The Prince of Exiles (The Exile Series)

by Hal Emerson

  Again he paused to make sure they understood he was referencing the Visigony, the twelve clockwork men who had long ago given up their humanity in their quest for immortal life, and Leah nodded. Tomaz leaned over to her, waited for the Exile girl to translate, and then grunted for Raven to continue.

  “They instituted a breeding program, trying to perfect and isolate certain genetic traits based on their study of the Wolf and Ox Talismans … one of the traits was associated with faster metabolism and energy storage, another with muscle building. Both emphasized the ability to convert fat to energy at a very rapid pace. There was rumor that this often went hand-in-hand with a trait that made it impossible for the … subjects … to digest a primary component of most simple carbohydrates, which makes a lot of sense if –”

  Tomaz grunted and nodded, having gone back to his bowl of stew – a huge carved thing, at least four times the size of Raven’s, and probably more properly called a cooking pot – halfway through this explanation.

  “’At’s me,” he said before Raven could continue. “Can’t eat bread or else I’m violently sick over most everything in the near vicinity.”

  He paused, his big spoon halfway to his open mouth, and then looked at them. Leah cocked an eyebrow at him.

  “That was probably too much information.”

  “Not at all!” Raven said quickly. “It’s a fascinating idea. The implications, particularly the fact that you are so well adapted to … ”

  He trailed off as he realized they were both looking at him with a touch of amusement. He cleared his throat and let the matter drop, though he felt himself itching to ask more questions. Leah smiled and rolled her eyes.

  “We know you want to ask more, just go for it,” She said. “Get it all out now while you can.”

  “Great,” Raven said, all business. “So Tomaz, does this mean that you are unable to process bread, or that a natural reaction has been built in through – ”

  “Well,” Davydd said suddenly from across the fire, “let’s talk.”

  Raven broke off in mid-sentence and turned. The young Eshendai had spoken solemnly, and during the rare times Davydd was serious it was a good idea for everyone else to listen.

  The rest of the troop caught onto his mood as well. They came in from where they’d been eating and gathered around the fire, crouching down on their haunches, leaning against nearby tree trunks, or sitting cross-legged on the ground.

  “Leah,” Davydd said, “do you have the second map ready?”

  “Got it,” she said, coming forward and unfolding it next to the fire, where, despite the coming dark, the parchment was well lit. Her half of the map slid under Davydd’s and the two together combined to produce a full map of the area around Roarke with notations of troop movement written in the margins. The splitting of the map was a way to prevent their plans falling into enemy hands – a rather prudent measure of which Raven approved.

  “We’ve circled through the passes here and here, here, here and here,” said the red-eyed Eshendai, pointing to five spots that Leah marked with small black stones. “Tomorrow morning we’ll be going back through the Branch that will take us toward the main Roarke Pass.”

  Leah placed another stone, this one white, on the un-searched pass, called the Branch because it connected Roarke Pass proper with the labyrinthine series of trails and back roads that spidered through the mountains.

  “We haven’t seen hide nor hair of an Imperial coming back this way,” he concluded, before looking up at the men and women surrounding. “I don’t think we’re likely to, but be sure to keep your eyes open. The siege force is counting on us – they need a secure supply train this far from Vale until we take the city. Anyone have anything to add? I want to make sure we’ve all got a good feeling that these passes are secure before we make it back to Autmaran and tell him we’re certain.”

  “If anyone has any misgivings,” Leah said, speaking up, “now is the time to share them. Nothing is too small – we’re dealing with professional Imperial forces here. All things must be considered.”

  There was silence for a time as the rest of the group looked back and forth among themselves. Leah and Davydd, along with their Ashandel Tomaz and Lorna, were the appointed leaders of the group despite their age. Both were officially captains in the Kindred army, ranked just below the infantry and cavalry officers of similar rank, though Raven had come to learn that among the Rangers and Rogues such titles meant little. One did not become an Ashandel or Eshendai without first showing an aptitude in a number of areas from arithmetic to code breaking and as such no squad of Eshendai and Ashandel was ever run entirely top-down. They operated instead as a kind of collective in which everyone had a say, though the final decisions still rested with Davydd and Leah. At first Raven had thought the process highly inefficient, but it was growing on him – none of the men and women here wasted time or breath pontificating as the Imperial aristocracy was wont to do, and when they did speak it was usually with good reason.

  “We need to remember to tell about the mines,” Robbit said, speaking up, as he brushed his floppy, sandy hair out of his eyes. He spoke with a dark hesitancy that was unlike his normally upbeat demeanor, but no one found this strange.

  “Yes,” agreed Dannel heavily, a tall bald man with a large, well-groomed mustache. He was a rarity among the Kindred men – most of them sported full beards.

  “Good,” Leah said, nodding. “Anything else?”

  There was another silence here as they all considered the question, and Raven’s mind went back to the mines they had found in the mountains; they’d been iron and silver mines that had, until very recently, been worked by scores of Imperial slaves. As the former Prince of Ravens he’d known the Roarke Mountains produced a good amount of iron ore, most of which was shipped north to Tyne where it was turned into steel and shipped throughout the rest of the Empire, but he hadn’t realized the full extent of the operation. There were dozens of mines honeycombing the mountains, and each appeared to be productive. When the Kindred had found out this piece of information they had been ecstatic, knowing that they had effectively doubled their own mine stores and significantly cut into the Empire’s supply. They’d been very eager to bring such information to Autmaran.

  But what Raven was remembering now were the members of the Commons, the lowest citizens of the Empire, that had been found chained inside the mines in small holding pens. When they’d found them, there had been barely any left alive; when the Kindred had invaded, the Governor of Roarke who ruled in Ramael’s absence had called the mine overseers back, and they had left the workers chained and locked away. That had been over a month ago now, and a bare handful – a dozen out of hundreds – had been liberated and taken to the Kindred camp outside Roarke. Others had been found so near to death, bellies swollen and muscles stripped away to nothing, that the only solution had been to kill them in order to end their agony. Leah had come to Raven then and asked for a favor. She’d asked if he would do the killing just once, to one man, and in doing so use the Raven Talisman to harvest that man’s memories.

  He had done it. He wished he hadn’t.

  He’d bent down over the emaciated body, and looked into the sunken, dying eyes of the Baseborn man, and seen a plea there for death. It was a look that made him want to cry and run, to scream just to reassure himself that he, unlike the flickering light of this man’s soul, was strong and vital.

  The dagger, one that Leah had given him long ago, had slipped too easily into the man’s chest – there had been no muscle left on his body to stop the blade or turn it aside, only a paper-thin covering of skin. The man had let out a sigh of relief, as if his pain had been taken from him, and then his life had faded. Then, through the Raven Talisman he wore etched into the skin of his shoulders and back, Raven had absorbed the man’s life, his strength, and his memories. The strength had been almost nothing, the bare twinge of a whispered breath, but the memories had been hot and painful.

  The conversation c
ontinued on around him as he thought of this, Leah and Davydd prompting the others for more details, trying to dredge up any last, heretofore unremembered bits of information. He tried to engage himself, but found he couldn’t.

  He’d always known that the Empire condoned slavery. Geofred had long ago explained to him that the slave system was a way in which common criminals could be turned from outlaws, thieves, and murders, into productive members of society. But Geofred had never explained what it had actually meant to be a slave, particularly one that was sent to work in the mines. He had never talked about the endless, dark abyss of the cave that became their life; a dark so all-encompassing that the man’s memories of a mother and father had begun to whither and die, leaving barely more than vague impressions of scents and sounds by the time the end had come. Geofred had never told him of the terrible food, half the time stale and rotten, which was fed the slaves by masters who beat and whipped them for sport. And worst of all, Geofred had never told him of the way the miners had been treated when spoken to – not as men, but as animals. They were referred to as one would refer to cattle, both men and women considered nothing more than a kind of rough stock that would soon die and need to be replaced.

  “That should be it,” Davydd said loudly. Raven looked to see the Eshendai shoot one last glance around at the gathered troop. “Anything else? Speak now or never speak. Any lingering doubts? Autmaran the Ambushman will want to know all the details.”

  Autmaran the Ambushman? An apt nickname. That man is deadly when it comes to traps and ambuscades.

  Leah shot a quick glance at Raven and raised an eyebrow, clearly applying the question directly to him, directly from her, asking him to check the surrounding area once more for signs of life.

  He closed his eyes and reached through the Raven Talisman, feeling the black markings grow warm across his shoulders and back. His mind expanded outward, barely touching on the group of lights surrounding him, those of the Kindred squad, instead moving farther out, going as far as a mile in each direction, down over the edge of the cliff, up further into the mountains, back the way they had come, forward the way they were going.

  In his mind’s eye he perceived a vague, hazy background light, punctuated here and there by brief moving flashes that were plants and animals. These did not interest him – he was looking for something brighter, something that would press on his mind, something that would reveal the presence of a person, either man, woman, or Child. He strained his mind, going as far as he could, thinking if there were anything to sense it would be a ways distant … but there was nothing. Just the group of Kindred troops.

  Raven opened his eyes again, caught Leah’s gaze, and shook his head just enough that she caught the motion. She nodded to Davydd, and they broke up the meeting. Leah, Lorna, and Davydd made their way over to where he and Tomaz were still sitting. The four of them usually included him in their councils, which made him feel both proud and confused. He was a valuable source of knowledge about Imperial tactics, but it was still difficult for him to give advice on how to attack the Empire when he had spent his whole life learning to defend it.

  “So in the morning we go back through the Branch,” Davydd said, red eyes glowing in the twilight as he dropped into a squat next to Raven. The others joined him, forming them into a circle, as the sun finally dipped below the horizon.

  “It’s the place most suited for a final ambush,” Tomaz said, black eyes hard as stone. It was his battle face, and it reminded Raven once again that this man, for all his normal joviality, was a trained killer.

  “Indeed,” agreed Lorna simply. “We need to tread softly. We aren’t safe until we’re back in Roarke.”

  “Still, it should be pretty simple,” Leah said, taking a swig from the waterskin she carried at her waist.

  “Simple enough even for someone too scared to carry his own sword,” Davydd muttered so only Raven could hear him.

  Again, he pointedly ignored the young man’s barb. His interactions with Davydd often went like this – the red-eyed son of General Goldwyn trying to prod Raven into an argument, Raven pointedly ignoring him. The sword by his side was plain steel – of good make, and well cared for, but plain steel nonetheless. Aemon’s Blade, the sword Davydd was mocking him over, was tied behind his horse’s saddle, tucked carefully away. At first he had left it at camp, thinking no one would be foolish enough to try to touch it. But then a small child, one of the many sons of the frugal Captain Philander, had touched it on a dare and been thrown backward twenty feet into a tree, hand burned as if by a brand. No one blamed Raven – he’d packed the sword away carefully out of sight – but he’d carried it with him ever since. Though, truth be told, he wished he could have left it back in Vale. He wanted nothing to do with it.

  The Blade marked him out as Aemon’s Heir, the last of the line of Aemon, the founder of the Kindred. But, because everyone knew that Aemon’s Heir was also the former Prince of Ravens, wearing it, or even just being close to the damned thing, was enough to make half of the Kindred swoon, and the other half spit as he walked past. It was the latter of the two groups that had angered Leah – and she had taken to challenging anyone who she saw cursing him. It was a testament to the girl’s fearsome reputation that no one had taken her up on it.

  Suddenly they heard a distant sound that seemed to be voices raised in cheer; another noise followed it, the sound of clanging metal, thin and distant. The whole troop stopped what they were doing and turned to look out over the cliff, down the mountainside, to the castle of Roarke, where a tide of figures was sweeping through the gates.

  It was the sound of Kindred victory.

  “Congratulations,” said Raven slowly, emotions tangled and knotted inside him. “It would appear you’ve taken the city.”

  Chapter Two: Death Watchmen

  A series of loud cries came from behind them and Raven turned to see the Kindred cheering as they slapped each other on the back.

  “Come now,” Robbit said, turning to Davydd. “Surely there is no more need to fear. Let’s go to the city – now! We can make it back to the main road with the dying light and use the stars to guide us the rest of the way. There will be feasting and dancing tonight – you know we cannot miss it!”

  For a moment everyone held their breath, and then Davydd smiled and they knew they’d won.

  With cries of excitement, they all went to their horses, mounted, and began to ride off, Davydd not far behind.

  “Davydd,” Leah said, “I don’t think this is – ”

  “Come on!” Said her brother with a huge, infectious grin, leaping astride his own horse. “We’ve had week after week of misery, let’s celebrate!”

  And he was off, leading the column of Kindred.

  Leah made a sound of annoyance, but mounted her own horse, a sleek roan that matched her own grace, and was off before Tomaz and Raven could do so much as say a word.

  Tomaz and Raven both looked at each other, and then moved slowly to their mounts. Raven knew the big man was just as eager as the rest of them to celebrate, but galloping his way to Roarke on the recalcitrant Mary seemed no doubt unappealing. Raven, on the other hand, was trying to think of a way to get out of joining in any kind of celebration – his twisted loyalties were difficult to navigate as it was.

  There was a rustling behind them, the barest sound. Raven felt a strange brush of life against his mind and turned to see what it was, thinking one of the Kindred had left something behind and was returning to claim it.

  What he saw were two large, skeletal forms wearing black armor, unlimbering razor-sharp weapons made of enchanted onyx, their eyes the only things about them still living, green and glowing with unholy zeal.

  For a brief moment, Raven didn’t understand what was happening – and then the two Death Watchmen, the undead Imperial assassins, converged on him with grating cries of excitement that spurred him into action.

  “TOMAZ!”

  The cry was equal parts warning and plea – the first con
struct ran at him, lifting a long, wicked scimitar and Raven reacted on instinct, seizing the hilt of his sword and taking a step back, drawing the first of the Watchmen in as the second veered away toward Tomaz. The lean corpse construct rushed forward.

  Raven unsheathed the steel sword at his side as the first Watchman rushed forward; he feinted left, then stepped forward and reversed the blow like Tomaz had taught him. The blade looped around the scimitar and sliced through the Death Watchmen’s hands, severing them at the wrists.

  For a brief moment, the Death Watch construct just stood there, dumbly staring at its stumps. A foul, green ichor oozed from the dead veins, hissing and burning when it hit the ground. The Watchman gathered itself and roared in Raven’s face, unleashing a sound and smell that could only come from beyond the grave. It lunged at him, trying to kill him even without weapons.

  Without any further need of encouragement, Raven hefted his blade and threw his weight into a horizontal swing that decapitated the creature. The Bloodmagic spell holding it together broke and the creature fell to the ground in pieces, where it began instantly to decompose.