“Can you kill a man, Freath?”
“If I had to, yes,” the aide bristled. “Killing doesn’t give you superiority, sire, surely?”
“And have you ever killed anyone, Freath?”
“No, sire.”
“It sounds a lot easier than the doing of it, trust me…not that I suffer the squeamishness of most.”
Freath ignored Loethar’s explanation. “If you don’t need her for any other purpose, sire, I would have her.”
“To humiliate her?”
“To do whatever I please with her. She will become my slave, follow my orders, answer my desires…however dry they may appear to others.”
“And so for the queen, two Vested and my word, you will help me hunt down Leonel?”
“Yes, sire. And there are so many more ways in which I can help you…be assured of that. At no further cost to you than what I’ve already asked for.”
“You intrigue me, Freath.”
“So we’re agreed. Iselda is a show of goodwill on your part.”
“Bugger her senseless for all I care, Freath, although I will be wanting her for tonight myself.”
“Of course you do, sire,” Freath said, as though they were discussing the shared use of a horse or plow. “In fact I won’t lay a finger upon her until you have. Is that fair?”
Loethar nodded. “It is.” He looked at Stracker. “How many have we rounded up?”
“In total, about thirty-four who seem genuine in their talents.”
“Have them brought here. I’ll leave you to pick out the best—and show them to Freath. He can choose from your selection. Order it now.” Stracker nodded and left the chamber. Loethar looked at the royal aide again, then grinned. “I need men with your agile mind, Freath. I’m sure I should just slit your throat here and now but there’s something about you that tells me I should stay my hand a little longer.”
“That’s convenient for me, sire.”
His words amused Loethar further. “For both of us, I hope. Stracker can be…” He searched for the right word.
“Spontaneous?” Freath offered.
Now Loethar smiled genuinely. “Precisely. And on occasion I need someone who can act upon more considered information, someone who thinks through a situation.”
“Less of a blunt instrument. I understand. But that doesn’t necessarily make me feel safe.”
Loethar’s smile broadened. Gavriel realized that Freath’s cunning made him a perfect match and someone who had, over the last few moments, changed from aide’s executioner to new employer. The barbarian called in some of his henchmen.
“This man has access to Queen Iselda. Him alone.” He had obviously changed his mind about wanting Iselda for the first night. He turned back to the aide. “You amuse me, Freath. I like your mind, if not you.” Freath inclined his head, obviously deciding to take the barbarian’s words as a compliment. “As long as you continue to amuse me and keep me informed of everything around this palace and the realm—as I assume you have a well connected spy network—you are safe from my blade.”
“In that case, sire, we shall take each other on his word. So, for the young prince, let me suggest you try the secret corridor.”
Gavriel felt Leo’s mouth open in terror behind his hand.
“Show them!” Loethar ordered Freath, pointing at his men.
Seven
Clovis sat silent and rigid, his fists clenched in his lap, the stone wall hard against his back. His life had been what many might describe as perfect. He was not a rich man—not yet, anyway—but he had been happier than many of the wealthy men he was required to offer his services to. Nor was he poor, not by a long shot. Work was regular and it didn’t require him to ruin his back toiling out in the field at the mercy of Lo’s moods. He was not old but he was no longer what could be described as a young man; middle years was perhaps the kindest way to term it. But he was hale and he had not yet found gray in his beard or experienced aches in his knees. He had no complaints.
And yet in a heartbeat the world he’d got used to—the routine life he was so comfortable in—had been turned upside down. He’d never loved Leah, not in the way that some people describe love; an angelic chorus didn’t strike up in his ear whenever he saw her and his pulse didn’t quicken, nor did he feel the rise of passion that he knew he should feel. But Leah was kind, and good. She loved him and he was fond of her. He liked her soothing prattle. She was not beautiful, not even pretty. But she was sunny. She laughed a great deal, especially at his jests, and her big bright smile could light a small room.
Leah had enough love and laughter for both of them fortunately. But what Leah had given to him—where all of his love was given in return—was their daughter, Corin. And whereas he and Leah would describe themselves as plain, Corin was sweet on the eye of all who beheld her. His child had the temperament of an angel and she bound Clovis and Leah, smothering the shortfalls they had as a couple, with her addictively fun personality and stealing Clovis’s heart so that he could never leave, even if he wanted to. And the truth is he had never wanted to leave since the day of Corin’s birth. For five peaceful, plentiful years Clovis had overlooked the lacklustre nature of his hasty marriage to Leah when she’d discovered her pregnancy, and considered himself a blessed man.
His role as a diviner was in brisk demand and although he charged the everyday folk just a few trents for a quick “impression” as he termed it, the richer people of Vorgaven—of which there were plenty—threw grand parties at which they invited diviners to foretell the future at far greater expense. The wealthiest of all—the shipping families—would invite him to their magnificent homes for personal “tellings.”
It had become very fashionable to have a personal diviner on the payroll, someone who would advise on everything from best sailing times to which crew to select. It was a lucrative way to earn a living and recently Clovis had been able to build his small family a dwelling of their own on a tiny parcel of land he’d bought from one of his clients. It looked out to sea toward the Isle of Medhaven and Leah had begun to talk about no longer having to work at the inn. This had pleased Clovis, for he liked the idea that Leah would be at home all the time with Corin, rather than dropping her off at Delly’s for a few hours until Clovis could take over child-minding duties.
Corin had been an accident, of course; the result of a dry, hurried copulation one evening in the cellar of The Fat Badger where Leah worked as a barmaid. He had been so drunk he was cross-eyed and honestly believed that he’d had it off with Alys Kenric, who wasn’t unlike Leah in coloring, except much prettier. He had been celebrating a particularly rich haul from a wealthy merchant from Cremond who had revisited with a heavy purse to thank Clovis for his advice in buying black tourmaline from a small mine on Medhaven. The merchant had thought him mad at the time but Clovis realized the man had nevertheless taken his advice and purchased a substantial amount of quality stones. Who could have known—other than Clovis perhaps—that the second son of the Vorgaven royals, Danre, would choose for a bride the daughter of a very senior noble in Cremond. Or that this bride would have a fascination with black silk and black jewels. The merchant made a handsome profit from his tourmalines and had been anxious to thank the diviner from Vorgaven. Clovis had lived to quietly rue the day of that purse landing in his lap, because he certainly had held no ideas about marriage or even falling in love. But Leah had become pregnant and Clovis was pressured by her folk to do the right thing and Corin was the reward for his sacrifice.
But now Corin was dead.
Her small pretty head had been hacked from her trembling shoulders when the barbarians had come for him. And Leah, screaming with disbelief and horror as her daughter’s head had rolled beneath a chair in their new home, had been viciously stabbed, mainly to stop her noise, the marauder had explained.
“She was ugly anyway. What was in your head?” the attacker had added. His name was Stracker, Clovis had learned. With not even a chance to comfort his dying wife or
cradle his dead child, Clovis had been hauled off in a state of shock, none the wiser about what these men had wanted from him.
He knew now, though, as other men, women and even some children had arrived to join him, all bearing the same stunned, suspicious expression, all having lost loved ones in the rout. The leader of the marauders, the barbarian Loethar, wanted to round up all those who were empowered.
So now Clovis sat with a motley crowd of dismayed and disturbed people, some crying, most staring blankly. They were presently accommodated—although that was a loose term—in a barn on the border of Barronel and Penraven. Clovis had been one of the most recent arrivals as prisoner and had only had to march for six days to Barronel from the day he was captured; others had been captive for weeks. Some even for several moons. Kirin, a younger man, half Clovis’s age, was an old hand at being Loethar’s prisoner. He had been taken from Cremond and was a fount of knowledge as to what he’d seen on the march.
Kirin slumped down next to him now. As usual he tried to buoy his friend’s spirits. “We’re being moved again.”
“Where to now?” Clovis inquired half-heartedly.
“Into Penraven apparently.”
“So the mighty Valisars have submitted to the barbarian, too.”
“It’s no surprise. Penraven should never have waited to send troops. But we’ve had this discussion before. I would guess that, unlike our realms, it’s had sufficient warning so its people could take precautions, flee to safer lands.”
“We had so little warning in Vorgaven.”
“And in Cremond our royals seemingly couldn’t wait to give up their throne. How humiliating for their people.”
“Ah well, it could be viewed a number of ways. At least their people didn’t suffer. If I lived in Cremond, my Corin would be alive.”
Kirin sensibly did not respond to this comment. “Loethar has sworn only to kill those who bear arms against him. It’s a pity his henchman and those Green warriors haven’t heard those orders clearly enough. If it were left to them there’d be no people remaining to rule.”
“He certainly seemed to enjoy making my family suffer,” Clovis replied, his voice choked. He rallied, cleared his throat. “And Loethar’s called for us to be brought to Penraven?”
“So it seems. They’re marching us to Brighthelm—the main palace and fortress—within the hour. It may only take half a day’s walk.”
“I’m not sure I care,” Clovis replied, hanging his head between his knees as the vision of Corin’s arms reaching up to him just before her death threatened to undo him once again.
“Rally your spirit, Clovis,” Kirin urged.
“Why? I have nothing to live for.”
“Nothing worth dying for here, either. Wait until there is something you value enough to give your life for. That’s not him,” Kirin said, pointing at their barbarian guard. “Or him,” he added, pointing at another.
“They’re just going to use us. Why don’t we just kill each other here and now?”
“I won’t give him anything of me, Clovis, least of all my blood. If just for the memory of my slain parents, I’m going to defy him and live.”
“Brave talk,” Clovis said, uncharitably.
Kirin made a clicking sound with his tongue. “So you’d let the person who slaughtered Corin in cold blood have your life as well…before you even began to think of revenge?”
“It’s easier that way.”
“But it’s not courageous. And you make light of her life if you don’t fight back on her behalf.”
“My talents don’t stretch to killing.”
“There are many ways to skin a cat. Revenge doesn’t always require bloodletting.”
“So what’s your plan?” Clovis asked, finally raising his head and looking at his young friend.
“I’m going to lie. You should too.”
Clovis frowned at Kirin. “Well, that’s very daring. I’m sure that should bring the entire barbarian nation down.”
Kirin smiled, unperturbed by the sarcasm. “Listen to me. Let’s make a pact that we lie about our skills. I know that you are a master diviner because you told me. Do they know that?”
Clovis shook his head. “They haven’t asked.”
“So they’ve discovered your skills how?”
He shrugged. “Word of mouth, I suppose.”
“So second, third, possibly fourth hand news to some barbarian guard who told someone else and you were picked up.”
“Possibly.”
“Not possibly. More than likely, given the circumstances of the war being waged on our realms. Nobody had a list of the empowered that I remember.”
“And so?”
“And so they believe you are empowered but they probably don’t know how or to what extent. If you told them that you grew donkey ears at each full moon they’d probably believe it if you were convincing enough.”
“And kill me for being a useless twot after all.”
“Well, at least then you’ll have died defying them.” Kirin grinned sadly and Clovis felt his spirits lift ever so slightly. “Listen, all you have to do is downplay your skills. Don’t tell them what you’re really capable of if they don’t already know.”
“You speak as though from practice! And if they do know?”
It was Kirin’s turn to shrug. “Then dilute it. Lie through your skills. Bend the truth at every opportunity.”
“Do you know I don’t even know what it is you can do.”
Kirin hesitated.
“The truth,” Clovis urged. “We must trust each other, if not anyone else.”
The young man nodded. “It’s hard to describe. I can see inside people.”
“Inside?”
“If they’re sick I sense what’s wrong,” the younger man said cautiously.
“There’s more, I think?” Clovis prompted.
Kirin sighed. “Their minds. I can, well…enter them sometimes. It’s not easy if they’re closed to me. Some people have the ability to shut themselves off. It’s easier if I can touch them, and at the very least I need to be looking at them. It’s called prying.”
Clovis was stunned into silence. “I’ve only heard that term once. I was told it is impossible,” he finally said.
Kirin shrugged.
“I don’t believe you,” Clovis dismissed.
“I wouldn’t believe me either.”
“People’s minds can’t be read or eavesdropped upon,” Clovis pressed. “Impossible, I say.”
“Then why have a term for it? Actually you’re wrong in your description. Thoughts are like explosions in the mind. I see them ignite, spark into color. Everyone’s different, of course.”
“You’re telling the truth?”
“I have no reason to lie to you. Prying exists but it is very rare. I’ve never encountered anyone else who possesses such a power but I’m sure they exist, no doubt hiding it as I do. I’m originally from Cremond and my parents took me to a sage. She lived on the very tip of the coast—a wild and unforgiving place it was, too.” He saw Clovis frowning in consternation. “Well, anyway, she confirmed that I had the skill to pry. I was only ten summertides then but she gave my parents a chilling warning that my power would be the death of me if I didn’t guard it. She cautioned me that I must keep this power a secret from all and avoid using it ever. I took her warning to heart. We ended up starting a new life in Dregon and so my secret was safe. No one knows the truth but my parents, the sage—who is in all likelihood dead—and now you. The sage said there was more I could do with my abilities but she never explained what, exactly.” Kirin shrugged. “I was never curious enough to ask.”
“Surely?”
“No, I swear it. And the woman told me I’d work it out one day.”
Clovis was genuinely taken aback. He had often caught himself feeling smug about his ability to look into the future, to see things that had the possibility of occurring. It was not precise and it was fraught with the danger of giving the wrong guida
nce but he always proceeded with caution and could honestly say he’d never advised anyone so wrongly that it could come back and bite him. In fact it was his judiciousness and subsequent success through that cautious approach that had earned him his solid reputation as a genuine practitioner. He had heard of prying, obviously, but thought it was akin to the Valisar Enchantment—something people spoke about and yet had never seen any solid proof of. He was sure it had been a Set myth! Perhaps charlatans claimed they had the prying ability but even now, despite the earnestness of Kirin’s words, he doubted it truly existed. Looking inside people just seemed too far-fetched. If he were honest, too, he would admit that it offended his own sense of worth to think that this young man thought he possessed a talent that made Clovis’s fortune telling seem like a circus act!
Kirin must have taken his silence to be apprehension. “I don’t relish this talent but I have been blessed with it by Lo. There’s more to it, though.”
“Even more?”
Kirin grimaced, ignoring the wry comment. “Do you pay a price for your skill?”
Clovis glanced at him quizzically. “The other way around,” he said, smirking. “People pay me.”
“I didn’t mean that. You see if I use my magic simply to do parlor tricks, the effort is minimal. But if I draw upon my true power—prying—I think I lose a bit of myself.”
“What?” Clovis asked, his face clouded with confusion.
“I can’t explain it. Sometimes I can lose time even after a simple ‘trickle.’ Once when I was younger and brash about my talent, using it unwisely, I became very sick.”
“So you can just enter someone’s mind, know what they’re thinking?”
“I have no idea any more. I really don’t make use of it. I haven’t…” Kirin gave a soft gesture of helplessness. “Not in fifteen years or more have I used my full power. It frightened me, as I explained, and still does. I’m scared it will send me mad. The last time I used it without any care I didn’t even know my own name afterward. That sort of repercussion is a great deterrent.”
Again Clovis looked at him with incredulity.
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