Royal Exile

by Fiona McIntosh

  “Drop you,” came the answer.

  Faris scaled halfway down the tree and then leapt. Jewd broke his drop, cushioned the landing.

  “They’ve got him,” Faris said to his companion, scowling.

  “Did you think they wouldn’t?”

  Faris shook his head with frustration. “To his credit he did everything right. He remained utterly still, tried his best to blend back into the forest, remained upwind of the beasts and then mercifully ran away from us.”

  “Not bad for a city boy.”

  The head of the outlaw gang regarded his giant friend ruefully. “They’ll kill him, Jewd.”

  The big man shrugged. “He’s an idiot. Idiots don’t deserve to live.”

  Faris walked on. “I could reel off a dozen or more idiotic events from our own early years that I’m sure you don’t wish to be reminded of.”

  “Yes, but we survived them.”

  “My point entirely. We,” Faris emphasized. “De Vis has no one to look out for him. He has done a mighty job in keeping the young king safe thus far. He got him all the way here on his own, with nothing more than a sword at his hip and a bow around his chest. Come on, Jewd. De Vis is impressive and King Brennus was right to entrust the heir to him.”

  “I didn’t say he wasn’t impressive. I said he’s an idiot.”

  “We all were at his age,” Faris persisted, giving his friend a glance of admonishment. “He’s just seventeen. His king is twelve. Lo’s wrath, what a pair. Imagine them in another ten!”

  “The new legate won’t make it to that age, methinks.”

  Faris halted, turning on his huge partner. “He won’t, unless we help him.”

  Jewd sighed. “Why did I know you were going to say that?”

  “Because you know the promise I gave King Brennus.”

  “That was about the heir, not De Vis.”

  “When you say the name De Vis you might as well say Valisar. Brennus would expect us to include either of the twins in our ring of protection.”

  “Why did I know you were going to say that as well?” Jewd grumbled loudly.

  “Because you know me.”

  “More like because I know you want to impress the woman and she’ll likely kill you if you don’t agree to go after him.”

  “Ah, you saw through my thinly veiled plot, then?”

  “Rescue the boy, bed the girl, it’s rather obvious, don’t you think, Kilt…even for your simple mind to hatch?”

  Faris grinned, even though he was feeling a genuine clench of fear for Gavriel. The bravado helped him remain optimistic for the youngster. “When I get him back, I’m going to kill him myself, I think.”

  “I’ll leave you to explain that to her, then.”

  Faris sighed. He knew he could count on Jewd—the big man had been there for him practically since they started walking, large and strong, ever prepared to follow him right into the dangers he had always managed to find. “Right. Get Tern to track the barbarians. You go back as far as you need to. Use arrows as soon as you can to signal the men—we’ll need eight of our boys, I reckon.”

  “Any more people and you might as well bring instruments and play a rousing tune to herald your way in,” Jewd said dryly.

  Though Faris normally relished Jewd’s humor, he was too annoyed about the unnecessary rescue mission to laugh. “I’ll meet you back here. I’ve got to get the king to swear his oath this evening, no matter what’s going on with De Vis.”

  Jewd nodded. “I’m on my way. I’ll be back tomorrow.”

  “I hope we’ll be in time.”

  “Kilt, you know they’ll hurt him.”

  Faris’s brow furrowed deeper. He nodded. “I just have to hope he can hold on. Go, Jewd. Hurry.”

  The huge man loped off, running higher into the forest, heading west. Faris turned back toward Lackmarin and the unpleasant task of telling Leo and Lily what had occurred.

  He found them pacing restlessly. As soon as he emerged from the surrounding oaks, they ran up to him both telling him what he already knew: that Gavriel had disappeared.

  “I know,” he replied when they’d finally stopped talking at him.

  “Where is he?” Leo asked, sounding relieved, scanning the trees behind Faris.

  Lily quietly watched him and he could see in her eyes that she knew he brought only bad news. She said nothing, waiting for him to work out how best to deliver it.

  To try and dilute the danger Gavriel was in would be to underestimate the young king—and insult him, considering the traumas he had already witnessed, survived, and buried somewhere. “He stumbled into the path of three of Loethar’s warriors. He did his best to hide, and almost got away with it, but they saw him, ran him down.” Leo’s mouth dropped open, while Lily’s face drained of color. Faris turned to Tern. “Track them,” he ordered. “When you know where they camp, come back and let me know. I’ll be staying here for now. Jewd’s gone back.” The man nodded and melted away as though he had never been among them.

  Lily looked at Faris, astonished. “And you’re staying here? What does that mean?”

  “Someone has to watch over you two,” Faris replied, sensing accusation in the words she wasn’t saying.

  “Was he hurt?” Leo asked.

  “I can’t tell. He fell heavily. He was motionless when they picked him up. They put him over a horse.”

  He watched Leo take a slow breath, admired the youngster all the more for his stillness. “Is he dead?”

  “I doubt it. They wouldn’t bother with a corpse.”

  “What if they know who he is? They may want to take his body back to Penraven.”

  “They may but again I don’t think so. They stumbled upon him. They were not looking for him. These were barbarian posts, that’s all. We’ve been aware of them for some time. They had been left there to keep guard of the low-lying areas of the forest, where it turns to the woodland that fringes the towns and villages. They’re looking for people trying to move into the forest, not those running out of it. And Gavriel was certainly headed out of it.”

  “He’s such an idiot!” Lily exclaimed.

  “My thoughts exactly,” Faris said, watching her carefully.

  Leo rushed to his friend’s defense. “He was upset. You forget Gavriel had to watch his father brutally killed. And his twin brother has disappeared without a trace. Those two were inseparable but I’ve never heard Gav complain. In fact all he’s done is look after me. He’s not an idiot, he’s just…” Leo didn’t know what to say, it seemed.

  “Impulsive,” Faris suggested. “The point is he’s put himself into tremendous peril.” He scratched his head beneath his longish dark hair.

  “You are going to help him, aren’t you, Kilt?” Lily said.

  Hearing her say his name for the first time felt odd, but nice. “Tern is tracking them. Jewd has already gone back to alert the men. He—”

  “Back?” she quizzed, alarmed. “That will take too long.”

  “Not necessarily. Jewd has his ways.” And as she opened her mouth to protest again, he raised a hand. “Trust me.” He looked up at Leo. “Your majesty, I’m here to keep my promise to your father, to ensure that you take your oath at the stone as all your predecessors have.”

  Leo looked surprised. “I’d rather go after Gavriel,” he said, looking between Lily and Faris. “My oath can wait.”

  “No, it cannot, highness,” Faris assured. “I know you’d rather find your friend but we’re already following him and my men will get word to me as soon as he’s found. Right now he’s unconscious and on horseback. These men are truly dangerous—I’m sure you know that?” Leo nodded. “It would be unwise for us to underestimate their fighting capability. For now Gavriel is a stranger to them, a lone man travelling on foot. They have no idea that we are watching them, nor will they until I make a move. And I will not run in blindly without a plan.”

  “So you are going after him?” Lily persisted.

  “I don’t intend to leave
him to the barbarians, no,” Faris replied. As both of them looked relieved, he added, “As for food, it’s more of the same, I’m afraid. De Vis made sure there was no rabbit hunting achieved this morning.”

  “We’ll live,” Lily said, giving him a shy smile and thrilling him by laying a hand against his chest. “Thank you for helping him,” she added.

  Faris wanted to say something facetious but his throat was too dry. Jewd was right. He did want Lily. She intrigued him. He also realized that Lily intrigued De Vis and if his senses were serving him right, the young Valisar appeared smitten by her too. He sighed. Was pursuing her really worth the inevitable problems? He dwelled for a second longer than he meant to on her dark blue eyes before realizing he was staring. Clearing his throat, he looked away, glancing over at the king to cover his embarrassment. But Leo had not missed the lingering gaze and turned away, seemingly angry.

  “I’m going to gather up some cloudberries,” the king said but Faris knew he was covering his unhappiness.

  “Don’t go far,” he replied, just as Lily said, “Stay nearby,” but Leo ignored them both, stomping into the woods.

  Twenty-Eight

  Sergius had listened carefully to everything the bird had told him. He had remained silent, hunched over his scrubbed table through the recounting of what had been happening at Brighthelm. When Ravan finished the man sat back and took a long breath. And they found the collar, they’ve fallen for your trap?

  Yes. But we must not underestimate Loethar.

  Sergius nodded. That would be a grave error, he replied. He gave a short mirthless grin. Loethar is clearly a man of strong emotions.

  He doesn’t show them, Ravan reminded.

  No, but he feels them and his decision to conquer the Set, humiliate Penraven, has been relentless and brutal.

  The raven stretched his wings, shuddered slightly. I will be missed.

  You’re going?

  You know I must.

  What a strange and lonely life I lead, the man remarked, sighing, stretching like his friend.

  How old are you, Sergius?

  Too old. I’ve lost count of the years.

  No, you haven’t. I deserve to know. I do your bidding—I’ve never questioned it—and yet I hardly know anything about you.

  You know all there is to know about me, Ravan. You’ve known me since you were a hatchling. I became your mother, father, your friend.

  Only in my mind and only long enough to give me to Loethar, the bird admonished. Anyway, friends tell each other about themselves. The raven sounded wounded.

  My age, all right. Let me see. I must be more than five thousand moons.

  Ravan hopped, turned his head to stare at his friend. That’s old.

  Indeed. I knew the first Valisar King, Cormoron, was present when he took his oath at the Stone of Truth, although no one witnessed it.

  Ravan considered this startling news. Sergius, would you agree that our task is the most important you’ve ever faced?

  Certainly. It is the only time I have been required.

  Then we are living in a unique time, facing a unique situation.

  We are, Sergius confirmed.

  Then before I go I want to know everything.

  I’m not sure I understand.

  I believe you do. I believe you know much more than you have shared. And I think it’s right that as your eyes and ears—as you describe me—I am privy to what our role is and why we must perform it. I have done precisely what you’ve asked of me since you abandoned me in the plains three decades previous. And that’s another puzzle. My kind do not live this long. My kind don’t talk to your kind. Who am I?

  All these questions! Sergius said, disgusted, waving a hand at the raven.

  They need to be answered. I want to know who we are and why we are on this path. Only then I will continue to do your bidding.

  Sergius looked up, surprised. Only then? What will you do if I refuse? His voice was devoid of threat or challenge.

  Ravan answered in the same tone. I shall fly away and not return.

  Then I shall wear you down with constant chatter inside your head.

  As you wish, old man. I shall ignore you.

  I gave you life, Ravan! Sergius said, exasperated.

  And I give you my life. But I must understand why and for what.

  All right, all right. I shall explain. Go fly, stretch your wings, wretched bird. I must make some nettle tea before I begin.

  Ravan obliged, returning not long after but by which time the old man had his steaming mug of tea on the table. He gave a soft sound of exasperation as the black bird shook its feathers and settled itself once again before him, letting Ravan know that he considered this an imposition.

  Get on with it, Ravan urged with equal disdain. Time is short.

  Sergius began, speaking aloud, knowing the bird could follow the words just as easily as if he were speaking directly into his mind. He so rarely heard his own voice these days that it felt good to stretch the long unused muscles of his throat.

  “I’m not sure anyone alive today knows that Cormoron, the first of the great Valisar Kings, was a mighty sorceror—as talented with his Vested powers as he was with the sword.”

  Ravan hunched down.

  “When he first took power the Set was divided among many different family warlords, although there were only about four of them that mattered. Cormoron did not belong to this region. He came from among the great southern land mass—a region known as Lindaran. He sailed an extraordinary voyage into unchartered waters, during which he lost only a few of his men to seasicknesses, and landed first on Medhaven. On that island he met no resistance from the goats and sheep, and the odd scattered hut with few people. He moved on to Vorgaven, where he again found little resistance for his tough fighting men, and he soon found himself on the fertile land of the vast mass that makes up the largest part of the ‘hand’ of today’s Set. He liked what he saw. He settled. To cut this long preamble short, he made peace with the fractured family-style populations spread across the continent of the Hand. His leadership abilities were already well honed and he was a charismatic man—irresistible, really, to most. He was imposing too—as tall as he was broad with a booming voice and flowing locks of dark hair. Everything about him was strong, decisive, compelling.

  “Cormoron was intelligent enough to not make war with the warlords; instead, he sat down around the parley table with them and worked out ways in which they could all live alongside one another. And in so doing he formed the Set: seven realms in the Hand, which included Medhaven. Droste was the only realm hostile to Cormoron’s plan but it did not have the force necessary to attack him and, as he refused to wage any further war, he accepted Droste as a separate entity. The plains to the east—unfertile land of endless flat grasses—were seemingly uninhabited all those centuries ago.”

  So he became ruler of this land he called Penraven, Ravan said, pushing the old man ahead.

  “Indeed,” Sergius agreed, untroubled by being hurried along. “He took his oath at Lackmarin before the Stone of Truth. Now, I told you that Cormoron was a sorceror of great power. Though we know that, little is known of his abilities. He kept his powers hidden, never discussed them: indeed, rarely used them, to my knowledge.”

  And? Ravan pushed again.

  “Well, at the time of his oath, which he saw as a momentous occasion for the region, he called down a great and ancient power from his native Lindaran. She is known as Cyrena.”

  The serpent, Ravan said.

  “That’s right.”

  I know this bit. She drank his blood and—

  “You make it sound tedious, Ravan. There was nothing ordinary about Cyrena,” Sergius admonished. “She is the most beautiful of all the ancient creatures; and furthermore, she might be the most important. She is the goddess of conscience.”

  Forgive me, the bird said humbly.

  Sergius continued as though uninterrupted. “Cyrena made Cormoron promise that if she ble
ssed his new realm and agreed to his supreme power over it—including ultimately the Set—he must agree never to use his magical powers against his own.

  “She could not control his power but she appointed me to watch for any abuse of Valisar power—not just magical, I might add. I was once a simple healer and man of faith whom Cormoron took on his journey north. But how could I refuse her? She insisted I walk the Valisar journey from thereon. I still do not know everything there is to know and I control very little. But Cyrena did grant me certain powers too.” He sighed, gave Ravan a long and meaningful stare. “She gave me you.”

  The raven hopped around the table, obviously fascinated by this admission. “I belong to Cyrena?”

  “You are her creation, as am I,” Sergius admitted, shrugging his thin shoulders.

  I’ve lived for three decades, and known you for that time. But what did you do for all of those decades before?

  “Nothing remarkable. I lived. Quietly. I have seen many Valisars come and go. I was not needed then.”

  But now you are needed? Ravan queried, his intrigue obvious in his tone.

  Sergius gave a soft sigh and stood. “Yes, my friend, now I am needed. Pity I’m such an old fellow.”

  Ravan flapped his wings with obvious exasperation. I don’t understand. King Brennus is dead. The heir, Leonel, is still a boy. He has no power to abuse; he is on the run. If he can survive it will be years before he can offer any threat to Loethar.

  “I am not talking about Leonel.”

  Ravan cocked his head. Piv—? No, I know that’s not right. Sergius had already begun shaking his head. Ravan hunched down, confused. I’m baffled.

  “Think hard. You have the intelligence to work it out,” Sergius said, and smiled.

  Freath had insisted Kirin take some air. They’d both had time for their tempers to cool.

  “Does this help?” Freath asked.

  “The fresh air is soothing. My head hurts to the point that I think I’ve lost some vision. Now and then the distance looks blurred around the edges of my eyesight.”