The Prince of Exiles (The Exile Series)

by Hal Emerson

  “Wow you really got a dose,” Davydd said, grimacing. They turned another corner, and Raven saw trees rising in the distance.

  “Now see that’s cheating!” Raven almost yelled, before Davydd shot him a warning glance and he remembered he wasn’t supposed to be loud. “You’re only supposed to talk in v-words.”

  “Very well,” Davydd said with a sigh.

  “Good start!”

  “V words only darling,” Davydd reminded him.

  “Damn!”

  “Still not a ‘v’ word.”

  “Oh … riiiiight.”

  “Okay,” Davydd said, exasperated, “do I need to say go, or are you ready to play now? You need me to set up rules?”

  “No, no,” Raven said, with a sly grin. “Verily, I do not!”

  He laughed silently and raised his eyebrows, grinning manically.

  “You are very scary when you do that,” Davydd said, looking a little concerned. They had reached the park, and found a small stone bench to sit on underneath a tree.

  “Vouchsafe the reason why,” Raven said. He was starting to really get into it now. It was one of the only games at which he’d been able to beat Geofred.

  “Vouchsafe? Are you some dead poet?”

  “Well, I don’t know if I can verify the versimilitude of that vexing yet vivaciously voiced, though most likely vindictively versed, vocal verbiage.”

  Davydd stared at him.

  “I’m starting to sense this was a bad idea,” he said with some reluctance. Raven leaned forward, trying to whisper in Davydd’s ear so as to keep quiet like he’d been asked. Davydd recoiled in surprise, which deposited Raven on the ground in a heap.

  Davydd immediately burst into laughter, the sound of it rolling out in deep, rich, waves.

  “Vainglorious vat of virgal viciousness,” Raven said as he righted himself.

  Davydd reached down to help him up, and when they resumed their seats, Raven once more launched himself into the game.

  “Just because I’m violently voluble with a varying vervacity –”

  Tym arrived just then with a big clay jug of water, which he gave to Davydd.

  “Too bad Auty isn’t here to see this,” Davydd said out of the corner of his mouth to the young boy, who giggled silently.

  “Ah yes!” Cried Raven, thinking of the newly made Major. “Voivode Autmaran!

  “Voivode?”

  “Verily.”

  “It means ‘officer’ or something like that I think,” said a small voice.

  Raven looked around, confused, and then realized it must have been the tree that had spoken. It was the only logical place from which the voice could have come. He pressed his ear against the scratchy bark and began to croon softly to it in nonsense syllables, but just as he was really picking up strength Davydd clapped a hand over his mouth.

  “Let’s add singing to the list of things you’re not allowed to do, all right?”

  Raven nodded, and Davydd removed his hand.

  “But the verdant tree voiced itself!”

  Davydd smirked at him and then pointed to the kid. The Tym kid.

  “Ohhhhhh,” Raven said, “valid alternative.”

  “Where’d you learn that word?” Davydd asked the boy.

  “I read a big book my dad had in his room called a dictionary. It’s the only book in the house, so even though it was really boring, I went through it. It had lots of words in it, and some pictures too. I mostly read it for the words though, the pictures weren’t that great.”

  “Oh shadows and fire,” Davydd groaned, “I’m surrounded by them.”

  “Verily,” Tym said with a smile.

  “All right,” Davydd said, “you both win. I’m out. Game over.”

  “Verify your voluntary voidification,” Raven said, pointing a stern finger at him. “Otherwise my victory is invalid.”

  Davydd rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to give it a try, and then stopped. He turned to Tym.

  “Translate.”

  “Okay,” the boy said with a smile.

  “Tell him that he wins, and if he keeps speaking in “v” words I’ll silence him with a quick dagger to the neck.”

  The small boy nodded, as if this were the most natural thing in the world, and then turned to Raven without even pausing to consider what words to use.

  “Mister Davydd asked for you to void this vociferate vituperation, or he warns that he will violently vivisect your neck, hoping to venepuncture a vital vessel of your vasculature.”

  “Ah, well why didn’t he just say so?” Raven asked, grinning cheekily at Davydd.

  “You ruin fun, you know that? Now drink this.”

  Davydd held out a tankard filled with water that Tym had brought. Without questioning him, Raven grabbed the cup and downed it in a series of huge gulps. He handed it back to Davydd and then looked around, confused.

  “How did we get here?” He asked. They were in the middle of a large park, one that he vaguely remembered Leah leading him by on their way to the Odeon.

  “Wait – why can’t we go back to … to … to my CABIN!”

  The last word came out as a triumphant shout as he stood, arm outstretched and finger pointed; Davydd immediately grabbed him and pulled him back down.

  “By the seven angels,” Davydd said, “keep it quiet. Good grief … I wish my sister was here to see you. She’d get a kick out of this, always complaining about how up-tight you are –”

  “Your sister is Leah,” he broke in abruptly. “Leah Goldwyn. Eshendai. Spellblade. Five foot nine, perhaps ten. Black hair, green eyes.”

  “Jeez,” Davydd breathed, laughing with the kid who was having a great time, “it’s like watching a comedic version of Iliad!”

  “Black hair, green eyes,” Raven repeated, his mind fixated now on the image of Leah. “Scars criss-crossing her body, all over her body, I saw them when she didn’t have any clothes on. Some superficial, some deep, perhaps through muscle to the bone even –”

  Davydd stood up and loomed over him, suddenly very menacing.

  “What did you just say about my sister?”

  Raven looked up in surprise, jostled out of his litany by this strange interruption.

  “I wasn’t speaking,” he said, offended. Had he been speaking? No. He’d just been thinking. Couldn’t a man be left alone with his thoughts?

  “Wait … where are we? Let’s go to … to my CAB –”

  Davydd managed to get a hand over Raven’s mouth before he got the word out a second time, and swept his legs out from under him, depositing him back on the bench in a surprised heap. The young boy was laughing his head off.

  “I have a new game,” Davydd said, looking at him very intently.

  “What’s this one?” Raven asked, excited.

  “It’s called ‘Question Answering,’ I ask questions, you answer them honestly. Sound like fun?”

  Raven screwed up his eyes for a second, and then shook his head.

  “Nope. Gotta let me ask a question too.”

  “What?”

  “It’s gotta be fair, you get one question, and I get one question.”

  “You get one question, I get twenty.”

  “Deal!” Said Raven, very excited. “Why are your eyes so red?”

  He leaned into the young man’s face, trying to get close enough to examine them, only aware in a very far-away and unimportant sense that he was invading Davydd’s personal space quite egregiously.

  “That’s what you’re gonna go with?”

  Raven nodded.

  “Great, well, I dunno,” Davydd said, leaning away to gain some space, wrinkling his nose, “they just always have been, since I was born. My parents never had me tested for the Bloodmages, so I don’t know if it’s a mark of old blood or not. All I know is they got more red when I became a Spellblade, and women love them, so that’s enough for me, you know?”

  Raven nodded sagely. Attracting women was a good reason for satisfaction.

  “Al
l right, my turn,” said Davydd. “You promise to answer truthfully, yeah?”

  Raven immediately stood up straight and raised a hand to his heart – then decided halfway through the motion it would be more effective an oath if he swore on his forehead, so he punched himself in the temple and spoke:

  “I swear by the Raven Talisman and my hope of salvation in the light of the Empress, that I will answer your question with honesty.”

  “Great – what are your intentions with my sister?”

  “I want to see her laugh and smile,” Raven responded immediately, eager to fulfill his end of the bargain. “I like it when she smiles – she doesn’t smile often enough! I don’t understand her! She has pretty smiles – a pretty good – a pretty smile – don’t you think she should smile more? Right?”

  Davydd looked at him, eyes narrowed.

  “That’s it?” The red-eyed man asked, incredulous. “Shadows and fire, if I didn’t know you were the Prince of Ravens, I’d think you were just a normal kid. With really too good of a conscience though. I mean, I know she’s my sister, but you just want to see her smile? Come on now, she’s worth more than that! I mean, you can’t lay a finger on her, she’s way better than you, but you could at least put some effort into wanting it. It’s almost insulting.”

  The young boy had turned a bright shade of red when he realized what they were talking about, and he was suddenly looking around nervously, smiling awkwardly through his embarrassment.

  “No – you’re right,” Raven said, struck by a sudden idea. “She is better than me. She’s brilliant with those daggers! I don’t understand it – she’s just so graceful, it’s like watching a dancer, but a dancer with daggers, how amazing is that?!”

  “Oh good gods make it stop,” Davydd said, turning away and rubbing his temples. Did he have a headache?

  “Oh,” Raven said, standing up and placing a hand to the hilt of Aemon’s Blade, which he still wore at his side. “I can fix that.”

  He didn’t think about it this time, he just did it. He reached out and touched Davydd’s head before the young man knew what we happening, and there was a strange flash like a spark that jumped from Raven’s hand to Davydd’s temple, and then back again.

  “Whoa!” Davydd said, taking several steps away, watching Raven with complete surprise, his eyes wide and staring. He slowly raised a hand to his temple … and a look of understanding passed across his face.

  “My … my headache is just … it’s gone!”

  “Woooow,” Raven said, peering at Davydd with intense scrutiny, though not completely sure why. He felt suddenly tired, as if he’d just lost some energy in a great rush. But that thought quickly faded, as all the others had for nearly an hour now.

  An hour? Asked a voice in his head. No … that can’t be right.

  “Tymathy!” Roared a voice. Raven looked around with wide eyes, the world mostly just a haze of bright, blurring colors. But once his vision cleared he saw the young boy who’d been with them suddenly running through the crowded square next to the park, off one of the long cobblestone streets. A horse and cart were barreling down the road, apparently in dire need of getting somewhere fast. Beyond that, on the other side of the road, was a huge bear of a man, with an alarmingly large mustache that was so long and thick Raven’s mind turned the man into a walrus, a strange blubbery creature he’d once seen in a book.

  Tymathy – was that the boy’s name? – was running straight across the street, headed for the angry walrus man.

  What happened next was never clear to Raven, even though he was watching the whole thing. A loud snort of anger and surprise came from the charging horse, a roar of fear sounded from a number of surrounding throats, and then the cart was skidding and crashing to a halt, and Tym was lying broken on the ground.

  Shock ran through Raven’s body, and before he knew what he was doing he was up and running across the park to the boy, the world spinning madly around him.

  He was the first to reach him – the first to react in any way – and he scooped the small body up into his arms. He reached out through the Raven Talisman and felt the boy’s life – it was there, though it was flickering and far too small.

  He was dying.

  And then other people began arriving, coming in from all sides. Davydd was the first – he sized up the situation and then looked at Raven, asking him a question that he couldn’t understand. The words just didn’t seem to register in his head – everything was so … so fuzzy.

  “Stand out of my way!” Called a commanding voice. Raven looked up to see two Elders running toward them, one is deep amber robes and the other in dark gray, almost black, with his hood drawn. The hooded one reached for the boy and moved to pulled him out of Raven’s hands.

  Raven made a split-second decision.

  “No,” he said, simply, without explanation.

  The word seemed to shock them, particularly the one in amber robes– Elder Spader, the Lawful Elder – who took a closer look at Raven and realized who it was.

  “You can’t help him,” said Raven, “but one of your Elders can – Elder of Healthy, Healthy Elder – what’s her name?”

  “Elder Keri?”

  “Yes!” Raven called out, breaking through the haze in his mind again for a brief second of clarity. “Get her, bring her here – I will stay with him and do what I can. I have the Blade – I may be able to keep him hanging on to life until she gets here.”

  Without any hesitation, perhaps knowing Raven made sense, perhaps just knowing that further argument would waste precious time and lead to the boy’s death, Spader stood and pulled the hooded Elder – Elder Ishamael? Sneaky Elder – Spying Elder – Master Spy? – along with him, racing as fast as his legs could carry him.

  Raven turned back to Tym and took in the sight.

  The boy’s blood was flowing freely across the cobblestones, and Raven felt the world reeling and heaving about him – he didn’t know the first thing about sewing up a wound. He’d had plenty sewn up on him but he’d never been the one with the needle and thread – but maybe using Aemon’s Blade to heal the boy wasn’t like that?

  “Wait that’s my – THAT’S MY SON!”

  The walrus-mustached man had broken through the crowd and was being held back by Davydd, who had one hand stretched out fending the man off, and another on his dagger, the weapon he used for close-quarters combat.

  “What’s his name?” Raven asked quickly, even though he knew it. “Tell me his name – tell me about him, let him hear your voice, keep him engaged and thinking.”

  He reached down and ripped a strip of cloth off of the bottom of his shirt and tied it around the boy’s abdomen; it began to turn red immediately. His breath was labored and his crushed chest was heaving irregularly – he must have punctured a lung with a broken rib.

  “Tym,” the man was saying, “his name is Tymathy, but everyone calls him Tym. Damned fool boy, what was he doing, trying to get himself killed? I told him not to run off – I told him – shadows and fire where is the bloody Healer?!”

  Raven looked up at Davydd and spoke quickly to him, trying not to let his voice slur the words together, locking himself onto Davydd’s eyes and forcing himself to stay on task.

  “I’m going to try to heal him,” Raven said thickly, but intelligibly. “But I don’t know if it will work. And I need … what do I need?”

  For a single, terrifying moment, the thought almost slipped away, but then his head cleared – finally, blessedly clear! – and he snapped back into focus.

  “I need you to keep the father away, and anyone else too. I don’t know exactly how it works, but some types of Bloodmagic can be interfered with when you touch the caster, so make sure no one touches me.”

  Davydd looked at him with shocked eyes.

  “You’re going to do Bloodmagic?”

  “No!” Raven said emphatically, “I’m going to use the Blade! But it has Bloodmagic, and I don’t know how it works so –”

  “Kee
p everyone away, got it!”

  Davydd stood and began making noises to the father and the gathered crowd, and Raven grabbed the hilt of Aemon’s Blade as he reached through the Raven Talisman and closed in on the boy’s failing life.

  It was growing dark, the feel of it – the smell of books, old cupboards, dusty blankets, the scrape of ink on paper –was fading, and he knew he didn’t have much time. Without knowing what he was doing he tried to hold on to the images he was getting from the boy, tried to give them strength, tried to tell the body to heal. But nothing seemed to happen.