“Don’t dash their hopes, Kilt Faris.” Lily spoke up. “These two young men are our future. We have a king. Your men are the army that will rise from the ashes of the barbarian destruction.”
Faris stopped. “Er, let me stop you there. I have nothing to do with uprising, rebellion or thoughts of re-creating the splendor of the Valisar dynasty.” He took them all into his gaze and Gavriel could see he wanted none of them to get any mistaken impressions of his motivations.
“This is about money, is it?” Gavriel said.
“I am not Brennus. He had reason to preserve his line. My reasons are quite different but no more selfish than his. Let me say this. King Brennus visited me purely out of self-interest. This was not about you personally, Leo, though I hate to say it. No matter how much your father loved you, this was as much about greed for him too.”
“Now wait a—”
“No, let him finish, Gav,” Leo said, holding up a hand. “It’s best we all understand one another.”
“Thank you, majesty,” Faris said. “This seems as good a place as any to rest momentarily. Jewd, check that all is safe, would you? Tern, follow suit.” As the men loped off, Faris returned his attention to Leo, Gavriel and Lily. “We’ve made very good time. You certainly seem very committed and determined. I think it’s wise we have this conversation now.”
“Go ahead,” Leo said. Gavriel realized that the youngster he had become nursemaid to just days previous had already aged years. And it will need to continue if we’re going to survive, he thought grimly. Most importantly, Leo seemed ready to hear the truth…the secret that had been entrusted to Gavriel by Brennus. He would tell him as soon as they were alone.
“Your father had the preparedness to look into the future,” Faris was saying. “He took note of the angry wind blowing from the east, and he moved to protect his most valuable possession. It was not his realm’s gold, it was not his city, it was not his people, it wasn’t even you, Leo…or your family.” Gavriel watched the young king’s lips thin at this. “It was something far less tangible than any of those possessions. The single most important aspect of Penraven life to your father was the name Valisar, and the fact that a Valisar had sat the throne, and was figurehead for the whole Set, for so many centuries. He was determined the dynasty would not end with him. And so, for very selfish reasons that had nothing to do with self-preservation, he came to see me. He did love you—of this there is no doubt—but he loved his heritage, his history, his whole reason for being and his sense of duty much, much more, Leo. And because he had produced an heir he was not going to relinquish the right to put the 9th king of Valisar on the throne. Brennus aimed to pass crown, sword and throne—everything that was won by Cormoron all those centuries ago—to you, Leo. You see, he was equally as selfish as you accuse me of being.”
Leo regarded Faris gravely. “You want to see my father’s approach as purely one of self-interest. I prefer to think of it as his desire for the realm—for the good of the people.”
Faris didn’t bat an eyelid at the youngster’s admonishment. “Life is very much from the perspective from where you view it. However, Brennus knew the might of the barbarian’s driving need to conquer, and he decided he needed time. Time for his next child to be born, time for a bargain to be struck to preserve the life of his heir, time to organize a plan. The blood of the other realms bought him that time.”
Leo stood, disgusted. “This is rubbish, Faris. I won’t hear another word spoken against my father like this.”
“Why would I lie?” Faris replied. “Brennus admitted that the Set could not win the war unless everyone banded together. He said—and this is no lie, I give you my oath—that he had to make an ugly choice between saving the Valisar crown and saving the Set, reasoning that the chances of Leonel’s survival—with the right help—were better than the Set’s chances against the marauders.”
“Do you honestly believe, Faris, that the king would not have aired this plan—this ‘ugly decision,’ as you call it—to his closest friend, companion, adviser and commander of his army?”
“I’m telling you that’s exactly what he did.” Gavriel glared at him as Faris continued. “I’m sorry if I’m hurting anyone’s feelings here but I speak only truth. The king came here in disguise, having deliberately slipped away not only from Brighthelm but from his legate. He meant to keep his decision secret. I was the only person he shared it with.”
“You know how ridiculous that sounds, don’t you?” Gavriel replied, getting up and readying himself to leave. He’d had enough of this conversation and hated to think of what it might be doing to Leo’s fragile state of mind. “Why would the king tell a renowned thief—an outlaw—his darkest secret?”
“Because it was safe with me. Because it meant nothing to me and he needed an ally. Don’t you see? I had no reason to use it against him. Affairs of the realm are of no interest to my sort. What’s more, he believed that if his plan needed to be activated it would mean that everyone who mattered, including himself, was already dead. And as you say, I’m the last person anyone would think of as an accomplice to the king.” He turned around, spoke directly to Leo. “Your majesty?”
“Call me Leo,” the king said.
“Do you still believe I’m making this all up?”
“I know you’re not,” Leo replied, surprising Gavriel. “This sounds exactly how my father’s mind works. He would not have given you Faeroe, I’m sure, without reaching an agreement with you.”
“Thank you,” Faris said, eyeing Gavriel. “Shall we go?” At his soft whistle, his men melted out of the darkened woodland. They nodded to him. Jewd nodded to Faris, who pronounced, “All’s quiet and safe. We can proceed.”
“I hope that’s the last of your surprises,” Lily muttered as she pushed past Faris.
“Who said he told me only one secret?” Faris quipped but no one appreciated his jest and his lightheartedness was stolidly ignored.
Freath composed himself. He stood outside the oak door of one of the small halls of Brighthelm, where Genrie, on his orders and with the help of some of the barbarians, had organized a hasty fire. In late summertide, although the evenings were still mild, some of the unused chambers were cold and stale smelling.
Though his mind was ragged, he took a deep breath and knocked before entering.
“My lord,” he said, bowing politely. “I’m sorry if this chamber is not ideal. I know it hasn’t been aired in a long time.”
“It’s fine, Freath. Genrie threw some herbs on the flames and stuck a few acorns in the kindling. No one is complaining.”
Freath smiled politely, tightly. “Is there anything else I can do for you, my lord?” he offered, making a point of looking around the room at the women who had made themselves comfortable in the large chairs around the fire. Stracker was nowhere to be seen…probably happier in the barracks with his men. “Genrie will organize some food, which I presume you would like served in this chamber?”
“You both need some help around here, don’t you?” Loethar drew Freath away from the women in a casual move that the aide nonetheless noticed.
“Brighthelm ran on a fairly modest team of thirty staff in the royal rooms, including the kitchens and infirmary. We had in addition gardeners and all manner of outdoor workers, which would have swelled that base to perhaps twice as many. I presume you plan to make Penraven your imperial seat, my lord. And if Brighthelm is to be the main palace for you and the new empress,” he said, nodding politely toward Valya, “then I think adding some manpower would allow us to serve you properly and in the custom an emperor should be. After all, Brighthelm will be the standard by which all will judge you, my lord.” He dropped his voice. “I mean absolutely no disrespect when I say that I presume you will want to blend into the Set quickly.”
“What makes you say that?”
Freath had judged the man based on his new appearance, but he quickly came up with a more diplomatic response. “It will be easier to rule and win the Se
t’s complicity—if not its complete trust—by changing as little as possible in the early days. I suspect, my lord, you want to be done with war and disruption now, to get on quickly with settling all the realms into a new way of life. It will be easiest to do this under an emperor who is not so very far from their previous way of life. You will give people fewer reasons to rebel.”
“There will always be pockets of rebellion, Freath.”
“I agree. But now that your only real threat has been dealt with, my lord, if life can quickly get back to normal—if you can establish some measure of understanding between yourself and the noble families in the other realms, for example—they will lead by example and you will find it much easier to convince the people of your intentions. War is barbaric, no matter by whom or how it is perpetrated. I’m sure King Cormoron would frighten the living daylights out of most people today. They say he smeared the blood of every person he killed, over himself.”
Loethar actually laughed out loud, taking Freath by surprise. “I’m impressed with you, Freath.”
Freath kept his expression unchanged. “I am here to serve, my lord. I promised you that from the outset.”
“I haven’t trusted you but I think tonight you’ve earned my favor.”
A spark of triumph flared in Freath’s gut but he was careful not to reflect it in his stony expression. “I’m glad, my lord.”
“I want your ideas on how we must approach this blending you speak of. I do not wish the people of the Set to wrongly presume that the people of the Likurian Steppes are somehow inferior because of their more simple way of living. And although it is important, strategically, for me to make the transition for the Set as easy as possible, it is equally important that the Steppes’ culture be appreciated.”
“I couldn’t agree more, my lord. But my counsel would be to let this happen gradually. As they say, water dripping on stone is just as powerful as a hammer…but it’s a smoother path.”
Again Loethar grinned. “Wise counsel. I will discuss this with you further, Freath. We shall arrange a meeting of all the noble families in Penraven, perhaps organize some festivals to lighten the tensions. In the meantime, I give you authority to re-staff the palace to the degree you consider appropriate.”
“Very good, my lord.”
“I would consider it appropriate to have some Steppes people employed too, Freath. Stracker is organizing for some of the men’s women and families to enter Penraven. Perhaps you could talk about this with him. The women will want to work.”
“Will they feel comfortable taking instructions from a Penravian?”
“Their empress is a westerner. They’ll have to get used to it,” Loethar replied, although Freath guessed he had other, more shaded reasons for infiltrating the staff of Brighthelm with barbarian women.
“Then it will be done, my lord. I shall have Genrie serve your food now, if you’ll excuse me?”
Loethar nodded. “You’ve earned some rest, Freath. I won’t be needing you any more tonight.”
Freath bowed. “Your salon has been cleaned and refreshed, my lord. I trusted it was all right to leave your raven alone on the perch, er, which reminds me, I haven’t seen Piven around this evening. Is he—”
Loethar’s brow furrowed. “Yes. I haven’t had a chance to talk to you about him this evening.”
Freath noticed that the emperor looked suddenly thoughtful and worry clenched in his gut. “I do hope he hasn’t upset anyone, my lord? Piven has no ability to judge anyone’s feelings. We aren’t even sure he experiences many of them himself. He is a gentle soul who means no one any harm and gives great affection to all.”
“You seem awfully concerned for this Valisar child, Freath.”
“I was fond of Piven simply because he, a commoner and one so disabled, managed to infiltrate the royals, win their hearts. But he is as happy in the company of Kings as he is with your raven, my lord. He is not discerning at all and I rather liked that,” Freath lied, wondering whether his weak explanation was having any effect, for Loethar’s expression remained unimpressed.
“A bit like a kindred spirit, do you mean?”
“Not exactly, although the fact that he was an orphan made him a favorite with the staff. I found it easier to like Piven simply because he was not Valisar.”
“Should I let him join his brother in death?”
Freath shrugged, forcing down the re-emerging knot of fear. “I would not hesitate if you asked it of me, my lord,” he said, answering Loethar’s question, hoping it sounded convincing, praying it would never come to it.
Loethar made a gesture of indifference. “An empty question, Freath. The fact is, I have lost Piven.”
Freath managed with great effort to stop his repeating Loethar’s words with awed horror. So this is what had made the barbarian so angry tonight. “Er, I see. Is that a problem for you?” he asked, deliberately adopting a callous tone, as his mind scrambled for answers as to where Piven might have gone.
“Are you suggesting I should just let him go?”
“I’m trying to gauge how much he means to you, my lord, that’s all.”
He was surprised to see Loethar falter.
“I, I’m not sure. My raven hates people. I think he only tolerates me because I raised him from a chick. However, he has developed some affinity with Piven. I don’t understand it. I don’t really understand either of them but somehow I find both of them comforting…for their silent companionship, if nothing else.”
“Then we must find him for you. Where did you last see him?” he said, holding his breath.
“I took him out with me to the herb gardens, where the sun dial is.” Loethar explained.
Freath nodded. “He would have recognized it to some extent. His mother took him there often.”
“I was speaking with Dara Negev and let Piven off his leash. Minutes later we received the urgent message from Stracker and I hurried to take it directly from the messenger. My mother followed and we both forgot about the boy. Predictably he wandered off.”
As Loethar explained, Freath tried to look sympathetic, when all he could really think about was the wolves and wild creatures that roamed the forest.
“He won’t last long even in the nearby woodland, my lord. Piven has no ability to support himself.”
“I understand. Can you organize a search party?”
“At once, my lord. Let me do that now.”
“What are you both whispering about over there?” Dara Negev demanded. It was obvious the women had exhausted what little polite conversation they had.
“Nothing, mother. Do it, Freath. Keep me informed.”
Freath fled. Kirin would have to wait a bit longer. Piven had to be found!
The search party, including Freath, Father Briar and an assortment of others, set out with torches. Freath organized for them to radiate from the herb garden in various directions toward the low woodland.
It wasn’t long before Loethar joined the search but the barbarian’s presence made little difference. After three long hours, by which they were into the dead of night, even he decided that the little boy was gone.
Freath finally said what he knew to be true. “He wouldn’t necessarily answer our calls anyway. He may know his name,” he said, shrugging. He knew Piven did at times recognize the sound of his name but he was contrary. “But he’s less obedient than a dog to tell the truth.”
“I should never have taken him off the leash!” Loethar berated himself.
“It’s likely he’s curled up sleeping somewhere,” Father Briar offered.
“We shall have to try again as soon as dawn breaks,” Freath said. Then, hoping to rub salt in the barbarian’s open wound, he added, “He’ll be cold, hungry, probably—”
A shout went up and Loethar spun around. A Blue warrior pounded up, holding out something in his hand.
“The collar,” Loethar said, disgusted. “Where did you find it?”
The Blue pointed. “About ninety steps into the w
ood from where that huge forked tree is, my lord,” he said.
“Is Piven capable of taking this off himself?” Loethar asked Freath. “The buckle is not easy to manipulate, especially when you can’t see it.”
Freath was baffled. “And especially when his small fingers don’t even understand what they’re supposed to do.” He frowned. “I wouldn’t have thought so, no.” He instantly wished he hadn’t aired that notion because Loethar leapt upon it.
“So someone’s helped him!”
“I doubt—” Freath began, but was cut off by Loethar.
“Where is Stracker?”
A Red stepped forward. “I can fetch him. He was at the barracks, I think.”
“Get him,” Loethar growled. He turned back to Freath. “It’s one thing to parade the disabled child of the Valisars on a leash. It’s another to have him running free. People may get ideas.”
“But, my lord, he is not even Valisar. I don’t think you have to worry—”
“He is a symbol, Freath. And sometimes people will cling to the thinnest strands of hope. Anyone hatching plans of a fightback might clutch at the idea of Piven, now that Leonel is dead. As far as the people go he has the Valisar glow about him.”
“No, my lord,” Freath replied, fighting to keep his voice calm, his tone as indifferent as possible. “I don’t think you should waste your time on Piven. Let him go. He’ll die out in the woods sooner than you can possibly imagine—if he’s not attacked by a wild animal, he’ll perish from thirst or starvation. He has no defenses, no idea how to even sustain himself. Who will help him? The people of Penraven have been swamped by refugees from the other realms. Everyone has lost loved ones, people are barely functioning, the whole realm is in disarray. That’s where your attention should be focused. Piven is seven, disabled to the point of not even functioning at the level of a trained dog, and he is not blood. People were fond of him, yes. But would they rally behind an orphan halfwit? No, my lord, I can assure you they would not.”
Royal Exile Page 37
