The Prince of Exiles (The Exile Series)

by Hal Emerson

  “When will the pass close with snow?” Raven asked.

  “Before the week is out if I have my guess,” Tomaz said, looking at the clouded sky. “Autmaran will have to get his supplies and get back to Roarke quickly. This calm won’t hold for long. I’ll have to make sure to remind him – it wouldn’t do to have him trapped on this side of the mountains all winter.”

  Soon they entered Vale itself. It was cupped in a large, protected bowl of mountains – an enormous city, large and wide, covering the whole valley floor. It was very green, with trees growing throughout, though less so now that autumn was giving way to winter. The buildings were mostly white stone, crafted to look as if they were natural arrangements of rock formed by the movement of the earth. Streets were visible going through the center of the city, and a large Barracks was visible off in the distance. The center of the city, where the buildings were the tallest, was where the large Capitol building of the Kindred stood, its great painted dome glistening in the chill autumn sunlight.

  The Kindred around them let out a cheer at the sight of it, and a number of horns sounded, the call to break them from formation. Those that were on foot raced each other down the sloping valley sides, while the mounted soldiers rode among them, egging them on with catcalls and taunts, all of them whooping and hollering like children.

  But then another horn sounded.

  This second sound was deeper, mournful, and made thin by distance. The Kindred, upon hearing it, froze in the midst of their merriment and looked to the east edge of the city – to where a large stone ring had been sunk into the ground. Raven hadn’t noticed it the last time he’d stood here, though he wasn’t surprised; the city was huge, it would take him ages to see it all. On top of that, this structure seemed to be flush with the top of the hill into which it had been dug, making it easily missed by a casual observer. On first impression it seemed to be an amphitheatre of some kind, carved into the living rock of the hillside. A number of figures, just barely visible as distant cutouts against the white rock of the mountains, looked to be standing on its rim. One of them looked to be holding something, which it raised to its lips.

  Again, the sound of this new horn crept across the valley, reaching out toward them, a reverberating clarion call.

  “What is that?” Raven asked Tomaz. Both he and Leah were looking at the distant figures in surprise and, to a lesser degree, concern.

  “Someone has called a Forum,” Tomaz rumbled solemnly.

  “Who do you think would do that?” Leah asked. “And so soon after we’ve returned from Roarke?”

  “I don’t know, but I’ll find out,” Tomaz said quickly. “I want to discover first hand what this is about. They will need a Keeper of the Peace as well; since I’m here I’ll volunteer.”

  And with that he was gone, galloping off at a surprising pace on Mary, calling forward with his huge voice for the other Kindred to let him pass.

  “A Forum?” Raven asked, leaning back toward Leah. She looked troubled.

  “Did Autmaran seem nervous to you on the ride here, or was that just me?” She asked.

  Raven thought back to the one interaction they’d had. He’d been too preoccupied with keeping a firm grip on his stomach with the swirling illusions spinning all around him to pay much attention, but it had certainly been strained. Had there been something he’d missed?

  “Remind me what you talked about,” she said.

  “He wanted to know if I’d become one of the Kindred,” he said slowly, “then asked what I’d been taught as a Child of the Empress, then left without another word. That was it.”

  “Odd,” she said looking off into the distance. “I may be wrong … but it may have been he who called the Forum. Now that he’s a Major, he has that right.”

  “Autmaran?” Raven asked. He glanced around at the other Kindred; they all seemed suddenly very solemn. The laughter and cheering had died, though the good humor was still there, just subdued. Like people who had entered a place of worship or caught a glimpse of something sacred.

  Yes,” she said quietly. “That may be why he went on ahead. If he gains the permission of at least four of the Elders, he has the right to call a Forum.”

  “What is a Forum?”

  “It’s an open discussion among the Kindred of Vale. It’s how we chose Elders and state officials. It’s unusual that we had no warning – I bet he wanted to get it done before he has to go back to Roarke.”

  Raven nodded thoughtfully and they both fell silent, making their way through the growing stream of Kindred. Men and women from the city had joined them now too – many even had their children in tow, a sight Raven still had trouble accepting as normal. They were all making their way to the east side of the valley city, all moving forward like a slow, silent tide. Not sure exactly what to expect, he asked Leah where it was they were going, and she responded simply before withdrawing once more into her thoughts: they were going to the meeting space where Forums were held, a place called the Odeon.

  As they approached the structure, Raven realized the mirage of distance had caused him to severely underestimate the size of their destination.

  It was an enormous space centered on a bare wooden stage, made of a perfectly round configuration of long stone seats, layered row upon row in a gigantic hole built into the side of a mountain. The huge bowl-shaped dug-out had been lined with stone and surrounded by tall trees that stood like pillars at the five entrances; four at what would have been corners if the space were square, and one that opened onto a paved road leading directly to the city. At first Raven couldn’t understand why it looked so odd to him, but then he realized it: the space was perfectly round, and therefore looked somehow squashed, as if a proper space should be oval and this eerie circle was somehow defying a fundamental law of nature. The worn wooden stage at the center was completely bare, the only ornamentation a small set of steps leading down to the ground level of stone seats.

  Raven and Leah left their horses and followed the tide of Exiles into the space. They sat and waited as the sun began to sink behind the western mountains, backlighting the trees that ringed the Odeon with a surreal orange and red glow. The flow of Kindred was certainly larger than he’d expected: there were well over several thousand Exiles seated in attendance now, and many more standing around the top of the Odeon in the wide space provided for walking.

  The crowd quieted without warning, and Raven turned his attention to the stage. The Elders had emerged, and were ascending silently the wooden stairs. He and Leah were seated about halfway up the side of the Odeon, and their view was uninhibited. The Elders stopped, forming an outward facing circle, looking quite regal in their formal robes of office. After a moment of silence, Crane strode forward into the center of the group, and the others folded their knees and sat back on their heels in a surprising display of dexterity.

  “We have gathered here for an open Forum,” Crane said, his thin, reedy tenor amplified by the acoustics of the circle. “But before we move on to the matter of the business placed before us, we would like to open the floor to any who would wish to speak.”

  Immediately people began to shout suggestions, some rude, others outright ribald, and Raven, once he’d gotten over his shock, realized that Elder Crane was smiling, as were most of the Elders. Raven relaxed. This must be some sort of tradition. The Exiles continued shouting, until the Elder raised his hands, the long gray sleeves of his robe falling back to reveal thin arms with tight, gnarled joints.

  “In that case,” Crane said, his voice full of good humor, “I turn to the man who called us here. Major?”

  The rude suggestions and jokes continued, though with less vigor, as the bald head of Autmaran emerged around the side of the platform. The Major ascended the steps, still in his bright red cape and armor, looking … oddly pale. His hands were shaking, something that surprised Raven. The man had stared down an Imperial charge led by one of the Children themselves, what could possibly make him nervous?

  The Ki
ndred continued speaking, though Crane had risen to once again motion them to silence. The Elder looked more annoyed than amused now, and had just opened his mouth, no doubt intending to silence the gathered crowd, when soaring over the cacophony came the voice of Autmaran:

  “I call for a Prince of the Veil!”

  Immediate, stunned silence. Parents quieted children and wives laid protective hands on their husbands. The jokes dried up and died away, and smiles withered on waves of fright.

  Raven was just as silent as the rest of them, and for much the same reason. He too knew that title, had known it all his life through prophecy and legend.

  It can’t be. It must mean something different.

  “Who has spoken?” Called Crane, all laughter gone from his face, and his tone deadly serious. He obviously knew the answer, but the question was formal, ritualistic.

  As if the words had withdrawn some spell that had held the Kindred in place, the gathered crowd broke into hushed conversation, moving and shifting in agitation like a tree shaken by a wind.

  “SILENCE!”

  Raven jumped, as did most of the Exiles. He knew that voice – it was the familiar roar of Tomaz. He looked down and saw the giant emerge from beneath the stage, dressed in full battle armor with Malachi strapped to his back, carrying an enormous staff of blackened wood that was covered with strange arcane symbols which glowed with a faint white light.

  Immediately the crowd fell silent, the rolling thunder of the giant’s voice stealing the sound from them as it passed.

  “What’s Tomaz doing down there?” Raven asked sotto voce to Leah.

  “It’s ceremony to have an Ashandel stand as guardian to the Elders,” Leah answered just as quietly, barely loud enough for him to hear even though he had leaned in close, so close in fact that he could smell her, a deep earthy scent covered with lavender soap. “It’s a tradition going back to the founding that isn’t really necessary at all anymore, but it’s become an honor of sorts. Whenever Tomaz is in the city he’s asked to do it. Just look at him – his very presence makes everything seem more official. Like it somehow means more.”

  Raven looked at Tomaz and knew she was right; the big man towered over all in attendance, and cut an imposing figure in his green-black-and-silver Rogue armor, holding the massive staff in a single hand. But there was something more now – something Raven had seen for years about the face and carriage of his brother Ramael when he had born the Ox Talisman. Even though Tomaz had only possessed it for a few short months, it had already begun to change him. He was becoming the embodiment of physical perfection – the skin of his face now seemed to glow, his black hair and beard were full and shinny, and his back was straight and unbowed by any sign of age.

  “Who has spoken?” Crane repeated into the new fallen silence.

  “I have,” said Autmaran, striding forward, coming even with the Elders.

  Whispers picked up again, though quiet and fleeting, as if a wind of words had passed through the Kindred, scattering fragmented leaves of thought and surprise before rushing on, leaving heavy silence in its wake.

  “Very well,” Crane said. “Let us discuss this motion with the Elders, and then we will bring it to the people.”

  He brought Autmaran into the circle of Elders, and they began to speak, the sound of their words too quiet to be heard even in the amplified circle.

  “What is the Kindred Prince of the Veil?” Raven asked Leah.

  “What do you mean?” She asked slowly, green eyes piercing him in the gathering dark.

  “I mean,” he said, “that the Prince of the Veil is an Imperial title as well. It’s the prophetic title given to the one who will seal the Empire’s power.”

  Leah looked at him, her mouth twisted in wry amusement. She even went so far as to chuckle softly and shake her head.

  “Well then the Empire has it wrong,” she said. “The Prince of the Veil is a Kindred man or woman chosen by the people and confirmed by the Council of Elders to fight off an imposing threat. There have been almost three hundred. Aemon was the first … and unless the Kindred have already been destroyed three hundred times, I think your prophecy may be talking about someone else.”

  Raven opened his mouth to argue the issue – what about the rest of the prophecy, about the Prince of the Veil coming in a time when the Empress would begin preparations for the Return? – but then reluctantly closed it again. He knew that now was not the time and here was not the place. Besides, she’d likely just ignore him and believe whatever she wanted to anyway.

  “The Elders have heard Major Autmaran,” said Crane, breaking the silence. “And, as is his right, he has requested to speak to you directly.”

  The Kindred drew a collective breath and watched with wary eyes.

  “I call for a Prince of the Veil,” Autmaran said, breaking free of the ring of Elders, “because our time is now. At no other time in all of Kindred history have we had the opportunity we have now at this time– and such opportunity is threefold.”

  “He looks worried,” Raven whispered.

  “He’s just nervous,” Leah said, though she didn’t seem convinced herself.

  “The Kindred are strong!” Autmaran protested, though no one had said otherwise. “We have all we need here with us now – right here. We have strong Kindred! And – and three things, as I said. The – the first is Roarke.”

  He took a pause here and seemed to gather himself, and as he did there was some murmuring among the Kindred. Taking the city had not been a unanimous decision to begin with; in fact, many voices had insisted they settle for routing the Roarke army, and stay safe behind the illusions. Others, Henri Perci chief among them, had very vocally supported an all-out invasion, no doubt led by him on his white stallion.

  “We have a safe stronghold on the other side of the mountain now,” Autmaran continued. “With the city of Roarke and it’s resources we can invade the Empire by striking northward – or not, we could also go west to Tibour, or – or even east, though that area is mainly swampland. In any case, we now hold the greatest stronghold in southern Lucia, as I said, and it is not a resource that should simply be passed over as nothing of consequence.”

  There was more murmuring here, some of support, which seemed to buoy Autmaran. He took a deep breath, which seemed to calm him a bit – his voice became deeper, and he began to speak slower, though he still looked nervous that the Kindred might decide at any time to boo him off the stage.

  “The second point is simple,” he said. “It is that we have killed one of the Children, and turned another to our side.”

  Raven froze in place and prayed to the Empress and whatever gods there may be that the man wouldn’t try to call him out.

  Perhaps whoever pulled the strings of fate heard his prayer, or perhaps luck was simply in his favor. Many of the Kindred looked around for him, but no one seemed to know exactly where he was, and those next to him seemed not to recognize him. He slumped his shoulders and sunk himself deep into the stone seat, pulling up the hood of his cloak to hide himself more fully. The murmuring among the Kindred swelled, and then died off as Autmaran raised his arms.

  “Yes, we have killed one of the Children. We have! We don’t want to, we don’t think we can, we have! Never before in all of our history has one of the Kindred been able to say that. Never. And yet I stand here and say it, without fear. We have killed one of the Children themselves. We thought it was impossible – we thought they were immortal – but they weren’t! And we have just proved it!”

  A few Kindred cheered, and Autmaran took heart. He strode forward, walking around the perimeter of the stage, drawing himself to his full height.

  “I fought at the Stand,” he said, his voice now loud and booming in the amplified acoustics of the Odeon. “I was there when the Ox Lord died. He died like a man. He bled! He fell! We burned his body on a pyre with the rest of the invaders. No foul spirit flew into the sky, leaving his body, no thunder rumbled, no lightning cracked the sky. He die
d, and the world did not care. He was not a god – and we proved it!”

  There were more cheers here, and Raven felt something stirring inside him as well. But it was coupled with a sick, deep anger, like rot that went to the core of his pride and made the whole structure of the thing unstable.

  “And the third thing,” Autmaran continued hastily, a little too quickly, “the third thing is that we have a trump card. We have a man who can lead us into battle, a man like none that has ever existed among the Kindred – not since Aemon himself have we had such a leader.”

  Murmurs began again among the Kindred, and Raven wondered what all of this was about now. A single name seemed to be going swiftly back and forth among the Kindred, passing through the huge crowd like wildfire – a name that Raven couldn’t seem to make out.