The Prince of Exiles (The Exile Series) (58 page)

“As soon as she crossed the wall, I lost track of her – I can’t sense her at all –
there may be guards up there I couldn’t sense!
”

Davydd stiffened and pulled back, spinning around in the same motion and signaling to the three other Eshendai to get up their ropes, his frantic motion translating to frantic climbing as the slight figures almost sprinted up the wall.

One by one they disappeared over the edge, and time stretched out inordinately long as the rest of the group waited below, hands on swords, arrows notched to bows and drawn back to cheeks in case a guard should happen to peer over the side.

The Prince reached once more through the Talisman, but it was useless. He could sense the Kindred around him and the lives of the Commons in the city beyond – but for some reason the lives of the Eshendai on the wall were hidden from him. What did that mean? Was it a Bloodmage trap? Were intruders killed as soon as they crossed the threshold?

The sound of metal on metal rang above them, and the Prince felt his heart leap into his throat. Without sparing another second for thought, he grabbed the nearest rope and hoisted himself onto the wall; hands grabbed at him from behind, and he heard Davydd hiss in anger and warning, but he was gone before the man could do anything to stop him.

By the time he reached the top of the wall he was panting and his arms were seizing and cramping terribly. His lungs felt like they were on bloody
fire!
He threw one leg over the parapet, and then rolled the rest of himself over.

He looked around and saw nothing and no one.

His flesh began to crawl, and he looked around the interior of the guard tower he was in – it was a blank stone space, maybe twenty paces by twenty, with a ten foot roof that allowed for good visibility both over the city of Formaux itself, hazy and cloaked in fog like the rest of the land, and the swamps outside.

But the four Eshendai were nowhere.

He took a step forward, reaching through the Talisman, but there was nothing. He felt lives in the city, felt lives of the Kindred outside the walls … but the Eshendai were gone.

Motion caught his eye and he spun, yanking his dagger from his belt – only to pull up short as he realized the person coming toward him was Davydd Goldwyn, accompanied by two other slight, lean Eshendai with hungry lights in their eyes, like that of stalking wolves.

“They’re gone,” the Prince whispered in Davydd’s face. “I can’t sense them anywhere. The wall must be enchanted – I don’t know how.”

“Then how are you still here?” He asked, eyeing the Prince. “For that matter, how am
I
still here?”

“The Talisman – dark Bloodmagic, Imperial Bloodmagic, doesn’t work right around me,” the Prince said, thinking quickly. “It must extend to you as well because you’re nearby.”

A sharp hiss came from their right and they turned to see one of the Eshendai hold up a longbow – one of the bows the four Eshendai had been carrying. The grip was coated in a thin red layer of blood.

“
No!
” The Prince hissed. Even though the single word was barely audible, his intention was so loud that Davydd had to step forward and grab him.

“We are committed,” Davydd reminded him. “We have only so much time before Autmaran needs us to be done and out of here – his force can only hold them so long. Eventually word will return, and the guard will man this tower. We have a job –
we need to get that dagger.
”

The Prince took a deep breath and nodded, pulling himself together.

“Roll out the ladders,” he said to Davydd, speaking quickly. “I will stay here – the enchantment won’t work as long as I’m in range. Go to that edge of the tower and check that side.”

They nodded to each other, and the Prince went to the center of the guard tower and watched as Davydd and the other Eshendai tied off the rope ladders and shot arrows back to the ground to further anchor them. In no time, the rest of the group had ascended. There were fifty of them in this raiding party –
Forty-six now,
the Prince thought grimly – the rest of them with Autmaran in order to sell the ruse.

He noticed the four Ashandel who now had no Eshendai as they passed. Their faces were tight, and pain was evident in all of them, but they made no sound, following the rest of the group. He thought of how it would hurt Tomaz to know he’d lost Leah, how much it would hurt him to lose either of them.

My brother has much to pay for.

They crossed the tower and descended a long stairway carved into the wall. The Prince, with every step, waited for a trap to spring, but none did. All was silence and shadows as they crossed into the city.

The night was dark, mist and clouds covering the sky. Dusky oil lamps stood at odd intervals, giving only murky glimmers of light. Some were out, and many only glowed dimly, flickering and guttering as if in a strong wind. Buildings loomed up at them out of the darkness – huge, undefined shapes, all reaching up into the sky. None of them seemed to be less than five or six stories tall, and some of them were even taller, reaching up impossibly high to tower over even the walls that surrounded them.

“What holds them up?” Asked Davydd in awe.

“Clockwork steel,” the Prince said, setting his teeth as he realized it. This whole city was made of clockwork magic pieces – the fruits of the industry of Lucien, capital city of the Empire. “The pieces are engraved with basic Bloodmage enchantments, making them stronger than they should be, able to hold more of a load.”

“How?” He whispered back, barely breathing.

“Sacrifices,” the Prince whispered, his mind going back to dark rituals in caves far underground. “Common children, killed and buried beneath the buildings.”

Lorna came up behind them and placed a hand on both of their necks and they immediately fell silent. She pointed up ahead, and there, rising out of the mist, was Tiffenal’s palace. Though still far away, they could make it out in the dim light, a huge, sprawling thing, taking up the entire center of the city like some enormous, glittering spider.

The Prince saw Davydd take a deep, steadying breath, as if even he, with his reckless desire for impossible challenges, was daunted by the sight. He motioned for two Ranger pairs to come forward – both of these Eshendai also bore bows, though they were shorter and smaller than the long bows they’d used to get over the walls.

The group split into formation, approaching the distant palace, passing amongst the dark buildings and crooked streets.

There was something about Formaux that just … wasn’t right. Something off. The Prince looked about them as they made their way down the broad street, stalking through the shadows the buildings cast.

People. There are no people in the streets – not a sight, not a sound of a single person.

As he realized this, an eerie feeling of dread fell over him. He knew what happened to those who entered this city and displeased his brother. He knew that none of the citizens who lived here ever left the city grounds unless it was on the business of Tiffenal himself. Even the High Blood and the Elevated, those ranked just below the Most High, regarded Formaux as a punishment, as a kind of Exile in its own right.

Perhaps they are simply inside after dark.

And then they turned a corner onto a small square and he saw the reason.

Hanging from five separate gibbets were five bodies. Three of them looked to have been burnt alive – their skin was black and peeling and their faces pulled and distorted with inaudible screams – while the other two were missing all their limbs.

Davydd took two steps forward before the Prince caught him and pulled him back. The other man turned to him and almost burst out screaming to let him go, but gained control of himself at the last minute when the Prince pointed to the far corner of the square, then down to the ground beneath the gibbet. Guards stood in the distance, stationed there to prevent people from doing exactly what Davydd had been about to do, and a number of small hammer-and-sickle blood drops had been carved into the stone beneath the hanging bodies, evidence of Bloodmage enchantments that would no doubt activate if anyone came closer.

A high, quavering moan rose from one of the limbless bodies; it fell over against the bars of the gibbet, causing it to swing as it hung suspended from the nearby buildings some thirty feet in the air. The man was still alive. Looking closer, the Prince saw the amputated stumps had been cauterized so that he would not bleed to death. He was instead dying slowly of starvation.

This was a central square, one that was most likely heavily used during the day. Any who walked here would have to see these men, and remember what the Prince of Foxes could do.

Those who come here do not return.

Davydd pushed him away, his face murderous, but he did not move forward. Instead, he made a slashing motion in the air and the Kindred moved on, hugging the shadows.

They passed quickly through another series of buildings without any more sights like the gruesome spectacle behind them. They crossed from the farther reaches that were obviously, despite their height and cleanliness, made for the Commons, onto a large circular boulevard. On the other side were spectacular houses, wider streets that were paved instead of cobblestone – the Quarters of the Elevated and the Blood.

And still they didn’t see anyone. No lamps were lit, no people strolled the streets. Not even the mists that covered them seemed to stir – the night was windless and empty, but wracked with a feeling of old pain, like an ancient tomb.

The Prince caught sight of something swaying down the broad boulevard – another cluster of gibbets. He saw this time as many as a dozen, some large enough to hold multiple men and women, all with figures inside. He only just stopped himself from going to them – again, he could feel their pain from where he stood, could see terrible images and imagine the suffering they were going through.

Big picture,
the Prince reminded himself forcefully, trying to think as Leah or Tomaz would in this situation, doing his best to remain calm and emotionless even though he could feel anger building up inside him, anger and
fury
at his brother for doing such things.

You can’t help them. Your task is the dagger.

Noise – to their right. Light – from torches.

All of the Rangers simultaneously disappeared into the misty night, hiding in the barest of crevasses in the long walls of buildings, cloaking themselves in shadows, staying so still it was as if they had stopped breathing.

The Prince did the same, doing his best to remain unseen and unheard as a troop of guards crossed the large, dividing street behind them.

“Why can’t we be out fighting those damn Exiles?”

“Yeah, almost the whole guard left to hunt them down, we haven’t had any fun in ages.”

“You’d think we’d get curfew duty off when the bloody
walls
are attacked,” one of them grumbled in a thick, raspy voice.

“Someone needs to keep the damn Commons inside at night,” said another voice, one of more authority. He didn’t speak callously, however – his words had a fondness to them, and an anxiety as well. “You know what happens when they’re found out after sunset. We need to keep them inside for their own good.”

This quieted the rest of the guard –
ten in all
, the Prince thought after a quick count – and they continued about their walk, not noticing the Kindred who were now inside the inner circle of the city. Once they had passed, the Rangers quickly moved on.

The street here were brighter, lit with the hard, sharp glow of chemical fires contained in the clockwork lamps made by the Visigony and the Prince of Eagles for use by the Empress and the Children. The streets here were wide and straight, the buildings large and lavish, with traces of gold and silver gilding along with artful carvings and sculptures.