized and addressed so politely nearly undid him. He almost let the boy slip from his arms but the wave after wave of sickness crashing against him reminded him of the prize he held. This was an aegis in his clutches.
The boy had stopped screaming but was now retching and moaning.
“Please set Roddy down,” the man pleaded.
“Roddy?” Loethar repeated.
“Yes,” the boy choked out. He was dry retching now. “I know who you are. Please, please don’t hurt me.”
“Who is your companion?” Loethar demanded, unsure now of himself, of his intention, of everything.
“He is my friend, Ravan.” He was surprised the boy could still speak; he could feel him trembling in his arms.
“And I am your friend too, your majesty,” the man added.
Loethar frowned. “Stop speaking to me as though you know me. I don’t know you.”
“You do,” the man called Ravan said. “I know you better than anyone else.”
He didn’t have time for this. The sickness was claiming him. How had Faris withstood this for so long? Perhaps he was weaker than the outlaw. “Who are you?” Loethar demanded.
But before the man could answer Loethar heard Elka.
“What are you doing?” she yelled, running down the incline, Janus following suit far more clumsily. Even in this tense moment he couldn’t help but notice—and admire—that Elka was every bit as noiseless as he was. She too was a good hunter, a fearless warrior and right now a very angry-looking giantess.
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