Tyrant's Blood (16 page)

Faris stared at him, dumbstruck.

Freath chuckled. ‘Not many people know—and I don’t make a habit of sharing this—but I fear Loethar tried to consume a small bit of each of the Vested he killed.’

‘You jest.’

‘No, my friend. But he has realised the magic was not transferred. And he was probably wise enough to also work out that many of whom he killed had falsely claimed to possess enchantments in a vain attempt to remain alive.’

‘So he’s stopped eating people?’

‘Yes. I suspect he is confused with the legend of the aegis.’ Freath’s breathing had become shallow.

‘Aegis?’ Faris asked tightly.

‘Kirin will explain. Essentially, you must consume some of your victim to trammel him, or bind him to you.’

Faris nodded. ‘I seem to remember talk of this at the Academy.’

‘You went to Cremond?’

‘As odd as that sounds, I did, yes. Is there anything I can do for you? Someone I can contact?’

Freath shook his head with difficulty. ‘I have no family. The problem will now be explaining away my death to Loethar. You will have to be clever for I fear my time has now run out and I can no longer use my cunning to…’ Freath winced and another gush of fresh, bright blood overlapped the darker, older blood that had turned sticky.

‘Freath!’

Freath felt his hand gripped hard. ‘You’re a good man,’ he soothed. ‘Brennus chose you well for his son. Counsel him against hurried decisions rather than admonish him over his actions. As much as I hate dying, Faris,’ he said, somehow injecting irony into his voice, ‘our young king made a decision which he felt was based on honour. We must admire it.’

‘I can’t admire stupidity, Freath. He is too brash.’

‘And you never were?’ Freath had a spasm of coughing during which he gave up all hope of holding his wound closed, exposing the glistening mess of his severed insides.

‘Never,’ Faris answered archly and both men’s eyes met with a soft smile as the sun’s fledgling rays sparkled down through the trees.

‘Ah, there she is, my precious dawn. Death’s come to collect me, Faris. I hope Lo continues to bless you with your uncanny good luck and I’ll wish you farewell.’

‘Freath?’

‘Make sure the king knows I forgive him and that I was loyal.’

‘He will know it.’

‘Faris, there’s a woman. You must find her. It’s about the royal lineage. I know not…’

He never finished what he was going to tell the outlaw, his body convulsing, before he lay still, his eyes staring towards dawn’s light, the sharply golden beauty seeming wrong as it shone upon this ugly scene.

By mid-morning Piven had made it back to the sheltered ledge where he’d left Greven but the older man was nowhere to be seen. Alarmed by his absence and still churned up by the events at Green Herbery, Piven gave in to his emotional and physical weariness, flopping beneath the overhanging vegetation. He sank his head between his knees and tried to blank his mind.

He knew now he could not escape what appeared to be his destiny. He had been fighting it for too long now, believing that if he could just keep directing his magic to helping others he might be able to live as the sunny, loved and affectionate person he had been as a child. But the magic didn’t work by those rules, it seemed. In fact, it didn’t consider his needs or desires at all. It had released him from his void, which he now accepted had been a protection of madness, keeping the magic out. It had found a way to deliver him from the barbarian into the arms of a loving guardian, and to give him a level of maturity and awareness that was uncanny for someone of his age and sheltered upbringing. But it was now exacting its price.

He didn’t know how long he remained staring blankly like that but he was gradually aware of his intense hunger. His throat was parched, even though he’d stopped frequently to drink from the rivulet during the journey back.

‘Ah, Lo be praised. You’re safe,’ said the voice of the person he most needed to hear.

‘Greven!’ he said, leaping to his feet and hugging the older man. The affection was returned twice as hard. ‘You look remarkably well for someone I left here ailing just hours ago.’

Greven grinned, held up a brace of rabbits. ‘Never felt better, my boy. Look what I caught in the early hours.’

Piven nodded gratefully and was even more appreciative that Greven seemed to sense his inner turbulence and left him alone, quietly going about skinning and gutting the rabbits. Piven found the small axe they carried and dutifully set about chopping down some small branches to build a fire. The smell of the smoke turned his gut but he was too hungry and too eager to slip back into a familiar routine with Greven to dwell on that revulsion.

Finally the roasted rabbits seemed cooked sufficiently for Greven—who had been busily rooting around in the surrounding forest replenishing his stocks of herbs and plants—to lift the meat from the flames.

‘Nothing to go with them, I’m afraid,’ he commented.

‘Nothing else needed,’ Piven replied. ‘My mouth is watering. I’m famished.’

Greven looked at him, a soft enquiring expression on his face. ‘We’ll just let them cool slightly.’ He sat down opposite Piven, regarding him over the flames. ‘How bad was it?’

Piven dropped his gaze. ‘Bad enough.’

‘Dead?’

‘We managed to save two people although the village has lost all of its stores.’

‘Did you help?’

He had never openly lied to Greven. ‘I did what I could.’

‘You’re being evasive. Just the way you smell tells me you were involved.’

Piven couldn’t look at Greven. ‘Two lives should have been lost.’

‘And you saved them,’ Greven finished.

‘I could not let them die. One was a child.’

‘And how did you explain your actions to those watching?’

‘There were only two witnesses.’

‘I see. And you have secured a promise from two villagers whom you can absolutely trust never to mention that a stranger—a youth, no less—strolled into the village one day when it was on fire and conveniently possessed the most extraordinary power to heal and made two victims—almost certain to succumb to their injuries—live instead?’ Greven’s sarcasm cut. ‘These people are so trustworthy that you can rely on them never to make mention of this phenomenon?’

‘I did my best to secure their silence.’

‘I see.’

‘I don’t think you do,’ Piven said, feeling the sting of Greven’s disappointment in him. As Greven impaled him with a stare, he wished he had not spoken so rashly.

‘Why don’t you explain it? There’s a lot I don’t understand about you recently, Piven.’ He lifted his hand at Piven’s leap to protest. ‘No, hear me out. Something’s happening. I sense it.’

‘Sense it?’

Greven blinked, hesitated, and tried to shrug. ‘Well, feel it, then.’ He wasn’t convincing. Piven knew they were both lying. ‘However you wish to describe it,’ Greven continued testily, ‘you are not the same boy I lived with.’

Piven gave a rueful grimace. ‘That’s the curious bit. I am.’

‘Then why do you strike me as secretive and manipulative and suddenly so careful around me?’ Again he stopped Piven from replying. ‘Before you answer that, I want to say something more. It’s important.’

Piven looked down. ‘All right.’

‘I want you to know that alongside Lily—whom you’ve sadly never met—I love you. I have only truly loved three people in my life. I don’t remember my parents. They died when I was very
young. I was certainly fond of the relatives who raised me. But there’s three of you who mean the world to me and I’ve lost two of that trio. My darling wife, my beloved Lily and, Piven, I fear with every inch of my bleeding heart that I am suddenly losing you.’

Piven’s head shot up. ‘You don’t know how wrong you are.’

Greven shook his head. ‘I hardly know you sometimes.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Listen to me,’ Greven said, his voice instantly gentle—the voice that Piven loved—‘you’re growing up, I understand that. It’s probably time for me to let go. My work protecting you is done. You need freedom.’ He held out the rabbit. ‘Eat up,’ he said. ‘Use the knife or you’ll burn yourself,’ he added before continuing, ‘I know you probably need more time away from me—in fact, I think you need to be around people. It was fine while you were a little lad and while you were coming out of your prison. But you’re whole now. You’re intelligent and curious, you’re witty when you’re prepared to let that humour out and, above all, you need company to feel like you belong. Growing up in a forest is all well and good but it makes one insular. I should know, I did the very same thing to my daughter. But she’d had the benefit of spending her early years in town. You haven’t. I’ve had you isolated with only deer and rabbits for company, and a silly old man.’ Piven held his tongue. ‘I’ve decided that we should make for Cremond. It’s a more gracious region and one that promotes learning and enquiry. We might be able to get you enrolled in the Academy there, where you can put that intelligence to good use, perhaps even learn about some of the powers you possess.’

‘None of that is necessary,’ Piven said, cutting off the meat with the blade Greven had given him. On chewing his food he realised it tasted like sawdust. He knew what Greven was doing—he’d take him to the Academy, enroll him, have him accommodated and then one night he would just disappear. He knew that as deeply and as nakedly as he knew that Greven was right; he was changing and it was pointless denying it. He hated capitulating to
whatever this change was—he would fight it as best he could—but he also knew that he would fight in vain.

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean, I don’t need that sort of attention.’

‘You don’t think you do,’ Greven said, tearing the cooked meat from the carcass of the rabbit. He waved the piece of meat as he spoke in his measured way. ‘But you will benefit from having others around you.’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘You’re too young to appreciate it,’ Greven replied, chewing.

‘My age is irrelevant, Greven,’ Piven said carefully. ‘And you know it.’

They both eyed each other. Neither said anything.

‘We both have secrets,’ Piven finally said.

At this Greven laid down his meat, cleaned his fingers on his clothes and used his shirt to wipe away the juices from his lips. All of this was done silently, and in a methodical manner. Then he looked up and asked a single question. Piven knew what it would be before the words were out; he also wished Greven wouldn’t ask it because it would irrevocably change both their lives.

Kirin and Lily had been kept waiting for so long, they were both drowsy with the sleep they’d had to hold off during the ride. They’d been left in the cool reception chamber, the clay-tiled floors and the plain stone walls not helping the temperature. Kirin was embarrassed at having to be shaken awake.

‘It’s time to go in,’ the soldier said.

Kirin struggled to clear his head. He was relieved that the brief doze had helped with the pain and nausea, which had definitely eased. He hoped he would be able to hold down the little that he had in his belly. Lily looked lovely but wan. As they were ushered into the chamber, he realised that next to a surprising stirring of desire existed a cold clamp of fear on her behalf. They were about to wade into dangerous waters, he was sure of it.

This chamber was the opposite of the hollow, echoing reception. Softer furnishings, thick rugs, mellow honey-coloured furniture and a wall hanging depicting the artisans, striking new coins caught Kirin’s eye.

‘I see you’re taken with the tapestry,’ said a voice.

Kirin swung around to see a man entering behind them. ‘I’m sorry to have kept you,’ he added with a brief smile. ‘I like that work too,’ he continued conversationally. ‘There’s so much history encapsulated in that one piece, it’s astonishing.’

He looked back at them, smiling benignly.

‘It’s lovely,’ Lily agreed, when Kirin said nothing.

Smartly kitted out in a gentleman’s attire of sombre charcoal-coloured fabric, the newcomer looked every bit the dour professional. If Kirin didn’t know otherwise, he would have guessed the man to be a physician or lawyer, a counsellor of some sort even, perhaps to the nobility or even royalty. His beard was closely clipped; he was tall with a straight bearing. And he seemed to be well spoken; the man was clearly educated. Kirin was tempted to pry but he held his magic back, waiting to find out what this man had in store for them.

‘Please sit,’ he said, making himself comfortable behind a large desk. ‘I understand that neither of you has had any sleep and that you’ve travelled through the night on horseback to be here. I am Master Vulpan and I am attached to the emperor’s new School of Thaumaturgy; I’m its principal. Nearly one anni ago, when I was appointed, I suggested to the palace that we keep a record of Vested. Thank you for volunteering your information. Most Vested don’t, for reasons I can’t fully grasp—’

‘Most likely for fear of persecution,’ Kirin interjected. ‘I have vivid memories of being persecuted by the emperor’s men.’ He felt Lily glance at him but refused to return her attention.

The man did not miss a beat. ‘And now you work for that same emperor, I’m told?’

‘I work for a man called Freath, who is personal aide to Emperor Loethar. I am based at the palace in Brighthelm.’

‘And you were found travelling south from Francham in the far north, am I right?’

‘Yes,’ Kirin said, ensuring that his voice sounded even and patient. ‘I was with a caravan of merchants, bound for the city.’

‘And why were you in Francham?’

‘Master Vulpan, with respect, sir, what business is it of yours what I was doing in the north?’ He felt Lily stiffen at his side.

Their host did not react to the surly behaviour. ‘It is my task to compile a record of Vested individuals, as I explained.’

‘Is it also your task as a principal of a school to track those people’s movements constantly?’

Vulpan regarded him, eyes narrowing. Finally Kirin understood what didn’t add up in the smooth and slick presentation of the man seated before him. His eyes; they aimed to unnerve with their dark impaling stare. ‘Track? No, Master Kirin,’ the man said airily. ‘We simply like to know about new Vested; have a rough idea of where they choose to live.’

‘Why? And who is we?’

‘The
we
is easy. It is the emperor’s wish to compile a list of Vested. The why is his business and I am not privy to his plans.’ The man was lying; Kirin was sure of it. ‘I possess the skill to “know” people by the individual trait of their blood. It is a simple, clever way to keep a record of our citizens who possess special skills.’

‘The fact that the emperor wants to keep a record of Vested but not his other citizens suggests to me that there is an ulterior motive to the list. That he intends to make use of it at some point.’

Vulpan’s demeanour did not change. ‘Master Kirin, it was my impression that you volunteered yourself. Am I now to understand that you are here under protest?’

‘Put it this way: I didn’t ask to be removed from the merchant caravan and sent in a completely different direction. I was on a work mission for the emperor, as it happens, and I’m not sure he will take too kindly to me being away from my post, so to speak.’

‘I will certainly petition him on your behalf if that is—’

‘No, that will not be necessary. I have never behaved in a manner that would concern the emperor,’ Kirin lied, ‘and he would assume I have good reason to be elsewhere right now.’

‘Good,’ Vulpan said, his voice polite but with a hint of dismissal. ‘And this is your lovely wife?’ he said, turning his cold stare on Lily. ‘Lily Felt, yes?’

Lily smiled blandly.

‘A marriage between two Vested. How fortunate for you both to have found one another. And such a handsome couple too,’ he added with oily charm. ‘Now, my dear, your husband has an ability to “divine” shall we say…he can see traits in people, which he believes to be a fairly useless skill, or so he told our men. Nevertheless, the emperor appreciates all level of magic and all types. What is it that you claim to possess an ability with?’

Lily flicked a nervous glance at Kirin and he sat forward to speak again but Vulpan held up a hand of warning. ‘No, Master Kirin, let us allow your wife to explain in her own way. Go ahead, my dear.’

Lily cleared her throat. ‘Er, thank you, sir. Um, well, as I also informed your soldiers, it is a low level skill. Simple healing.’

‘I see. Healing with magic, rather than props?’

‘Props, sir?’

Vulpan smiled indulgently. ‘Oh, you know, plants and herbs and all that paraphernalia,’ he said, giving a wave of his hand to suggest it was all a bit beyond his understanding.

‘They are effective,’ Lily began, but Vulpan stopped her.