The Prince of Exiles (The Exile Series) (8 page)

“But some of the others do not,” Tomaz rumbled, silencing the young man. “Warryn chief among them.”

“Ah yes,” said Raven darkly, “Henri Perci’s sponsor.”

Henri Perci was a newly appointed lieutenant general in the Kindred army. He had been one of the survivors of the Stand, not because he was there fighting alongside Raven and the others, but because he had been the only officer brave enough to remain in the open countryside, rallying the men to harry the Prince of Oxen’s force as they’d approached. It had been a suicide mission, and most of those he had rallied had died. Those that had lived, however, all owed their lives to the hand of Henri Perci. He had become something of a legend among the Kindred, partly for his tactical genius and military skill, and partly for his heroic good looks. Raven was no stranger to how such things worked – Rikard had always taught him that people followed images. Henri Perci was the embodiment of a young, powerful warrior – tall, with a handsome face and long flowing hair. He just
looked
like a hero, the kind of man that everyone should love.

But he hated Raven.

It had never been made abundantly clear
why
, but Raven knew that often times hatred didn’t require specifics. It was said that when news had reached Perci that the Prince of Ravens had defeated the Ox Lord, the man had said he’d rather all the Kindred had perished from the earth than one such corrupt demon as a Child should fight on their side.

Elder Warryn, the titular head of the Kindred forces, in turn shared his hatred. All generals were sponsored by an Elder when they received their post, and when Warryn nominated Perci for generalship, it had been widely acknowledged he’d done it because of their shared hatred for the former Prince of Ravens.

“But the others, like Ishmael, can still be persuaded,” she said pointedly.

“What is it exactly that he does?” Raven asked. “What does ‘Intelligent Elder’ entail? I’d say it was oxymoronic, but I feel I would be speaking too quickly.”

Leah laughed at his joke, and he felt himself beaming. He’d actually intended that to be funny, and her smile made his efforts at socializing worthwhile.

“He’s our Imperial Liaison,” Davydd said with a smirk.

“A diplomat?” Raven asked, incredulous. “I’ve never heard of such a thing. In fact I’m pretty sure such a person would be executed on the spot if he ever approached a member of the Empire.”

“He’s the head of the spy network,” Leah clarified.

“Spy network?” He asked dubiously.

“Yes,” she said, “he’s the head of the Rogues, among other things.”

“Oh,” Raven said, understanding a bit more now. Such a man would indeed have to be cunning – the Kindred Rogues were very good saboteurs, and despite the Empire’s best efforts many still remained at large. Though of course such a grouping could hardly be called a “network,” at least not the way the Seekers, the Imperial Eyes and Ears, could be called such. They were more a loose group of independent agents. Still, if Leah and Tomaz were any type of example, the Elder who organized them was certainly effective at his job.

“We’re here,” said Davydd impatiently, and Raven realized the young man was right. They’d arrived outside the large, central tent of the camp; it was a good twenty feet tall, held up by thick wooden stakes and located on a small bluff with a full view of the distant gates of Roarke – or what
used
to be the gates of Roarke. All that remained now was a tangled mess of twisted metal and tortured stone. The tent looked to be made of very thick fabric, some kind of wool or canvas or something else with which Raven wasn’t familiar. Not that he was an expert on fabrics – Imperial Princes were taught economic theories and differential spheres of governance, not how to distinguish textiles.

Davydd was standing impatiently at the tent flap, waiting for them to join him. Raven’s shoulder was starting to really hurt – a deep kind of pain that told him he was pushing himself too hard by being here.

Keep moving. Every time you stop and drop your guard you get attacked.

“Are we all ready?” Tomaz rumbled, eyeing him critically.

“It’s a report, not an inquisition,” said Davydd, exasperated. “If he says he’s fine, then he’s fine, let’s
go
.”

“All right, all right,” Tomaz said, looking put upon and a little flustered, which was strange for Raven to see. Usually he maintained his composure to a fault. He must be worried about something – the report?

They entered the tent, nodding to the pairs of guards on either side who clearly knew Tomaz, Leah, and Davydd, and let them through without protest. Raven’s shoulder and side continued to throb as he bent his head to duck under the flap, and his mood turned suddenly ugly against his will. It was then that he realized Tomaz wasn’t concerned so much about what the Elders would do, but about what
he
would do if he were to be provoked. He felt a momentary flash of annoyance at this, and then realized the giant was probably right to worry – he didn’t exactly have the best record when it came to keeping his temper in difficult situations.

They entered a small, outer chamber that served as a kind of makeshift foyer leading from outside the tent to the actual interior. It was a convenient place to keep people who were waiting for an audience, but it didn’t seem to have been built for large groups: with three of them plus Tomaz, it was uncomfortably close. An attendant who was waiting there nodded to them and went through the inner flap, motioning for them to stay where they were.

They waited quietly, and as they did, they heard a voice speaking inside; it was loud and gruff, full of self-righteousness, and pleased to find itself raised in use.

“I still don’t approve of sending a squad of valuable Eshendai and Ashandel out on such a dangerous mission with only two children to lead them.”

“The Goldwyn siblings are not children, they have both passed their Naming,” came the response. This voice, thin and reedy, yet strong and proud in its own right, belonged to Elder Crane, and while raised, it was also carefully controlled. “And not only that, they were both integral to defeating the Ox Lord at the Stand. With so many of our commanders fallen in battle, and very few of the remaining ones tested, I for one am glad to see new Kindred willing to continue the fight.”

“And there aren’t just two,” said Elder Keri, the beautiful, matronly woman who had apparently nursed him back to health. “The Prince of Ravens was with them, not to mention Ashandel Banier and Lamas. If you know a safer place in the entire camp than with that pair, I’ll step down right now. Besides, if the report they give confirms the rumor that says the Prince of Ravens was able defeat four Death Watchmen on his own, I’d say we’re lucky he’s on our side.”

“The others may have passed their Naming, but he has not. He is by technicality still a boy,” responded Elder Spader very matter-of-factly. Raven pictured what he knew the man to look like – middle height with a patch of gray hair and the beginnings of a late-life paunch showing through his deep amber robes. His tone was the dry, devil’s-advocate voice of a man who dealt in the gray world of the law. “As much as it galls me to say it, Warryn is right. He cannot hold such responsibility yet. His intentions may be noble, but he is not yet eighteen, not yet a man.”

“If what Crane says is true,” the voice of Elder Lymaugh, the Elder of Mercy, responded, “he has lived longer in spirit than you or I could hope to ever live in body. He has seen more than most men five times his age, and felt the weight of nations on his back.”

“Then he has aged quite well,” Elder Keri said with a pleasant, fluttering laugh that was echoed by several other voices. “Though, I don’t know if we can say he is really seventeen. When I was tending to him I took the chance to examine him more closely, and I think that something, perhaps his Talisman, has aged him. Physically at least – I cannot speak for the mental aspect. Seven years exactly unless I miss my guess. He may have only been born seventeen years ago, but he has the body of a man in his twenties now, strange as that may sound.”

Raven felt a chill go through him, and the others avoided looking in his direction though he knew they were hearing all of this as well. It was something none of them wanted to talk about. He
did
look older. It had happened after he’d killed Ramael and revived Tomaz. Upon waking he’d looked in a mirror and found that he’d aged practically overnight. He didn’t look
old,
but it had been a strange occurrence in a long line of strange occurrences that had left Raven feeling wary of everything. He felt like himself, spoke like himself, he just looked … older.

“Exactly seven years?” Asked Crane, surprise and interest clear in his voice.

“It seems odd to me too,” said the voice of Elder Ekman, Elder of Truth, “and obviously some explicit sort of Bloodmagic side effect. Nothing so neat ever happens by nature or medicine – but it’s his true age now, you can see it in his walk and in his manner. It will make things difficult – we must keep him contained and under our control until he reaches his Naming. He needs protection.”

A silence fell, and still the Elders did not realize that Raven and the others were waiting within earshot. Raven wondered idly if the attendant who’d been supposed to announce them had died along the way. Perhaps he’d been killed by the awkwardness.

Finally, Tomaz cleared his huge bullhorn of a throat, and the silence inside the tent deepened. There was the sound of boots treading the ground, and the inner flap was thrown aside, revealing the lined face and long white hair of Elder Crane. His blue-gray eyes took them in.

“Ah good,” said Crane, smiling at them warmly, “you’re here. I’m glad you have arrived – please come in.”

He held back the flap of the tent and they came into the full inner space. A few of the Elders shifted uncomfortably, realizing they’d just been overheard talking about the very person who’d entered the tent, but most seemed to pay it no mind. The man who’d gone to announce them, now waiting patiently at the back of the tent, nodded to Elder Crane and left.

Did Crane know we were listening?

But before he could give that thought the full consideration it merited, there was a great stir and Raven found himself accosted in a flurry of off-white robes.

“
What are you doing out of bed?
” Gasped Elder Keri, coming forward immediately.

“I asked for him,” Ishmael said.

Keri ignored the other Elders, shouldering aside Crane and placing a hand on Raven’s forehead.

“You – you don’t have a fever,” she said, sounding shocked. “How are you even able to stand? I’m good, but I’m not that good.”

“We may be able to shed some light on that Elder Keri,” Tomaz rumbled. “The Talisman that I bear seems to have sped his healing process.”

Keri took a step back, watching Raven very carefully, as if he might at any moment fall to the ground, dead. He made no kind of response to this, simply stood tall and straight, looking around him with a neutral expression.

Inside, however, he was seething.

The wound in his shoulder was throbbing horribly, sending spikes of pain throughout his body. The world was tilting around him now too, but he wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of admitting it. He wanted them to fear him, to think he truly was something more than human. If they saw him as just a man, who knew what they would do? If he took the time to lie in bed for days, would he quietly disappear as so many Exiles had when captured by the Empire? Would the Elders send in an assassin of their own to rid themselves of a possible threat? Crane wouldn’t, but Warryn or one of the others might. He couldn’t be seen as weak – he had to show them, had to show everyone, that he was strong.

And how dare they discuss me as if I were some worthless foot soldier? Some
boy
in need of their care and pity?

He’d been prepared to be treated as an enemy Prince, someone who couldn’t truly be trusted. He’d been prepared for the kind of hatred Warryn and Henri Perci had shown him. But condescension like what he’d just heard? To be talked about as if he were no more than an overeager child? It was
insulting!