The Prince of Exiles (The Exile Series) (35 page)

“Come,” Tomaz said, wiping away a tear from the corner of his eye with a huge finger, “we’ve had our fun, now please forgive us.”

Raven didn’t dignify this with a response, only turned away and crossed his arms. As a Prince, such a thing was a show of deepest anger. It was a gesture that represented the utmost amount of contempt for the people with whom one was speaking, and the handful of times he’d used it, even the most powerful of the Most High had shook with fear and begun to grovel, begging for his gratitude, pleading to know what they had done wrong and how, if at all, they could earn forgiveness.

But he realized too late that being the uncouth, uncivilized,
barbarians
that they were, the gesture held no meaning for them. Instead of invoking fear, it redoubled their laughter. Tomaz now sounded like a badly mangled brass band with his trumpeting guffaws, and while Leah was doing her best to speak through the mirth and apologize, she seemed unable to do more than gasp and shake her head as she made half-hearted gestures of placation.

They spent the rest of the day like that, with every move Raven made sending them into deeper bouts of laughter. And so he left them in a huff, bidding them good day, trying to retain what was left of his dignity. But when night fell and he slipped into bed, he found himself unable to sleep.

His thoughts were full of Leah, and the way she’d looked at him.

“WAKE UP!”

Reacting on instinct, Raven leapt out of bed, unsheathed the dagger he kept under his pillow, and tried to stab his assailant through the eye, using the brutal knife form known simply as the Blind Man.

When Tomaz saw Raven coming, he simply cocked an eyebrow and caught Raven’s arm, stopping it dead in mid-motion. He rotated Raven’s wrist slightly, turning it to the left so that the knife was cocked at a steeper angle.

“You need to practice that,” he said, very matter-of-fact. “You stabbed straight, but the Blind Man requires an upward tilt; if you do it right it’ll split the eye, break the cartilage, and hit brain tissue, permanently blinding an attacker if not killing on the spot. Also, if they roll away, you’re likely to clip him on the jaw or neck. If you stab straight and he rolls, he’ll have the advantage.”

The lesson over, the giant released him and Raven stumbled backward, brain still fogged with sleep, having caught almost none of what Tomaz had just said.

“Shadows and light!”

He blinked furiously, trying to get his eyes to focus. His head felt too light and his limbs too heavy.

“You bloody, fire-cursed, demon of the seven hells!” He shouted at Tomaz, his momentary fear goading him to anger. “You scared the
life
out of me!”

“Stop being so dramatic,” said Tomaz with a huge smile that split his broad, perfectly trimmed beard. “A good sharp shock every so often is good for the constitution. Keeps you young.”

“I already
am
young, you fustilarian!”

Tomaz quite exaggeratedly stuck a finger in his ear and cleared out imaginary wax.

“What kind of word was that?”

“You shadow-born fustilarian; you rampallian wretch; you towering pile of putrescence!”

“Well,” Tomaz said, “I suppose if one is going to be called names, they might as well be proper curse words. Makes a man feel downright genteel.”

Raven, not the kind to be mocked so easily without rising to the occasion, stood up straight, stuck out his tongue, and made a loud, wet raspberry. Tomaz laughed and applauded, his huge hands beating together like thunderclaps, his voice the booming echo of storm-wracked mountains. Raven caught sight of the city of Vale through his small cabin window and realized it was barely past sunrise. The world was still a dark, misty gray, though the skies did appear surprisingly clear at the moment, implying the first day without snow in a week.

“Not to sound unfriendly,” Raven said slowly, “but you’d better have a damned good reason for waking me up so early, or else I’m likely to use a dagger form called the Blind Man on you. A friend just taught me how to do it properly.”

“It’s Midwinter!” Tomaz said, clapping him on the shoulder with a look of incredulity, and also great joy.

“So?” He asked as he rubbed his eyes, trying to rid them of sleep. He twisted around so his back cracked and he felt somewhat more alive. “What does that have to do with waking me up? I thought the whole point was to celebrate Midwinter
night
.”

“It’s tradition,” Tomaz said, gesticulating wildly with one hand, moving to the window to point out toward the city. “All the Kindred wake at sunrise and spend the day together, with family and friends.”

“Ah,” said Raven, slightly put-off by the idea.

“But, since neither of us really have family here,” said Tomaz as if reading his mind, “I decided to come make your day a bit more festive. And jolly. Holidays can be jolly, right?”

Raven shrugged. His guess was as good as anyone’s.

“Never mind,” Tomaz said. “The point is, I’m here for tradition.”

He paused dramatically, and Raven realized then that the big man had only been gesturing with one hand because the second was hidden behind his back.

“What do you have there?” He asked cautiously, gesturing with his chin to the hidden hand.

Tomaz grinned and pulled the hand out in a dramatic flourish; it was holding a large, square object, covered in a dark blue cloth.

“Open it and find out!”

Raven took the wrapped object and undid the twine that held the cloth in place. The dark blue fabric fell away and revealed a strange wooden box that was intricately carved with beasts that must have existed in Kindred myths – a creature that was half serpent and half lion, a huge scaly thing with tiny hands and enormous jaws, a flying horse with feathered wings and sharp, vicious-looking horns.

“Wow, it’s … uh, it’s great. What is it?”

Tomaz immediately took it back from him.

“It’s a puzzle box,” Tomaz said, grinning enthusiastically. He spread his hand out over it and pushed a number of places simultaneously. There was a click as a spring released somewhere inside it, and pieces of the box pushed out. Tomaz then rotated it somehow, his huge hands handling the large cube with a deft assurance. There was another click; he rotated it once more, pushed again, and the cube split in half, revealing a sizable space inside.

He handed the pieces to Raven.

“It’s customary for someone who’s received an Anchor to be given a box like this to keep it in. It’s easier than keeping it on you all the time, and it’s safer than just leaving it lying around. And since each box has a different combination of motions to open it, it’s for you and you alone.”

Raven held the two pieces, not sure how to feel, not sure how to respond.

“And to personalize it a bit I did this,” the giant said, reclaiming the box, deftly reassembling it in a quick series of twists and pushes, before flipping it over so Raven could see the underside. The wood was well polished, and carved there in bas-relief was a tall, straight-backed man. He wielded a single-edged sword in one hand, and held a raven in the other. His clothing was archaic – the cut and style something out of the far reaches of history. It looked a bit like the carvings he’d seen done of …

“Aemon,” Raven said, realizing who and what it was.

He found himself at a loss for words, deeply touched. Tomaz had made this with his own hands, had taken time to think of him … no one had done that before.

“Thank you, Tomaz,” he said quietly. “This is a gift that … it is more than I should have reason to expect. I will … I will keep safe.”

He stopped there, unable to say anything else through his suddenly closed throat. Tomaz looked very pleased.

“I have something for you as well,” Raven said quickly.

He went to his bed and reached down to the foot or so of space beneath, grasped it, and held it up to the light. It was a hatchet he had crafted in his spare time to replace the one that had broken when they’d built Raven’s cabin. It was simple and rough, and Raven knew it was far from pretty, but he hoped it would suffice.

He held it out by the metal head, presenting the handle to Tomaz. The big man looked at him with a strange mixture of surprise and affection in his small, warm black eyes. He reached out and grabbed it, shifting its weight between his hands, feeling the grip. He nodded, affirming the craftsmanship, and Raven felt a huge glow of pride kindle inside him.

“Thank you, Raven. It’s well-made.”

“Really?” Raven asked, anxiously. “It’s – I mean it’s my first one, and I got the metal from the blacksmith, so I wasn’t sure if I had enough weight to balance it in the handle – but you like it?”

“It’s great, just what I need.”

Raven felt a soaring, giddy feeling in his stomach, and found himself beaming widely at the giant, who grinned back fondly.

“You wanna go to the Bricks for a sparring match or three?”

“Of course!”

In less than a minute, Raven had stowed the artfully crafted box beneath his bed, carefully placed his still, as of yet, inactive Anchor inside it, and met Tomaz outside the front door of his cabin. He thought about bringing Aemon’s Blade with him to practice with, but then decided against it for the first time in months. He was getting too used it, which made him wary. It would never do to get too comfortable with a single blade – what would happen if he were attacked when he didn’t have it on hand? No, today he’d use a blade of plain steel.

They walked to the Bricks through the clear winter morning; the air was crisp and unmarked, the sun rising slowly through a crease in the folded fabric of the mountains and lighting the world around them with a warm, golden glow, like that of fresh butter on new made bread. The pine, spruce, and fir trees that still had their needle-like leaves despite the chill, gave off a pleasant, invigorating smell as the needles crushed beneath their boots, and the world was silent as the owl changed watch with the morning lark. As they walked they talked, about this and that, and of nothing at all, as only best friends can.

When they arrived at the Bricks there was no one there – which didn’t surprise Raven much. Despite what Tomaz had said, it seemed like most of the city’s inhabitants had taken the morning to sleep in later than usual. Raven had a sneaking suspicion that Tomaz had simply been so excited about his gift he hadn’t been able to wait any longer; he smiled as a sudden image popped into his head of Tomaz grinning like an eager child ready to deliver his present.

They chose blades, Tomaz using a greatsword similar to Malachi, but dulled especially for practice. They both threw on leather sparring jerkins to be safe; they’d found out the hard way that they were now well enough matched that they could inadvertently cause nasty cuts and bruises if they didn’t take precautions, even with edge guards and practice blades.

This didn’t, of course, mean that Raven won their matches even half the time. Usually he didn’t win at all; out of ten matches, he’d most likely lose six, draw three, and win one. Tomaz was a BladeMaster, born and bred for one purpose: fighting. He was a machine whose only aim was destruction.

And yet the gentlest soul I know.

He thought back to what Goldwyn had said about the three levels of a person – the what, the how, and the why. The first two had been forced on Tomaz; born into the Guardians, trained since infancy in combat. But when they’d told him to kill, he’d left and become an Exile. He had changed his why.

Raven thought of Goldwyn and felt a strange glow of pride. It was becoming clear to him why everyone treated the man with such respect and spoke of him with something close to reverence: he made you want to be better. He believed in people, like Tomaz, like the former Prince of Ravens. Infuriating though he may be … he was the best teacher Raven had ever known.

I need to make him a present for our next meeting.

Raven smiled at the thought, and then turned to face Tomaz and saluted. They moved into the ring together and began to warm-up, trading easy jabs and friendly taunts.

Sometime later, after four or five rounds of which Raven won a personal best of two, others began to filter into the Bricks. Some of them came from upstairs, where most of the career soldiers stayed when they were in the city. Davydd and Lorna kept rooms up there as well, though Raven didn’t see them come down this morning.

Tomaz and Raven had just launched into their sixth bout, both sweating and breathing heavy, when out of the corner of his eye Raven caught a glimpse of Leah entering the room. He fumbled a parry, and without hesitation Tomaz slid forward, disarmed him, and had him on his back before he knew what was happening.

“That was rather clumsy,” the big man rumbled, his voice laced with disappointment. “You practically
gave
me that one.”

“Yeah, yeah, just let me up you big lummox, your beard is so thick it’s like getting scratched with steel wire.”