The Prince of Exiles (The Exile Series) (12 page)

“Careful!” Crane said, grabbing the reins of Raven’s horse, holding him in place. “Please, calm yourself, let me explain!”

“You cannot fool me with Bloodmagic,” Raven said, twisting to break away, trying to figure out the best way to gain distance, his heart beating fiercely in his chest. He grabbed the hilt of his sword and made to unsheathe it.

Crane reached into his shirt and pulled out his ornamental dagger – the one that all of the Kindred Elders wore around their necks – and in one smooth motion unsheathed it and pressed it to the skin of Raven’s neck.

Images flooded into him – countless lives of Kindred men and women, growing old, becoming Elders, learning, passing that knowledge on, all of them wearing the dagger, all of them called Wise, all of them with a calm, certain demeanor, exhibiting quiet strength, all of them –

And then the images were gone.

As Raven blinked, staring dumbfounded at the man beside him, Crane calmly resheathed the dagger and stowed it beneath his tunic.

“What …
what was that?”

“It was a glimpse of something that many Kindred will never see,” Crane said slowly, “but something I hope will convince you that there are other kinds of Bloodmagic, and that I am not a Bloodmage imposter.”

“It’s a Soul Catcher,” Raven said slowly. “The receptacle where Bloodmages put the souls of those they kill – the thing they sell their lives for.”

“In dark Bloodmagic yes,” Crane said, “but in the Bloodmagic practiced by the Elders, it is something else entirely. It is called a
sambolin,
and this one is called Callendyl. It is the dagger of the Wise Elders – the dagger each of us has worn, since the first of us was chosen, and the
sambolin
all will wear until the Kindred have vanished.”

“It’s … it’s unlike anything I’ve ever felt. I’ve touched a Soul Catcher before – it was full of pain, and emptiness. Blood and terror – created with death.”

“The Bloodmagic the Kindred use is different,” Crane said repeated, more forcefully. “When one of us dies, or chooses to resign our post, the dagger is passed on to the next Elder, who takes a single drop of his blood and puts it onto the
sambolin.
When he or she dies, their life, and all that they have learned, is taken by the enchantment and stored inside the blade, where it can be used by future generations and anyone who is chosen Elder. The knowledge is
given
, not taken.”

The idea was so simple that it left Raven stunned. Why hadn’t anyone ever thought of this before? This was a much more efficient use of the power of Bloodmagic, much simpler. He started thinking about the other Elders – the Artful Elder, the Healing Elder, all of their daggers must be the same, filled with the knowledge of generations, filled with hundreds of years of teachings.

“A different kind of Bloodmagic?”

The Elder nodded to him solemnly.

“The magic of the Kindred takes energy from the user, not from others. The Anchor links itself to you and let’s you pierce the final layer of protection between the Kindred and the Empire – the only thing that has kept us safe all of these years.”

“The illusions,” Raven said, nodding. “I’ve experienced them – both on my way to Vale and on my way north again to Roarke.”

“And you’ll experience them once again going
back
to Vale unfortunately,” said Crane with a sympathetic smile. “The Anchor does not take effect immediately. It will, eventually, allow you to cross through the enchantments that guard our land, but until then – ”

“Until then my mind will be un-Anchored and I’ll be bouncing through images of every location I’ve ever seen in my life,” Raven grumbled.

Crane chuckled, and then held up the small bit of Valerium once again, and Raven looked at it for a long time.

This is why Crane isn’t concerned about me breaking my bonds,
Raven thought.
If I swear by my blood, there is no way to reveal anything about the Kindred that can be directly harming to them. It’s a very clever thing to do … and probably what’s kept them safe all of this time.

If he did it, he’d be one of the Kindred, irrevocably. But if he didn’t, all he’d have was a meaningless half-life, relegated to the margins of not just one but two societies.

“All right,” Raven said finally. “I’ll do it.”

Crane held out the small pin and the Valerium ore. Raven held out his hand – and the Elder pricked his palm. The pain was sharp but momentary, and it quickly passed as a single, bright drop of blood welled up. Crane dropped the Valerium into Raven’s hand, and closed his fingers over it, making it into a fist.

Something
changed
. Something in Raven’s chest felt heavier, more solid.

“Hold it tight,” Crane protested, holding up a warning hand. “The enchantment is already placed in the stone – the oaths you swore over it activated it, but it needs time for the process to complete. Keep it in close contact with your hand and that pinprick of blood.”

“For how long?”

“The rest of the day preferably, but at least until the blood dries and is absorbed. The ore will be white again when that happens.”

“How long do I have to wait for it to work?”

“You have to wait until it forms into an Anchor.”

“When will that be?” Raven asked. “It isn’t one already?”

“Not quite yet,” the Elder responded, “but it’s working on it right now. You’ll feel the change – it may take months, sometimes years. The Valerium reacts differently to each person. Just make sure you don’t lose it – keep it somewhere safe. You know, probably better than anyone, that your blood can be a powerful weapon in the hands of an enemy.”

Raven nodded, then looked up and realized they’d actually make a significant amount of progress through the mountains. They were nearly on the other side in fact – there was only a single, long stone curtain between them and the lands of the Exiled Kindred.

“So tell me the information you promised,” Raven prompted. He felt strange asking a question so candidly, but Crane seemed to operate with near perfect – if flowery – honesty, and it seemed the best approach to just meet him on common ground.

“Yes, the information about the Talismans,” Crane said slowly, looking at him with his blue-gray gaze, suddenly piercing. For a brief moment Raven felt a flash of fear and uncertainty – was the man about the renege on their deal? He should have gotten a better promise before swearing. Now he was bound to the Kindred, completely in their power, and they didn’t have to hold up their side of the bargain, how could he be so stupid as to trust Exiles –

“The Talismans were not always as they are today,” Crane began softly, now appearing to be looking not
at
Raven but
through
him, at something far distant. Maybe a memory, maybe a dream.

“The earliest records, the earliest Elder who lives in this dagger I carry, still lived a hundred or so years after the Great War with the Empress.”

“When the Empire invaded south,” Raven said slowly, nodding.

“Yes,” Crane said, “the first time at least. It was at the beginning of her reign – nearly a thousand years ago now.”

Raven nodded, but kept silent.

“She wore the Talismans during the war,” Crane continued. “She had them all, except for one. At least that’s the way the legend goes.”

“This is the dogma of the Seekers,” Raven confirmed. “From Her all Talisman’s came and through Her all Talismans have their power.”

“Indeed,” Crane said, watching him, “but there is something else. More information – something that all of the Elders, through all the ages, have kept secret. On anyone but Aemon’s Heir the information would be wasted, dangerous even. I always thought it something of a joke, really. I never thought any of the Children would ever be defeated in battle. I never thought the Talismans would be close enough to us to be of any use whatsoever. Come to think of it, I never thought anyone would come to pick up Aemon’s Blade … but you did. And it seems you have good reason to know about the Talismans. I wonder if, all those years ago, a Seer looked into the future and saw you … saw this conversation. An interesting idea, yes?”

Raven didn’t think so. In fact it made him feel queasy. He knew such things were possible on a smaller scale – it was the power his brother Geofred claimed as the bearer of the Eagle Talisman. But over a thousand years … no, such a thing couldn’t be.

“So tell me,” Raven prompted again, doing his best to keep his voice civil, though it was difficult. This man knew something that might help him avoid the Empire. Not only that, if he knew enough about the Talismans, he might be able to help Tomaz as well – the Empire would be after him now too. The information would be important to both of them.

“I cannot,” Crane said reluctantly. “Only Elder Iliad can reveal the knowledge – only he has a full record of Kindred history and can speak on this.”

Raven just stopped himself from cursing. Of course Crane didn’t have the information – of course there was another hoop to jump through, another bar of bureaucratic nonsense.

Wait … there are twelve Elders, and none of them are named Iliad.

“There is another Elder,” Raven said slowly.

Crane nodded, eyes distant again.

“Elder Iliad cannot leave his house. He is … for lack of a better term, bedridden. He functions fine on a physical level – in fact Elder Keri informs me the last time she checked on him he was so healthy he’s likely to outlive the rest of us.”

“Of what is he the Elder?”

“He is the Elder of the Past. The Elder of History. The Story Elder. All of our history, all of the personal experiences, everything, truly, is stored in his mind.”

“Memories,” Raven breathed.

“Yes,” Crane confirmed. “From what I’m told, it is not unlike what you experience when you take a life. But, unlike what happens to you … the memories do not fade for him. For as long as he wears the
sambolin,
he bears the thoughts, feelings, and memories of the hundreds of men and women who lived before him and gave their lives to the
sambolin
. It is an honor to be asked to take the position, and only the best of our historians are ever offered it. Many have had encyclopedic knowledge of the past … but that has only compounded the problem. He lives, Iliad, but he cannot
live.
His mind is broken. It is as simple as that.”

“Broken?” Raven asked, mouth suddenly dry.

“That is the best way to describe it,” Crane said, eyes full of regret. “But the dagger, the
sambolin,
holds him together. It has … a buffer of some kind. It keeps him alive, keeps him healthy, and allows him to perform the single function of his office – it allows him to answer questions.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that if you ask him a question, he will answer it,” Crane said, raising an eyebrow at the obvious nature of the question. He continued before Raven could respond: “He answers questions with first hand knowledge, first hand experience, and often with the words and voice of the man or woman who first learned of it. He has read every book and memorized every word, knows all of our prophecies and who spoke them … he is a living compendium of all the knowledge we have ever been able to gather. And part of that knowledge, hidden away in the back of his mind somewhere, is what each of the Elders has kept secret, in the hopes that the Empire would forget we knew the truth.”

“What truth?”

“I cannot speak of it,” Crane said, shaking his head. “Even now, dancing around it with words, I cannot come any closer to touching on it. I can feel it, like a furnace radiating heat in a closed off corner of my mind, but I cannot tell it to you, I cannot reveal it to you. It is part of the oath we take upon becoming Elders. Only Iliad has no such restriction – only he can speak of it.”