The Prince of Exiles (The Exile Series) (51 page)

“You are a figurehead and nothing more, do you understand me?” he breathed, his face barely inches away from the Prince. His breath smelled like rage. “This is a war that will be won by the Kindred alone, not by a cast out son of the Tyrant. You are no better than your blood will let you be, and do not ever think that I will forget it. I have spoken to Elder Warryn – he has agreed to resume the duties of the Elder of State until such a time that the council can elect someone new to fill the post. He and I are in agreement; you will have no say whatsoever in the tactical planning of this campaign. You will be present, because you must be, and you will be silent, or I will make you wish you had been.”

The Prince, still reeling from the rejection he’d received from Leah, found he could think of nothing to say.

Perci left, and for a long time the Prince just stood there, wondering how, in just a few weeks, his entire world could have turned upside down.

And this led to another problem – the new Elder of State.

It appeared that Henri Perci had been slightly premature in his announcement of Elder Warryn’s reinstatement – Crane had said that he would think on it, and while he had, he had not yet decided it was a good idea.

“There has never been an Elder
reinstated
before,” said Dawn the Dragon Lady Elder, “it’s not part of what we swear to when we sheath the dagger, and as such it should not be allowed. History takes precedence here – we should elect a new Elder.”

“Oh come now,” said Lymaugh the Merciful Elder, “you know that it is not as bad as all that. It’s a simple thing … besides, Warryn made a mistake. We’ve all made mistakes.”

“Lawful Elder,” Crane said to Spader, who was drinking something that the Prince highly suspected was not juice out of a small glass cup, “can we get around this? We need –”

“We need a full circle of thirteen to advise the Prince,” finished Spader with his dry arrogance, “that’s the one law
no one
can get around in any way. And before you ask Crane,
no
, not even me. There’s no wiggle room, and I should know since I wrote it that way at the insistence of the majority of the people in this room.”

He looked around pointedly at the other Elders, a caustic smile on his lips.

“Very well,” said Crane, “then it looks like we have no choice. Time is of the essence, and we need a full circle of thirteen, even if we don’t have the final dagger.”

“I still have
my
memories at least,” said Warryn, stepping forward. He also still had the same superior, pompous air to him as before that so drove the Prince to anger. “And I have experience with the rituals.”

“Very well,” repeated Crane, his voice carefully without inflection.

“In normal times it would be put to a vote,” Spader said, “but in times of war we have the right to elect an interim Elder until such time as a vote can be held by the general populace. We’ll have to publish the notice through the Five Cities, but –”

“Of course, of course,” said Warryn, waving a hand in the air dismissively five feet to the right of Spader, not even caring enough to turn around and look to see where he was actually standing. “We have more important matters to attend to. Matters of
State
. Just get on with it.”

“I nominate Archibald Warryn for the position of Elder of State,” said Crane. “All those in favor say ‘aye.’”

“Aye,” said eleven voice in unison, including Warryn’s.

“Nay,” said Spader.

“Now is not the time for jokes,” Elder Keri reminded him with a bright smile, but one that held an edge to it as well.

“Fine, hold on.”

He tipped his head back and downed the amber liquid that had been left in his glass – it had been almost half full – and shook his head vigorously. He paused for a moment, then smiled, nodded and said:

“Ok, now ‘aye.’”

“Elder Warryn is reinstated,” Crane concluded. “As Elder Iliad is absent, his vote will be counted in the affirmative.”

“As it always is,” sighed Ishmael softly from a corner of the room.

“Not yet – he has to swear fealty to the Prince,” Spader admonished, with a look on his face that said he was suddenly taking cruel pleasure in the proceeding. “He must swear fealty in all things, whatsoever, until such time as the Prince should release him, or his task be completed. We all swore during the Oath ceremony, but since he wasn’t part of it, he needs to do so now.”

The proud, regal look on Warryn’s face curdled, but he quickly replaced the dismay with a neutral expression and crossed the room to the Prince, quite likely under the impression that the faster he got this over with the better.

He knelt before the Prince, and spoke words in an unfamiliar language, sharp and clipped, then began to rise.

“Not yet!” Called Spader. “Since you weren’t at the Oath ceremony, you have to wait for him to raise you up you
twit
.”

“You will keep a civil tongue in your head Spader,” snapped Elder Dawn, her tight gray bun of hair bristling like a cat’s. Spader shrugged, raised an eyebrow at the Prince as if to say “he’s all yours,” and turned away.

The Prince looked down at Warryn, and noticed now that he was kneeling that the man was rather severely balding and trying to cover it up. He also smelled like some kind of fruity, fermented drink layered over an unpleasant musk that belied constant perspiration. His shirt had lace ruffles at the collar, the sleeves, and the hem, and it was far too tight, spilling out his large belly and straning the bottom button of a vest that must have been soldered on by a blacksmith in order to keep the whole thing shut about his vast girth.

“What are the words?” The Prince asked suddenly, turning to Spader. “I want to make sure they’re right.”

Spader, who had refilled his glass as if by magic, looked up at him in mild surprise, and then looked down at Warryn, balanced precariously on one knee, and smiled wickedly.

“You know, the wording
is
very important, why don’t I just double check to make sure –”

“This is ridiculous,” said the Dragon Lady, “we have no time for games – he didn’t speak the words during the official ceremony, he doesn’t need to speak them now, it’s purely ritualistic.”

“
Games?
” Spader said, acting absolutely shocked, placing a hand over his mouth. “I take affront at such accusations.”

“Just give him the damn words,” Warryn said, his face turning beat red as his too-tight clothing restricted proper blood flow in his kneeling position.

Spader recited the words with the Prince repeating after him, mimicking the strange sounds. When he finished the final word Warryn nearly jumped back to his feet – possibly more physical exertion than he’d seen in years – and strode to the Council table, ignoring the Prince.

Spader smiled coyly at the Prince, who flashed a small smile in return.

But his good mood quickly died as another unproductive month passed beneath the Capitol. For days, and then weeks, as the storms of winter blew out and the weather calmed in anticipation of spring, they sat in the Council chamber and debated, going back and forth over the best plan of action – from the rather drastic ideas of the Dragon Lady that involved destroying the pass of Roarke and closing them off from the Empire forever, to the foolhardy and completely ignored urgings of Warryn to charge straight for Tyne – or Lucien – or both – and challenge the Children in the field.

During these times, the Prince found his mind wandering. This process seemed hopeless – they would never defeat any of the Children this way. These generals were children desperately studying chess strategies before playing against a master; the first move really wouldn’t matter. His mind went to the people he had to protect, the people who were counting on him, and he tried to help the conversation, but each time he spoke Perci’s eyes shot daggers at him and Warryn quickly beat back any of his suggestions with loud, obscurant verbosity. But still the Prince tried, thinking as he did of the look on Leah’s face when she’d seen Goldwyn’s body, knowing countless more daughters would be left grieving by the time this was done.

As for Leah herself, the Prince saw her once, and only once, in all of the time they spent preparing for the inevitable war with the Empire.

It was a few weeks into the endless process, when they needed exact figures on the gathered Rogues and Rangers that were to serve under her. At the urging of Ishmael, she had recently been promoted to the rank of Major, as had Davydd, and as such now commanded a force of nearly a thousand Eshendai and Ashandel. Warryn and Dawn, as well as Stanton and Ceres, had tried to beat this back, but the rest of the Elders had voted them down. The children of Goldwyn were two of the finest military minds the Kindred had – they needed to be in places of command where they could make a difference, regardless of their age.

When she entered the room, the Prince wasn’t prepared. The door opened with a wooden
boom
, and he turned quickly, surprised by the intrusion; the first thing he saw was her black hair, blown by the wind of her passage, floating free around her head like a halo. It looked as if she had been woken and rushed to the Council.

He was standing at a table off to the side, one that was overflowing with charts and lists; but even from the distance of the room his heart gave a sickly, sideways lurch, as a darkness descended on him that had nothing to do with the gloomy light of the underground chamber.

She crossed the room quickly, watching the Elders, standing straight and tall, walking with her unconscious, fluid grace, and the rest of the room disappeared for him.

But he stayed in the shadows, as he had done all of his life, and made neither sign nor motion to let her know that he was there and watching. She spoke with the Elders, with the quick and calm assurance of her well-ordered thoughts, and they thanked her and dismissed her. She bowed her head in deference, and turned to go.

But, as she left, her eyes swept the hall and met his gaze, hidden though he was in the gathered shadows that rimmed the edges of the Council room. Her green eyes took him in, and it was as though he’d been drowning and hadn’t known it. Breath came in through his nose as his lungs filled themselves – her life brushed against his mind –
green and silver, trail dust and lavender soap, honeyed breath on Midwinter night, a dagger cutting through silk, the peal of silver bells –
and his world narrowed in on her, filled with her. But with the life came darkness, a deep and painful knowledge that his need for her would never be fulfilled, that this was as close as he would ever come to her again.

And so he turned back to his lists, his charts, his maps, and planned the invasion of what was once his homeland, knowing all the while that it was hopeless.

Spring broke soon after – too soon, in fact, for the Prince, who wished the day would never come. Word came that the Pass had begun to thaw, despite the Prince’s fervent wish that time should stand still, and the day arrived with a dawn that was bright and warm, when all knew the time had come to move. With no further ado the Kindred forces, tens of thousands strong, assembled themselves, readying their horses and supplies, saying goodbye to their families, making the last memories they might ever make. They left on that fateful morn, and the thunderous sound of their passage silenced the wildlife as they passed, the land holding its breath as it watched its sons and daughters ride out to meet their deaths.

The first week that it took to travel north, through the Pass of Roarke, was miserable, and set a very poor tone for the rest of the journey. It rained the whole time, and everyone, including the Prince and the Generals, ended up soaked through. Henri Perci was often heard complaining to his valet that his clothing wasn’t kept dry, and the Prince felt bad for the man. Not for Perci, but for his valet – the man looked constantly haggard and put-upon. But the Prince knew he had enough trouble with the belligerent general without telling him how to properly reprimand a servant.

The Prince had been offered a valet as well but had turned it down. Before he had left the Empire he’d had servants and some slaves even – but he’d
never
had a valet. He hated the very idea – they were for men who couldn’t do simple things for themselves, like put on shoes or other such nonsense.

In effect the traveling War Council was much the same as the council back in Vale; it came down to the five generals Henri Perci, Wyck, Oleander, Dunhold, and Gates, as well as Elder Keri with an army of Healers and Elder Ishmael, who would command the Rangers and Rogues. Elder Spader was there as well, though not in an official capacity. The Elders did not go to war, save for the Spy Elder and the Healing Elder whose services were often useful; they were civilians, all of them with little military training save Warryn, who had been politically forced to stay behind by Elder Crane. They were, of course, in constant contact with the Generals, and Crane, Dawn, and Warryn had all implied they would make trips to the battlefront, but otherwise they were governors, not warriors, whose place was in the Kindred lands. Spader had been told by the other Elders to stay behind, but being his wily self, he had managed to secure secret passage out of Vale with a supply train, and came sauntering into the command tent the first night with his air of affable arrogance, nearly scaring them all to death, and had acted as general council and comic relief ever since. The Prince, who had come to like Spader, was grateful for his presence, though Herni Perci and his followers gave the Elder only the barest modicum of the respect due his rank.

When they had reached what remained of Roarke – little more than scorched earth and warped stone – they all met in the council tent of the Elders, which had been erected on the very hilltop where he had berated Warryn months ago.

Remember that – you were right; you know your brothers and sisters better than they ever could
.
Henri Perci may know the ins and outs of the Kindred Forces, but he does not know, and never shall, the inner workings of the Children.

From here on out he would have to trust his instincts. And right now, they were telling him something very definite:

“We’re not moving
fast
enough,” the Prince said, breaking the silence. They all turned to him, Herni Perci with barely concealed contempt.

“How do you expect us to move faster?” Asked Perci. “Not all of us have the power to kill people and harvest their speed.”

“I don’t know,” responded the Prince, trying to keep himself civil with the man. Whatever their past issues were, even though the man had tried to
kill
him, circumstances were different now. They
needed
to work together. There was no time for petty squabbling. He just wished Perci could understand that – the man’s pride rode him mercilessly, and never seemed to let him rest.

“But we should be moving faster nonetheless,” said the Prince.

“Moving faster where exactly?” Asked Oleander, his hazel eyes gleaming oddly. They did that at times, and the man seemed to be feeling his years of late – he often misspoke or moved in strange, arthritic half-motions. It gave the Prince the strangest feeling of déjà vu.

“Look, we’re here,” said the Prince. He pointed to the spot on the top most of the maps that were spread out on the table before them. It was a magnified version of the southern half of the Empire, showing the Roarke Mountains, the city of Roarke itself, a broad expanse of road that led north, and another road that led northwest. That second road led toward his sister Dysuna’s Principality – the Province of Tibour. The land there was bleak and harsh – grassland for miles and miles without end, and, in the center of it a desert, in the middle of which was a single oasis where Dysuna had built her palace. It was a barren land – if they went there, they would not come out, he was sure of it. Dysuna didn’t even need to meet them in open battle – she needed only to wait inside her palace while the Kindred approached, giving the other Children time to gather. No, attacking the Wolf was suicide.

“We have the time and the ability to go around by Lake Chartain and –”

“We must defeat the Prince of Wolves before we move on,” said Oleander. Perci nodded emphatically.

“We cannot let her come up behind us – we’ll be completely hamstrung.”

“But if we go for Tibour, we’ll be sitting, twiddling our thumbs at the gates of Dysuna’s palace while she watches,” the Prince insisted, trying to make them see.

“I thought you weren’t one for strategy?” Spader said lightly with a wry smile, trying to liven the mood.

“I’m not really,” the Prince said, rubbing his eyes. He was so tired … he didn’t think he’d ever be able to rest well again. The weight of too many lives rested on his shoulders. “But tactics are easy for me. The strategy is to invade the Empire, striking northward. As long as you’ve all decided that’s the best path to take, then I can help make it work. And I’m telling you, going for Tibour
won’t
make it work. We don’t have the man power, the
land
power, or the strength of numbers. We have the element of surprise – the initiative – that’s all. And if we head for Tibour, we give that up, as surely as if we’d sent missives to the Empire telling them exactly where we would be going.”

“Fine,” Perci said, his nostrils flaring, “then the strategy has changed.”

“What do you mean?”

“The strategy is now to leave you here doing what you want with an honor guard as befitting you
station
, and for the rest of us to invade the Empire as we’d planned.”

“There
was
no plan!”

The Prince took a deep breath, taken aback by the venom in his own voice.

“All of you spent months in
committee
deciding nothing,” he said, still emphatic, but with less volume, hoping that would translate to politeness. “There was no single unifying voice the whole time – you have no leader, you have no plan, you have only vague ideas of attacking the Empire for pure catharsis. But getting all of us killed – wasting the lives of all those men and women out there – is no way to avenge the death of Elder Goldwyn.”

“I will hear no more of this,” said Henri Perci. He stood, and the Prince felt rage flare up in him, but he did nothing and simply let the man walk out. General Oleander followed reluctantly, though perhaps that impression was just because his movements were so awkward and jerky. For the first time in months the Prince wished he were back in the Empire; if anyone had spoken to him like that when he was Prince of Ravens they would have been strung up and hanged by the nearest lamppost.

But he wasn’t in the Empire. He’d gone and rebelled and gotten himself elected leader of the damn Exiled Kindred. If he’d been smart he would have run off into the mountains and become a hermit and lived out his days in peaceful solitude where no one could find him.

And they ask why I’m no good at strategy …

The rest of the council broke up then, though as Ishmael and Spader left the tent they both gave him looks that told him they agreed. This only darkened his mood, however. He was so
tired
of needing a majority in order to do anything. He was a Prince, not a governor. He’d been brought up to rule, not to lead.

This is what you should have been trying to learn from Goldwyn,
he thought to himself ruthlessly.
Not trying to make yourself feel better.

He left the tent too then as a number of Kindred servants came to clean it up – he used the term servants loosely here, as he knew from looking at the camp ledgers that they were all paid nearly ten times what any Imperial servant could hope to earn – and looked into the darkening sky and couldn’t help but feel like this whole journey would be fruitless. And, in the end, it would be his fault. He was the Prince, the leader. He held these men’s lives in his hands, and if they died it would be no consolation whatsoever to them that he had
tried
to save their lives.

His anger crystallized; hardened and turned inward. He used it as a spur, to prick him onward, forcing himself to go over the battle plans again, looking for a way, some way,
any
way, to prevent the deaths of the men and women who had placed their trust in him.

His
men.
His
women. Fathers and mothers. Daughters and sons.

He reached out through the Raven Talisman and felt the life all around him, the different swirling colors, the sounds and smells of the camp, the underlying currents of emotion that, when gathered together like this, seemed to swell and ebb together like a tide.

He caught flashes of different lives –
the feel of cotton on smooth skin, the blue of a fresh summer sky, the smell of tanning hides –
and felt his anger at Perci become all the sharper, cutting all the deeper.

I have to save these people. They’re my people.

He spent the night sleeplessly, and rose the next morning to face the council once more as they continued their journey north and west.

All of this wouldn’t be so bad if he had had Leah and Tomaz to lean on. But Tomaz was often out scouting – as the bearer of the Ox Talisman he was quite invaluable, and as such often recruited for everything from lifting broken wagons to running scouting missions. And Leah … Leah had avoided him ever since the day he’d stood and been named Prince of the Veil. It was as if he had ceased to exist for her. Tomaz was there for him when he could be, as he always had been, but the girl’s absence was keenly felt, so much so that it had even become the subject of speculation among the rest of the camp. After their demonstration at the Midwinter Festival, rumors had begun to fly, and the death of Elder Goldwyn had done little to quell them. But now that Leah would not speak to him, the Prince couldn’t help but feel that at least some of what they said was true: that Leah truly did, despite Tomaz and Davydd’s attempts to change her mind, blame him for her father’s death. Many whispers seemed to think he should speak out against this, and Tomaz himself had tried to convince the Prince to approach Leah and force the conversation.

The problem though, as he had told Davydd, was that he
was
responsible.

Not directly, no, of course not. But it was because of him and his inaction that the Kindred hadn’t known everything they possibly could about his brothers and sisters. It was because of him and his lack of enthusiasm, his damned stupid basic lack of
understanding
that it was necessary for him to take on the responsibility required of him. There truly was no one else who could do this, no one else who was fitted for the job as he was. It wasn’t that he was Aemon’s Heir, though he knew that was important to the Kindred and it was one of the reasons the Elders had allowed him to take the office in the first place. It was because of his other heritage: the blood of the Empress. All she had done, and all that his brothers and sisters had done, lay on him. No one could defeat them but him, and no one could save the Kindred but him.