Royal Exile

by Fiona McIntosh

  Freath could hear the screaming in the streets. Mothers were swooning to the ground as precious sons were dragged from their arms. He could hear the pounding of his blood in his ears as his heartbeat soared with fear and his throat became parched. But the ale before him was no respite, tasting sour in his mouth.

  “This can’t be happening,” Kirin said, his lips as bloodless as his suddenly paled complexion.

  “It is happening. We must remain stoic.”

  “Stoic? You’ve nine names on that list. Nine lives. Nine sons of this town.”

  “I can count, Master Kirin,” Freath reprimanded. “I cannot prevent this.”

  “But why are you helping the barbarians?” Kirin demanded. “You led them here, read out the names, assisted in the hunting down of these innocents. Are any of them the boy in question?”

  Freath shook his head. “That’s not the point. You and I both know this is about fear-mongering. They want word of this to spread like fire to other villages, towns, even realms. They want the king to be untouchable. Not only will no one offer protection, Loethar is counting on this brutal tactic to yield the boy sooner rather than later.”

  “But in the meantime hundreds must die…to what, make a point?”

  “Sadly, yes, to make a point. So the Set understands that Emperor Loethar will not be defied.”

  “Well, I won’t be part of it any more. I’m with Clovis. I’d rather die than soil my soul with this.”

  “War is ugly, Master Kirin. And, trust me, we are at war even though the cries of battle have ended and armies no longer march. You and I, Clovis, Genrie, Father Briar…we are all the Set has. If we don’t fight—and, believe me, we are fighting in our own very tiny way—then not just your soul but all our souls are lost.”

  Kirin stared back at him angrily. “So you’re just going to sit here, sip your ale, and allow that monster to behead nine boys in this town? While you do nothing.”

  “I didn’t say I would do nothing. But I am saying to you that these first nine lives are indeed lost. You must pull yourself together. No amount of railing from you can save them.” Freath squeezed Kirin’s hand and although the Vested tried to snatch it away, Freath gripped it firmly. “Now calm yourself. And listen to me.” He removed his hand, laid it back in his lap and took a deep breath. “I want you to travel ahead—go to the town of Berch. There are twenty-two lads eligible for death there. According to our census, one of them, a boy called Tomas Dole, belongs to a large family of ten children. He is destined for slaughter.” He threw a pouch of coins onto the table. “Give this to the boy’s parents.”

  Kirin stared at the leather pouch with dull confusion. “Why?”

  “I’m compensating them for giving us their son.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  “We are going to say that boy is King Leonel. The parents are going to swear to it too. You are going to drug the boy with this,” Freath placed a vial with iridescent blue liquid in it on the table in front of Kirin, “and then you’ll get word to me…so I can behead him.” Freath swallowed hard, surprised he could even say it. Whether he could do it remained to be seen.

  “What?” Kirin roared.

  Freath looked around. They had been left well alone. The innkeeper, knowing they were with the barbarian party, had cleared his inn, poured them each an ale and left. Their isolation suited Freath’s purposes. He had fully anticipated a loud argument with Kirin and he certainly didn’t want bystanders.

  “Stop bellowing. If Stracker or one of his men overhears this, all is lost. Listen, Kirin, this way we relinquish only up to thirty-four lives at worst. If I don’t try this we’ll lose scores across this realm alone. If you help me I can try and stop the killing before it goes much further. The Dole family lives on the fringe of the forest. It will sound plausible that Leonel was found there.”

  “But the child…” Kirin bleated, all the fight gone out of him.

  “I know, I know,” Freath soothed. “But his life is forfeit already. With his death he will save countless others—and he’ll also protect our king.”

  “How will you convince Loethar that the boy is King Leonel?”

  “Not that many people knew Leonel outside of the palace and I took the precaution of removing the only painting we had of him. Loethar might have seen the cross-stitch rendition that the queen made for her bed cushion but really all that gives Loethar—if he’s seen it—is a very rough likeness. The queen used to have a pendant that had a very good likeness of Leonel painted on it but she told me she’d lost that many moons ago.” He frowned, recalling her sadness at her carelessness. “Anyway, providing Tomas Dole is sandy haired, or golden haired…fair, in other words, we can pull this off. If he has dark hair, we don’t go ahead and we try again with a new family. I have another marked as a potential just in case.”

  “This is so thin, Freath. It won’t work.”

  “You’re the one demanding I try to stop the killing. I am trying.”

  “And if we fail?”

  “Then we go to our deaths knowing we did all we could to preserve the Valisar line, and that we risked all to stop the taking of innocent lives. Remember, Loethar just wants Leonel’s death. He doesn’t care about these boys. I’m sure he’d prefer not to be taking this action—not because he’s squeamish or feels anything for these people, but because it’s a nuisance. He wants to get on with ruling and to do that he needs the Set people compliant. This killing spree will set his timing back. So if we give him what he believes is the king’s head, he’s going to be content and the killing will stop. So will the hunt for our king. We just have to be convincing.”

  “Who knows of this plan?”

  “Everyone who needs to. Most of the palace staff died in the initial storming of Brighthelm. Loethar has been running the palace on very few staff, as you know. The ones who matter, who come into contact with Loethar, I have on our side. They know about this plan and will support the false identity.”

  Kirin pushed his chair back and stood. The chair fell over in a loud clatter but Freath waited for the man of magic to reach his decision. He had pushed him hard enough. It was up to Kirin now. The Vested began to pace. The silence between them was shattered with the shrieking that they’d managed to drown out with their own talk and anxiety.

  Freath glanced out the window and saw a youth’s head hacked from his shoulders. The body slumped forward slowly, almost sorrowfully, as Stracker picked up the head and tossed it to a waiting Green. Freath felt the bile rise in his throat as the family’s screams rose in unison. He closed his eyes to banish the image as Kirin ran from the room, obviously having witnessed the murder himself. Minutes passed as the heartbreaking wails of men, women and boys rang through the village square. Freath kept his eyes tightly shut, his mind closed to the sounds, even though he knew his ears were hearing them.

  He finally heard Kirin return and then a jingle as the Vested picked up the pouch of coins. Opening his eyes, he saw the man wiping his wet lips with his sleeves. He’d been weeping too. He looked sweaty, and understandably shaken. “What will you tell Stracker?” Kirin said coldly.

  Freath shrugged. “That I’m using you as a spy. He believes you have weak magical ability—I’m going to tell him we’re putting your skills to good use, seeking out who lies.”

  “Will he believe you?”

  “He is immersed in a blood lust, Master Kirin. I don’t believe much is registering at all right now. Now go.”

  “And you?”

  “I must go out there and check that only nine boys have been killed. Make this work, Master Kirin. I shall see you in Berch in two days.”

  The blindfolds were removed and they were suddenly squinting into daylight. They stood in a small clearing.

  “Is it me or is it hard to breathe?” Gavriel wondered, clutching his arm.

  “You’ll have to get used to it. Some people suffer more than others at this height,” Faris said.

  Around them enormous trees encircled them in a
natural amphitheater. In those trees Leo spotted a remarkable network of timber structures. “You live in the trees?” Leo asked, unable to hide his awe.

  Faris nodded. “Gives us a view in all directions. We saw you coming—or should I say blundering—from miles away.”

  Lily made a sound of exasperation. “Well done,” she said sarcastically.

  This drew a fleeting grin from Faris. “But you’re a good guide, Lily. You took a very direct path.”

  She folded her arms and looked away from him, pretending to take in her surrounds.

  He seemed to enjoy baiting her. “Why don’t you go and tend to your lover’s wounds while I—”

  The three companions protested in unison.

  Faris held up a hand and they silenced. “Well, well, that touched a nerve. You can’t blame me. You acted very concerned,” he said, shrugging at Lily.

  Leo’s eyes narrowed when he noticed the smirk on Gavriel’s mouth. “We travel together,” he said, as firmly as he could. “We have no secrets.”

  “Are you sure about that?” Faris said, glancing across at the other two. “It’s best you are attached, Lily, for my men have not seen a woman in several moons.”

  Leo felt his cheeks burn. He hated himself for being so young and, worse, for realizing his feelings must be obvious even to a stranger.

  Lily ignored Faris’s barbs. “Why don’t you show your king some respect,” she demanded.

  “Because I’m not yet sure he is the king,” Faris answered softly.

  “You know he is,” Gavriel pressed. “I saw it in your face when he mentioned the sword. No one other than those close to the royals would know its regal name…the name only the Valisars use.”

  Faris pointed to a huge old tree stump. Stools had been placed around it. “Welcome to my dining table,” he said. “Oli, get them some food and ale, would you?” He turned back to his guests. “You all look very hungry,” he admitted.

  “We don’t need your food, Faris. The king wants to talk with you,” Lily said, scowling.

  Faris leaned back and regarded Leo. “So talk.”

  “What do you want to know first?” Leo asked, glancing at Gavriel.

  “We tell him everything. It’s why we’re here,” Gavriel urged. “Go on, start from the beginning, Leo.”

  He did. He spared the outlaw no detail. He didn’t care how it hurt Gavriel to hear his father’s death described again, or that his own eyes glistened when he described Brennus’s suicide, or that they welled when he told Faris of how his mother perished. But he did not weep—he refused the tears, as he had promised himself he would. He kept talking, his voice steady, getting angrier as his story built. “…and Lily agreed to guide us north,” he finished.

  Silence engulfed them. Lily looked shocked to hear the grisly details they’d tried to spare her. All the while he’d been talking, the outlaws had gathered, sat down quietly and listened to the torrid tale of siege, imprisonment and then audacious escape into the forest.

  Faris had sat very still throughout the story, his chin resting on his linked hands, elbows on his knees. Leo knew the outlaw had been watching him very carefully, no doubt looking for signs of deceit. But he had spoken only truth. Now it was up to Faris.

  “And what made you think of me?” the outlaw finally said.

  Leo shook his head. “I honestly don’t know why your name came to mind but it did. I’d heard my father and the legate talking about you often. You were a nuisance to them.” Faris nodded, but said nothing. “Not long before we were invaded they’d begun talking about you a lot more often. I was permitted to hear these private discussions, although I did not join in, obviously. But I realize I was paying a lot more attention than I thought. And I suppose if I try and work out why you did come in to my head it’s because I figured you have the most to lose by my father’s—and thus perhaps my—not being on the throne.”

  “How so?”

  Leo blew out his cheeks, slightly embarrassed. His plan had always been based on the very brave assumption that the outlaws preferred the enemy they knew rather than one they didn’t. But now a fresh thought occurred to him. “I believe my father tolerated you. I seem to recall that Regor De Vis offered many times to send men to hunt you down. He always seemed frustrated by my father’s reluctance to put the weight of the Penraven army against you.”

  “Is that so?”

  Gavriel nodded. “You’re right, Leo. My father used to complain that for all the king’s ruthlessness he was surprisingly lenient with the famous outlaw of the north.”

  Leo regarded Faris, held the hazel-eyed stare. “I think my father—unbelievable though it seems—indulged you.”

  “But surely we were sworn enemies?” Faris offered softly.

  Leo shook his head slowly. “Only publicly. I think privately my father saw you as the opposite. Possibly he even admired you.”

  “No, Leo,” Gavriel broke in. “My father hated that this man stole so much from crown monies. And although the king was generous to all his people, I don’t think he would admire any thief.”

  But finally the piece of the jigsaw Leo had been searching for fitted neatly into place. “You’ve met my father, haven’t you? That’s how you have Faeroe. Something was exchanged, a bargain reached. He turned as much of a blind eye to your wicked deeds as possible and in return you’ve given him something. What is it? What did you give my father?”

  “I gave him nothing,” Faris replied.

  Leo rocked back. “But you admit you’ve met one another?”

  Faris nodded. “Four moons ago.”

  The man called Oli arrived bearing a large cloth by its four corners which, when he undid it across the tree stump, revealed a small array of food. “No ale, Kilt,” he said, “but Tern’s bringing some watered wine.” Faris nodded. He looked at the newcomers. “Rough fare, I’m afraid, for people used to much finer.”

  “Is this raw?” Lily asked, picking up a piece of dried meat.

  “Cured. We light as few fires as possible,” Faris explained. “You’ll get used to it,” he added, flashing her a tight, brief smile.

  Gavriel reached for a hard biscuit instead. “We appreciate this,” he said.

  Leo had no appetite, even though he knew he’d been hungry not so long ago. “Why did you and my father meet?”

  Faris looked over his shoulder. He muttered something to Jewd and the huge man strode away.

  “I will explain. But first, tell me about Faeroe.”

  Leo loved the story attached to the sword and didn’t hesitate to re-tell it. “Faeroe belonged to Cormoron, first king of the Valisars. It was said to have been forged by the last of the great Tiranamen weaponmakers of the Canuck Islands. It was forged out of three secret metals and the beautiful design on the hilt was crafted in silver by the smiths of Dornen. I’d love to tell you it has magical abilities, but it is simply a sword. A very beautiful one, of course, that probably claimed many lives down the ages.”

  “There is a spiritual element attached to it, though,” Faris pressed.

  “You refer to the snake on the hilt. That represents the mythical serpent-woman who is said to have appeared to Cormoron at Lackmarin on the Stone of Truth.”

  “Wait!” Gavriel interrupted. “We talked about this not so long ago and you claimed to know little of the ancient story.”

  Leo felt abashed. “I feel badly about that. It’s habit, Gav.” He shrugged. “My father taught me everything he knew about Cormoron, everything he’d learned from my grandfather and his father before him. It was meant to be passed privately down the generations. It surprised me that you knew even as much as you did.”

  “But Corb and I learned it from our father,” Gavriel said, looking wounded.

  Leo nodded. “I’m sorry, Gav. I didn’t know. I was following a promise I’d given the king. Doesn’t mean I didn’t enjoy talking about it with you, though.”

  “But now it’s all right to tell Faris, Lily, all of these men, I suppose?”

/>   Leo could feel his friend’s hurt. This must feel a bit like betrayal after all they’d been through together. He hated secrets but he had been raised in a family of them. “This is a time for sharing. And apparently I’m king now,” he said, hoping to lighten the mood, “so I can choose with whom I share it.”

  Faris stared at them both with a look of mirth. “And?” he said, obviously trying to bring Leo’s attention back to the specially wrought hilt on Faeroe. “The serpent?”

  Leo had no choice but to ignore Gavriel’s glare and continue. “The serpent appeared to Cormoron and accepted his blood oath. The story goes that it granted him the fabled Valisar magic, of which I’ve never seen any indication in my immediate family.”

  “But you admit magic is attached to this sword,” Faris insisted.

  “Only by association,” Leo said, a weariness creeping into his voice. “It is a warrior’s sword. It kills as it is meant to. It uses no special powers but the skills of the man who wields it. Which is why I find it strange—offensive, even—that you have it strapped to your hip. That sword belongs to me now that my father is dead.”

  Jewd returned to the group, placing something in Faris’s hand.

  Lily spoke up. “If it’s just a sword, don’t worry about it, your highness. You have bigger things with which to concern yourself than what this outlaw has stolen from your father.”

  “I did not steal the sword,” Faris replied, indignation in his tone.

  “Then what are you doing with it?” Gavriel demanded. “It’s a relic of the Valisars. It belongs to the king and the king sits before you. Do you still refuse to believe he tells the truth?”

  “No, I do believe him.”

  Leo breathed in, relieved.

  “What—?” Gavriel said, astonished.

  “Well, firstly, you,” Faris said, nodding at Gavriel, “look hauntingly like Regor De Vis. There is no question that you are his son. Which of them I can’t be sure but I’ll take your word as an honorable man that you are the one called Gavriel.”