Royal Exile

‘Why? The magic is too powerful for them?’

‘Seems so.’

‘Or perhaps it chooses only the boys to live.’

‘Yes, more likely.’

‘My poor sister,’ Leo mused. ‘I’d like to have taught her how to shoot a catapult. Piven just can’t get it.’

‘Even if she had survived, Leo, I wonder whether your father could have risked her being found by Loethar.’

The boy looked up, surprised. ‘You mean he’s pleased she’s dead?’

‘No,’ Gavriel hurried to say. ‘But I think I sensed that he felt relief that she could not be hurt by the barbarian.’

‘But why couldn’t my father have protected us all if she’d lived?’

Gavriel shrugged. He too wasn’t sure about this. ‘I imagine because a baby is dangerous. It can give you away with a whimper if you’re hiding; it needs its mother and the kind of care that if we were on the run we couldn’t give. I think your sister’s death released your father from having to make that decision,’ he said, hating the lie as it treacherously left his lips. ‘I’m calling Morkom for your bath.’

‘But how is my father going to protect my little brother?’

‘I’m not sure. I’m not privy to that,’ Gavriel replied, utterly sure now that Piven would be ignored and left to Loethar’s discretion. No one wanted another child’s blood on his hands by killing Piven to save him from the barbarian.

‘I shall speak to him about Piven. Where is the king, do you know?’

‘I imagine he’s at the barracks. Our army is going to be facing the marauders soon. He’s probably doing his best to ensure their spirits are high, and their courage.’

‘What about ours?’

‘We’ll have to help each other.’ The words sounded prophetic as he said them. ‘And I think we have to get used to it.’

Loethar licked the blade, enjoying the sensation of the metallic tanginess in his mouth. Blue blood. Regal blood. He could get drunk on it. He looked at Stracker. ‘Impale him and all the family in the central square. That should reinforce who now controls Barronel and loosen a few tongues as to where any of the Vested may be.’

‘I presume you want a spectacle made of the rest of the family?’

‘Cross them. That always humbles an audience. And don’t hasten their deaths. No mercy.’

Stracker nodded, glancing at the enormous raven sitting on the back of Loethar’s chair.

‘I want sorcerers, witches, wizards — call them whatever you will, they’re all the same to me,’ Loethar continued. ‘But I want to know who the Vested are and where we can find them. Offer rewards, spread fear, use whatever tools necessary but I hunger for my knowledge. I must be fed.’ He grinned and the malevolence behind his words was heightened by the sight of his bloodstained teeth. He wiped his tongue along them, licking his lips at the residue of taste.

‘I shall see to it,’ Stracker said.

‘I plan to be alone tonight,’ Loethar added, then changed his mind. ‘Actually, send me up that cowering little princess. And have a barrel of wine brought up with her. Maybe it will help dull the sound of her shrieks.’

Both men laughed. Once his Right had departed, the contrived smile froze on Loethar’s face. He was close now. Very close. He hoped the Penravians were suffering in their dreams with images of the havoc he was going to loose upon them. He hoped they had heard the stories of what he had unleashed upon the rest of the Set, the terror he had achieved and the torturous pain he had heaped on each realm. Word ran ahead of him, he knew, and he hoped the people of Penraven were listening carefully, for he wanted their king … but most of all he wanted what the Valisar royals possessed. He stroked the raven’s head and it blinked its pale eyes.

‘Almost there now, Vyk,’ he cooed.

A knock dragged him from his thoughts. ‘Who is it?’ he yelled, convinced it could not yet be his entertainment for the evening.

‘It’s Valya,’ came the reply.

‘Come!’

Vyk swooped down to stand by the corpse as the door pushed open and a woman stepped through. ‘Am I interrupting, Loethar? Ah, I see it’s all over.’

‘Would it matter if you were?’

She smiled, slow and familiar, as she crossed the room, not at all fazed by the large bird or its warning caw at her approach. ‘I thought this too important to wait on. Being this close to Penraven, news travels fast.’

‘And?’

‘One of my spies in the city tells me that a death knell has been sounding for hours. Double shock for the people — you on one side of the walls and a royal death on the other.’ She laughed.

Loethar’s eyes narrowed. ‘Who? Surely not Brennus.’

‘No one’s ever said the man’s a coward. I doubt he’d kill himself to prevent your having the pleasure.’ She looked down at the dead king at her lover’s feet but her expression remained unchanged, unmoved by the sight of the decapitated royal. ‘But I have to wonder yet again why he didn’t try to dissuade you from your path.’

‘Because he’s been too comfortable wearing that all-powerful Valisar crown for too long. He believes in its invincibility. Only now might he be realising that I plan to teach him that even the Valisars can be toppled.’

She gave him a wry glance. ‘You know the Penravians will flee by ship.’

‘Yes, I do, because you’ve already told me that much. It’s not the people I care about, Valya. It’s the Valisars.’

‘So all this death and destruction has been about Brennus,’ she said, baldly.

‘It always has been. Him and his offspring and those who support them.’

None of the wryness had left her expression. ‘Just leave Cremond alone.’

‘I did. I don’t break promises. Do we know who’s dead in Penraven?’ he asked again.

She shook her head. ‘It could be any of them, but my guess is it’s the queen.’ She turned and spat onto the corpse, surprising Loethar. He wasn’t sure whether she was disgusted by the Queen of Penraven or by the King of Barronel, or whether she’d actually intended to hit Vyk. Whichever it was, it was a gesture of genuine viciousness.

‘Why would it be the queen? Too frightened of what I might do to her?’ he asked.

She ignored his query. ‘If they’ve got any sense they’ve already gone on one of their sumptuous royal schooners.’

‘He’s too proud to flee,’ Loethar replied.

‘I agree. The Valisars are stoic — even those who marry into the family. She would not lose face by taking her life. Don’t you see?’ She gave a rueful shrug. ‘I suspect the Valisar courage in the face of certain destruction will inspire their people.’

‘We’ll see how long that inspiration lasts when I have what I seek in my possession. Tell me why you think the queen is dead.’

‘Childbirth takes many victims,’ she said, her tone casual, disinterested.

‘Childbir—?’ he repeated, interrupting himself as the realisation dawned. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ His tone was threatening.

‘Sorry, did I fail to mention that the Penraven whore was spawning another brat? She is mother to the heir and also stepmother to a halfwit orphan she took pity upon. Now there is another who probably hasn’t survived birth. For you there’s only the eldest to worry about. I probably didn’t consider it important.’

‘You surprise me, Valya. I allow you to be my eyes and ears because you’re good at it but I expect you to tell me everything you learn. If you don’t, your skills are of no use to me, no matter how cunning your mind. I really should punish you,’ Loethar said, his mind already racing.

‘It doesn’t change anything,’ she countered, still sounding confident.

‘The news has ramifications.’

‘Not really. You plan to kill them all anyway, I assume.’

‘I don’t have any plan at this point,’ he reprimanded, ‘other than to watch Penraven’s famous walls be breached. Beyond that I shall wait and see.’

‘So, is this our new home?’ she asked, trailing her hand across a highly polished marble surface, the top to an elegant piece of furniture that had probably served as the king’s private dining table. ‘I rather like this — what an amazing colour it is.’

He forced his anger to cool. This was not the moment to lose his temper. ‘The famed Barronel marble from the deep earth quarries in its Vagero Hills.’

‘Stunning,’ she said absently, already moving to study the books in the small library the king had kept on hand in his suite. Vyk followed, hopping behind her.

‘Yes, Barronel will be our base for the time being. Make yourself at home, Valya, but not in here,’ he cautioned.

‘Why?’ she asked, stopping her slow movement around the bookshelves.

‘You are not a king.’

‘Neither are you,’ she said lazily, but added, before he could reply, ‘you are an emperor in the making. You’d better get used to such surrounds and lay your own mark against it. No more caves and tents for you, Loethar.’

‘And although you are used to the finer things in life, may I suggest that you discover them in another quarter of the palace.’

‘Where will you be? Perhaps I could —’

He cut her off. ‘I don’t know where I’ll be. I may travel to Penraven to get my first glimpse of the Valisar stronghold.’

A knock at the door interrupted them. ‘Come,’ he said, tiredly, and a burly warrior, his face scarified and coloured with inks, entered, dragging a terrified child behind him. The girl was barely more than twelve summertides and was dressed in royal finery but Loethar noticed that her gown was torn, her face stained with tears.

‘Stracker said you asked for her, my lord,’ the man said gruffly in the language of the steppes.

‘I have changed my mind. Give her back to the mother.’

‘Already dead.’

Loethar sighed, irritated. ‘Then send the girl to her god as well. Do it immediately, no pain, make it swift.’

‘In here?’ the man asked, surprised.

The girl began to wail, having caught sight of the headless body that remained of her father.

‘No, not here,’ Loethar said slowly through gritted teeth. ‘Take her away and arrange for him to be removed as well.’ The man nodded. ‘And Vash, speak only in the language of the region now.’

‘Very good, my lord,’ he answered in perfect Set, exiting the room, dragging the screaming girl behind.

Valya wore a look of disgust. ‘Oh, Loethar, were you really planning to amuse yourself with a child? Have you no conscience?’

‘About as much as you have,’ he replied.

She laughed and he heard the false tone she tried to hide. ‘None, then.’

‘Precisely. What I actually do and what I want my men to think I do is something entirely different.’

‘Because if what you’re looking for is some companionship of the skin,’ she began flirtatiously.

He blinked with irritation. ‘I’m looking to sleep,’ he said, cutting her off again. ‘Close the door behind you. Tell no one to disturb me unless it’s about who has died among the Valisar royalty. Otherwise I don’t anticipate hearing from anyone, including you, for the next six hours.’

Loethar didn’t wait for her response, but turned and strode away into the former king’s bedroom, Vyk swooping behind him.

3

Corbel rode hard. He knew not just his survival but the survival of many depended on his making his destination. He was riding to a place he had never seen, following directions his father had made him repeat several times over until the legate was sure his son could reach the meeting point.

‘Ride for your life, boy,’ his father had said, his voice gruff from the emotion he was controlling. Corbel had never seen his father cry and it seemed Regor De Vis had had no intention of allowing him to glimpse the depth of his sorrow at farewelling his child. Both knew they would never see each other again. ‘This will save Gavriel’s life as much as your own,’ De Vis had added. In his father’s eyes Corbel had seen the glitter of hope and for that alone he would ride to the curious coastal location and find the man they called Sergius.

‘But how will I know him?’ he had questioned.

‘He will know you,’ the king had replied.

‘And we trust him?’

His father had nodded. ‘Implicitly.’

He had waited. Neither had added anything.

‘You know this is madness, don’t you?’ Corbel had replied, keeping his voice steady. He was not prone to outbursts. He had wished Gavriel had been present to do the ranting.

‘And now you must trust us,’ his father had added, so reasonably that whatever objection Corbel had wanted to make had remained trapped in his throat.

‘Magic?’

Brennus had looked at him sadly. ‘I envy you, Corbel.’

‘Really.’ In his fury — fury that no one but Gavriel might have noted — Corbel had wanted to demand of Brennus whether the king truly envied him the memory of killing a newborn child but his father must have guessed his son’s thoughts and had glared at him. ‘Why don’t you use it to escape, your highness?’ Corbel had said instead.

The king had sighed. ‘What a surprise for the bastard warlord that would be. Go, Corbel. Nothing matters more than your safety now. Lo’s speed.’

‘Father —’

‘Go, son. We are as clueless to your future as you. But we trust that you will be safe and remember your task. It is something worth committing your life for. One day it might restore Penraven.’

Corbel had begun to speak but his father held up his hand. ‘Not another word, Corb. I have always been proud of you and Gavriel. Make me proud now. Do as your king and your father ask.’

Forbidden further protest, Corbel De Vis had bowed. And then Brennus and Regor De Vis had embraced him.

Now Corbel’s mind felt liquid, spreading in all directions with nothing to hold it together but his aching skull and the determination to fulfil what had been asked of him, the burden heavy in his heart, its reality terrifying him.

He sped northwest, changing horses at Tomlyn, where a stablemaster was waiting for him, giving Corbel a small sack of food that Corbel ate in snatches without stopping. Once again he changed mounts, this time at Fairley, as instructed, in an identical experience.

Leaving Fairley village behind, Corbel swiftly began to follow the coastline. He rode hard, knowing only that a stone marker would tell him he had arrived. His eyes searched the side of the track, constantly roving ahead for the clue. Daylight was fast dwindling. He wondered if he’d make it in time. Minutes later, in the distance he saw a man. Slowing the horse, he finally drew alongside the figure.

‘Welcome, Corbel. I am told you are burdened with a heavy responsibility.’

Breathing hard, Corbel nodded, said nothing.

‘Ah, my eyesight is so poor that I see little but I see enough. Come, help me down the track.’

‘Track?’ Corbel repeated.

The man chuckled. ‘You’ll see it when you dismount. It leads to my humble dwelling. It’s treacherous only for me; I imagine you’ll find the descent relatively easy on your strong, young limbs.’

Corbel swung off the horse and saw steps cunningly cut into the cliff face. He could see the hut and hoped they could get there before the wind became any more fierce. The sun was setting in a fierce blaze of pink on the horizon but it was not going to be a still night.

As though he heard his thoughts, Sergius yelled above the roar of the wind, ‘Storm tonight. Bodes well for what we have to do. I think we’ll have some awakening.’

‘Is that a good thing?’

‘Perfect. This sort of magic works best when the elements are stirring, roaring their power.’

Corbel wondered if anyone was telling Gavriel about this. Mostly he wondered if he’d ever see his brother again.

‘What about my horse?’

The man pointed. ‘It’s going to be too fierce to leave it outside but your father took the precaution of leaving feed and water in that tiny barn — can you see it?’ Corbel nodded. ‘Good, because I can’t. It’s a blur at that distance. Anyway, tie your horse up in there. Arrangements have been made to collect it.’

‘Give me a few moments,’ Corbel said, the wind whistling now around his ears. He guided the horse to the barn and secured her inside with a bag of fresh feed and a pail of sweet water. He hoped she would be collected soon. He wished he could rub her down but there was plenty of fresh hay that she would no doubt enjoy rolling around in anyway. And this was not the time to be fretting over a horse. He secured the door and trotted back to his host. ‘It’s done,’ he said.

‘Let’s go,’ Sergius replied. ‘How pleasant to have someone to help me make that wretched trek back.’

They moved in silence, concentrating on the descent.

‘When?’ he asked as they finally arrived at the door of the hut.

The man smiled. ‘Now. Come in; I need you to drink something.’

‘What?’ Corbel asked, following Sergius into the hut.

‘No questions, no time. This,’ Sergius said, reaching for a cup on the scrubbed table, bare but for a few sweet sea daisies in a jug, ‘will cast away your resistance.’

Corbel frowned, looking inside at the contents. The liquid looked harmless and had no discernible smell.

‘You must drink it all,’ Sergius urged.

‘Only me?’

The man nodded. ‘I control my magic but I need you not to fight it. You look strong enough to do just that.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘This potion breaks resistance by making you compliant. Without it your body will instinctively fight the magic. We need you to go calmly.’

‘Where?’

‘Into the sea.’

‘Are you mad?’

‘Most people think so,’ the man replied, smiling kindly. ‘But that suits me.’

‘To drown,’ Corbel said flatly.

‘Trust me.’

‘Trust magic, don’t you mean?’

Sergius nodded, his expression filled with sympathy. ‘That too.’

‘Where am I going?’ Corbel pressed again.

‘In a way, you will choose, but whichever way you look at it, it’s away from here.’

‘Sergius?’

‘Yes?’

‘I’m frightened.’

The old man smiled softly, placing his warm, dry hand on Corbel’s arm. ‘Don’t be, son. What you are doing is heroic. What I suspect you have already done was extremely courageous, more brave than either your father or the king could have managed — and they are both men of valour. You are doing this for Penraven … for the Valisar crown. Drink, Corbel.’

Mesmerised by the old man, oddly comforted by his lyrical voice and stirring words, Corbel drained the cup.

And as a bright, sharp awakening lit the night sky, Corbel De Vis walked into the sea, still burdened and filled with sorrow.

Brennus had just finished a rousing speech to his captains. The men had applauded him loudly off the makeshift podium and he could still hear their whistles and cheers. But no matter what he said or however much he had rallied their courage, even they sensed the cause was hopeless. He moved gloomily from the barracks; he had lied to the men and the only one who knew the truth of what was coming next was the man who strode in an angry silence alongside him.

Brennus broke into the awkward atmosphere between them. ‘There is no point in everyone dying, De Vis.’

‘Why do only you get to be the astoundingly brave one, your highness?’ his legate replied and his sarcasm could not be disguised.

Brennus knew his friend was hurting deeply. Sending Corbel away in the manner they did, with little explanation and no sense of what it might lead to, was taking its toll on De Vis. ‘This is not about bravery —’ he began.

‘It is, sire. We are all men of Penraven and we all feel the same way as you do. Why do you think your men proudly cheered for you? They admire your courage, and it provokes their own. We do not cower to any enemy, least of all the barbarian of the steppes.’

‘He will kill everyone who puts up resistance.’

‘So we’re already positive of failure?’ De Vis asked, his tone still sarcastic. ‘What happened to the mighty Penraven spirit? And, that aside, let us not fool one another, highness. He will kill everyone anyway! We might as well all die feeling heroic, fighting for something we believe in. I have to be honest — with my wife dead, my sons …’ He couldn’t finish.

‘What about that beautiful young thing whose hand has been offered. Are you going to ignore her?’

De Vis waved his hand as though the king’s comment was meaningless. ‘Let’s just say I have nothing I truly love to live for, other than to serve Valisar. I’m ready to die defending the crown.’

‘You always have been, Regor.’ Brennus shook his head angrily. ‘No, Loethar will not kill my people. I won’t permit such pointless savagery.’

‘He is a savage!’ De Vis spat, forgetting himself.

Brennus ignored the offence. ‘Listen to me, Regor. We know what he wants. We shall give it to him without a fight. But the terms are that he spares my people.’

‘He will not agree to such terms.’

‘You’ll be surprised.’

‘How can you be so sure, your highness?’

‘Trust me. He wants only one thing. And we know he is intelligent. What point is there to razing a city, killing all its inhabitants, when you want to be emperor? He needs people to rule. I’d rather Penravians answered to him until Leo is old enough to know his duty, to take action and avenge my death. This way at least there is hope for the Valisar resurrection.’

‘You truly believe Leo will claim back the realm?’

‘De Vis, don’t ask me such a question as though you yourself cannot believe in it! I have to hope. It’s all I have left.’ He shook his head, still very much in a state of disbelief. ‘I killed a baby!’ He didn’t admit that he’d had someone else do it and De Vis did not remind him who would truly bear the burden of that murder. ‘My wife …’ the king began, his voice leaden with grief.

‘She does not know, highness. She will never know. Gavriel will keep the secret.’

‘And Corbel … the murderer? How will he live with himself with an innocent’s blood on his hands? How can I? Corbel is as innocent as the child. The guilt is all mine.’

De Vis grit his teeth. There was no time now for this indulgent self-recrimination, especially when the child involved was his. The truth was that he did not know how he would come to terms with allowing his son to be given the task and then, in the midst of the young man’s fear and loathing, sending him away from everything familiar. ‘Corbel is gone, your highness. He is old enough to deal with his own demons. He will seek Lo’s forgiveness in his own way.’

‘I’ve asked too much of your family, De Vis.’

‘We always have more to give, your highness.’

Brennus stopped, took his friend’s hand and laid it against his heart. ‘Let me do this alone, Regor,’ he pleaded, his voice thick with emotion.

De Vis shook his head sadly. ‘I cannot, your highness. I took an oath before your father as he lay dying. I intend to remain true to that promise and to my realm. Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps it is now time to hand over all hope to our children. But we must make one final sacrifice in order to buy them time, give them that chance to avenge us.’

The king finally nodded. ‘Then organise a parley. Make Loethar an offer he finds irresistible. Surely even the barbarians grow weary of battle.’

‘I shall send out a messenger.’

‘No need,’ Brennus said, smiling sadly in the torchlight. ‘He will already be here, watching us.’

‘What makes you say that?’

‘He took Barronel. I don’t imagine he could be this close to his prize and not search it out as fast as he could.’

‘Why has he not shown himself then, made demands?’

‘Because he’s savouring the moment, I imagine. I can feel him out there. He’s watching, waiting, enjoying our fear.’

‘What do you want me to do, highness?’

‘Ride out. He’ll meet with you. I’ll tell you what to say.’

De Vis shocked the king by dropping to one knee. ‘Your majesty, I beg you. Those who chose to flee already have. They’ve had enough time to reach the coast. Others, well,’ he shrugged. ‘They’ve decided to remain, take their chances, and they already know not to take arms against him. He will not slaughter them. But he cannot take Brighthelm with such ease. If it falls, let it fall with honour, nobly fighting. I shall go and meet with him — if he is to be found outside the city stronghold — but rather than making offers let us listen first to his demand.’