“Is Piven the deformed one?” Tolt asked.
“Not deformed. He is simple, that is all. He is a very special child and much beloved,” Freath admonished gently.
“Is he completely trapped by his condition?” Reuth asked. “Perhaps we could use him.”
Freath shook his head. “He is entirely imprisoned. He will be no help to us. He has become the barbarian’s plaything.” At everyone’s immediate distress, Freath held up a hand. “Not in a sexual sense. At present the emperor—as he plans to be known—finds the child intriguing. We believe the eldest child is alive.” A murmur greeted his words. “And he is what this is all about: preserving Leonel’s life, working toward putting him on the throne.”
“Us?” Tolt asked, looking around at the others, pointing at them. “Him…and her, you mean?” he jibed, stabbing a finger toward Hedray. “Me? I don’t even know how to hold a dagger, let alone throw one.”
“No one’s talking about weapons here, young Tolt. We are talking about something infinitely more subtle. Each of you has practical skills. Some in addition possess magic; perhaps one or two of you have untapped potential. Whatever the specific case, you are Vested and you are alive. It is your duty to make those skills and powers available to the crown. Unless you’re happy with the barbarian and how he runs a realm, by all means, take your chances with him.”
“Master Freath,” Reuth began, “I gladly pledge myself to your cause—you don’t even have to ask for my loyalty, to tell the truth, but I do understand Tolt’s confusion. What can our odd little group possibly achieve?”
Freath shook his head. “I don’t know, Reuth. I’ve never organized a rebellion before.” Though the words were honest enough, his tone was dry. “We must do our best, as best we can.”
It was Clovis who asked the most pertinent question. “What now, Master Freath? You cannot hide these people indefinitely.”
“No, I can’t. Father Briar and Genrie are going to find a way to get you all out—one by one if we have to and over several days, depending on how closely we are watched. I mustn’t be seen here again other than in duties for Loethar. He does not trust me so please no one make an error and betray me. Hopefully you all will be gone, save Kirin and Clovis, over the next few days.”
“But to where?” Reuth persisted. “Where can each of us hide or be safe?”
“Scatter,” Freath advised. “Get away from here. Hide your skills entirely. Do not be tempted to earn money from your talents because it is my guess you will be hunted down by Loethar’s people. We have a mark—a tiny blue moon crescent. Ink it onto your skin. Choose a place that is mostly hidden—between the fingers, behind an ear. Somewhere you can bear for a needle to mark your skin and that you can hide from everyday glances, but, that you can also readily show if you need to prove your loyalty.”
Silence greeted his speech. Freath cleared his throat. “I realize there is nothing to stop your simply disappearing, blending in with the rest of the survivors and knuckling down to life under barabarian rule. Nothing, that is, other than the memory of how innocents were slaughtered just a few feet from where you cowered. Nothing, perhaps, other than knowing that your king killed himself in front of the barbarian to prevent Loethar being able to humiliate Penraven further with a public death. Or that the legate whom we have revered for a score of years had his head cleaved in half by the cowardly barbarian during what was supposed to be a parley for peace. Or even that your queen bravely sacrificed her life so that I could keep my cover of traitor and save all of you. There is nothing more I can think of to say to persuade you other than the reminder that somewhere not far away runs a lad, just twelve, who is now king. As long as Leonel remains alive and out of the barbarian’s reach, he is the reigning royal of Penraven. And as long as we have a Valisar king alive, we have something worth fighting for.”
“How do you know he lives?” Kirin asked.
Freath glanced briefly toward Genrie. “I know. You will have to trust me on this.”
“You’ve seen him?” Clovis persisted.
“I saw him escaping the warriors. I know that Loethar is furious that he has not yet been found.”
Father Briar suddenly entered the chamber, a look of urgency on his face. “There’s movement outside. You four should get out of here,” he said to Freath, glancing at Kirin, Clovis and Genrie. “The rest, back into the crawlspace. I will get fresh water to you later.”
Everyone groaned softly.
Freath straightened. “Our time has run out. We will not speak together again like this. Genrie will give you needles and ink for those who wish to take the mark. She will also give each of you a homing pigeon. When you are settled and feel safe, no matter whether you are in the realm or beyond, let your pigeon go. It will find us and tell us where you are. You will hear from us. It may take months, possibly years, but stay strong, stay loyal to the crown. Help us by seeking out other Vested. They will have deeply hidden their talents but some will have escaped the barbarians. Find them, conscript them. Good luck, everyone. Come, Kirin, Clovis. Remember, as far as the barbarians are concerned you are now my servants and you need to act accordingly.”
The pair nodded and followed him. To Genrie Freath cast a backward glance. “Be careful,” he whispered and she nodded, her gaze flicking to Kirin but darkening at his enquiring expression.
The king’s salon was deserted as they passed through the part of the ingress that had been home to them these last few days. Leo didn’t even spare the peepholes a moment of his time, leaving it to Gavriel to steal a glance before hurrying after the retreating back of the king.
Within minutes they were in a part of the ingress they’d not yet explored, although Leo seemed to know his way with confidence. Suddenly he stopped, muttering to himself.
“What’s happening?” Gavriel asked.
Leo’s eyes were screwed closed. “I’m just double checking whether I was supposed to take the second or third turning.”
Gavriel said nothing, hoping the silence would help Leo concentrate on his mental map. He looked around furtively, his eyes picking up by chance another of the distinctive yellow markings. “Leo, look!” he said urgently, holding their candle closer.
“Lo save us! An arrow.”
“Someone wants us to go this way,” Gavriel said, pointing down a very slim corridor.
“I knew we had to turn right. I just wanted to be sure we were in the correct part of the ingress.”
“I guess this confirms it.” Gavriel moved closer to the opening, wondering if his shoulders would even fit through.
“It can’t be a trick, can it?”
Gavriel scoffed. “How? No one else knows of the passages save the Kings and heirs.”
“This ochre chalk worries me.”
“Me too but you’ll just have to imagine it’s white like yours or the charcoal of your father. We have no choice.”
“But who could have drawn it here if not father or myself?”
“One of your predecessors. Why not King Darros?”
Leo laughed lightly. “My grandfather was a huge man. He couldn’t have fitted here. Even so, father told me Darros always used the gray chalk of the Chalcene quarries and my great-grandfather, before you ask, used the pale blue paste made from crushing the sheeca shell from our beaches. The chalk is too fresh for any Valisars further back.”
“Leo, we must trust it. Perhaps your father did this and used a fresh color specifically to guide us here.”
“Why wouldn’t he have told me?” Leo persisted.
“I don’t know,” Gavriel answered, wrestling to keep his tone patient. “I actually don’t care, either. You assure me no one but us know so we must trust it. We are going down here and we’re going to follow the ochre arrows if we find more.”
Leo nodded unhappily and stepped into the small opening. Gavriel followed, feeling instantly twice as claustrophobic as he’d felt in the main corridor. “This is horrible,” he grumbled, eyes peeled for any further clues
in the ochre chalk.
“It should be a short tunnel if my memory of the map serves me. It will open up and we’ll have the choice of two paths. We go left.”
They moved forward in silence. Gavriel had long ago given up trying to work out where they were in relation to the palace layout. As Leo had promised, they came to a choice of paths. Without pausing, the king turned them left.
Gavriel realized they’d stepped up their progress to a trot, both in a hurry now to reach their destination. He calculated they’d been on the move for what must translate to five hundred strides or half a span. They were a long way from the queen’s apartments.
A few minutes later the path, which had been steadily narrowing, reached a blind end.
“Lo’s wrath!” Leo spewed. “I knew it! I knew this was a waste of our time.” He swung around angrily, glaring at Gavriel and throwing down the tiny sack that contained their meager supplies.
Gavriel felt his heart sink.
“The blobs meant dead ends, that’s all,” Leo raged, sliding down the rough wall to sit. “Now we have to go all the way back.”
Gavriel joined him on the floor. “Eat the bread and what’s left of the cheese, Leo. You must be hungry.” He needed to think. Out of habit he passed the light of the candle flame all around him. It was Leo who gasped and suddenly looked up.
“Unbelievable!” he muttered.
Gavriel followed the king’s gaze. Above him was a small opening. “Tell me you can see another arrow behind me,” he said, dryly.
Leo nodded, still amazed.
“Ha!” Gavriel leapt to his feet. “And up we go,” he said, his hand touching the chalked marking. “Come on, I’ll give you a leg up.” He carefully lifted Leo into the hole.
“I can’t see anything,” the king called. “It’s too dark. Sounds big, though.”
“Here, take the candle and our supplies,” Gavriel said, standing on tiptoe. “And move, I’m coming.” He jumped and gripped the opening, using his feet to push off the wall and up higher through the hole. When he was halfway through the hole he stopped, arrested by what he was staring at.
“Strike me!” he murmured.
“A cave? How can that be?” Leo asked, incredulous.
Gavriel pulled himself clear of the hole and stood up carefully. The ceiling was low. He shook his head with wonder. “What is this? Where are we?”
“Is that birdsong?”
Gavriel listened. It was distant but Leo was not mistaken. “I think you’re right. Let’s go.”
They picked their way through the hollow area they’d found themselves in and walked toward the noise.
“So the ochre blob on the map meant the opening through the ceiling of the ingress,” Leo said.
“I don’t think we were in the ingress. The stone of the wall changed texture slightly. I think by the time we met that blind ending, we were already beyond the palace walls.”
“What are you saying?”
“I think the ochre blobs on the map denoted ways of getting into and out of the palace. Secret entrances,” Gavriel said, unable to hide the excitement in his voice. “I think that’s why we hear birdsong, your majesty. I reckon we’re going to come out close to the woods!”
Leo swung around, a disbelieving look on his face. As he turned back around Gavriel felt a soft gust of air ruffle his hair. He and Leo began to laugh. It was true. Freedom beckoned.
Sixteen
Valya was fuming. She hated Dara Negev and her constant condescension. It was obvious that the old hag hated her, which was fine; the feeling was mutual. However, they both loved Loethar. But what was infuriating her so much was that whenever Loethar’s mother was around him—or even in his thoughts—her lover became remote. And she hated that more than she despised Negev. Stracker, meanwhile, made her feel ill to be around and she was glad they had so little to say to each other and even less to do with one another.
For all that she loved Loethar, Valya was increasingly realizing that she barely knew what went on in his mind. All through the battles he had been so focused. He cut a decisive yet patient pathway through to Penraven, never faltering in his desire to conquer the Valisars. The other realms of the Set had simply been the obstacles…the annoying fat he had to cut away to get to the true heartbeat of the Set. And yet she knew deep down that Penraven’s wealth was not Loethar’s motivation; its power had certainly been a driving need, but not his ultimate passion. Nor had the desire to call himself emperor—or anything he pleased, for that matter—given him the impetus to wage war. She had never learned what lay at the base of his motives. Whereas she and Negev—even Stracker—were far more open in their motivations.
Just weeks before, Loethar’s lovemaking had been ferocious and voracious and he had come to her often, so often in fact, that she had begun to consider herself a potential wife. She’d love that title—it would give her the status she craved over Negev. Most importantly she’d be Empress to the Set. Just like Loethar, she had craved Penraven’s downfall the most. In fact—
“Rider coming!” her companion said, interrupting her private thoughts.
She pulled up her horse, a fine roan. “What is it?” she hissed. “I do so wish I could ride alone!”
“Loethar’s orders,” the man said in the same bored tone.
“But why? Why must I have an escort?”
The man looked at her with a vague expression that spoke of tedium. His face bore the distinctive tatua that was distracting enough to hide what his eyes were saying. His tatua was green; one of Stracker’s men, then. “Ask him.”
She gave a sound of exasperation and waited angrily while the rider approached—a Blue this time, the Mear tribe. She didn’t wait for him to address Stracker’s man first. “Why do you seek me?” she demanded.
The new arrival nodded to both of them. “I have been asked to bring you back to the castle,” he said, directly to her.
The petty win pleased her. Every smattering of attention she could win for herself was important. “Why?”
The younger man had ridden fast. He was breathing hard. “Queen Iselda is dead.”
“What?”
“She was flung from the top floor of the castle by the servant.”
“What servant?” she demanded, shocked. “Not Freath?”
The man shrugged. “I think that’s his name.” He grinned at his fellow warrior. “She was splattered all over the courtyard, gray matter oozing from her broken skull.”
“What happened?” Valya suddenly regretted her ride. Now she’d have to learn from others why Iselda had suffered this final humiliation. She wondered if Loethar felt cheated of killing her himself. But then he’d already given her to the colorless and dour manservant for his own pleasures; presumably Loethar had no interest in Iselda. This was good. She’d be damned if she was going to share Loethar with any woman now that she was so close. “Well, hurry up. What do we know?”
“Nothing.” The Blue glanced at the Green.
“Don’t look at him! He wasn’t there either, you fool.”
“Do not insult us,” the Green warned. “He is young and I might be your escort for today but given the choice, neither of us would choose to wait on you. As our leader’s woman we will tolerate you, but do not treat us as though you have any law over us.”
Bravely spoken for a mere foot soldier, Valya thought. She knew it didn’t help her cause to make any more enemies; she was already such an outsider, relying entirely on Loethar’s charity for the small deference his men paid her. “Forgive me,” she conceded, digging deep for the right tone of humility and switching into the language of the Steppes. “I have been under some strain recently. We all have. I worry for Loethar.”
“Don’t,” the Green said. “He is very capable. If he weren’t, he would not be our leader.”
“Of course,” she said, as politely as her fury would permit. “I had hoped to ride a bit longer, though.”
The Blue shook his head. “I was told to fetch you with urg
ency.”
She nodded, her anger barely disguised now. “Lead the way.”
They were surprised to find themselves emerging from a curiously angled cave mouth that required each to help the other climb out. As they drew closer they realized there were several openings above them, from which the soft breeze and the birdsong were filtering through. The entrance itself was relatively small and very well disguised by hanging branches and overgrowing mosses.
Gavriel hauled himself out before reaching down to drag the king from the opening. “We did it, Leo! We’re out!” he said, grinning triumphantly.
Leo nodded ruefully. “You were right to make me listen, Gav. The idea to leave from the rooftops—”
“Was the only option at the time,” Gavriel assured. “It’s all right, Leo. I’m just a coward. I don’t care for heights.”
The youngster grinned. “We’ll have to work on that. Where to now?” he asked.
Gavriel didn’t hesitate. “We need the cover that the forest gives us. It’s broad daylight. We cannot risk being seen.”
“We can make it to the forest in moments if we run hard.”
“Yes, this copse offers only scarce coverage—it’s really just some bushes, isn’t it?”
“Probably grown deliberately to cover the entrance.”
“You’re right,” Gavriel said. “I wonder why your father never told you about it.”
“Because we always believed the kitchens were the way out. You’re sure this isn’t a trap, aren’t you, Gav?”
Gavriel put a hand on the king’s shoulder. “Still worried about the ochre chalk, eh?” The boy nodded. “Don’t be.”
Leo shook his head. “So you’re not suspicious?”
Royal Exile Page 22
