Royal Exile. Fiona McIntosh
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‘You can write?’
The archer nodded. ‘A little, sir.’
‘You have one minute to scrawl something and then I want to see you out there and finding out more from him.’
The man nodded again, bowed and Gavriel was sure he must have imagined that the archer scowled at the legate as he pushed past.
The expectant hush that had fallen across the city over the past few days had infected the palace as well. Gavriel was sure that even from this height if he listened hard enough he could probably pick up the creaking of the rider’s saddle. A lot of people had fled the city but the majority had remained, trusting in their army’s strength, the impregnability of Brighthelm and their king’s ability to achieve a settlement. Gavriel reckoned many of them believed that Brennus had disguised his magical ability to coerce others but that he would now unleash it to negotiate a peaceful retreat of the barbarians. The De Vis family knew better.
‘Taking a long time,’ the legate muttered to the captain nearby.
‘Probably the note, sir,’ the man answered candidly. ‘Or he’s scared.’
‘He didn’t seem scared when he volunteered.’
‘He’s out, father,’ Gavriel offered and the conversation was forgotten as everyone leaned over to watch Del Faren approach the rider. The population on the battlements became so still and silent they could just catch the murmur of the two men.
‘Not very friendly are they, considering they’re family,’ De Vis commented.
The captain shrugged. ‘Perhaps his sister has been killed in the fighting.’
De Vis ignored the response, turning back instead to see the rider hand Faren a note in return which Faren pocketed.
Gavriel thought the spectacle was done with, and had just raised his hand to the rider who gazed up at them forlornly when a sound whistled out of the nearby woodland. In the blink of an eye the tip of an arrow had punctured straight through the rider’s heart and out between his ribcage. As the rider slumped forward, revealing the stub of the arrow’s shaft protruding from his back, the horse obediently answered a whistle, turning to canter back into the shadows of the trees.
‘Bastards!’ De Vis growled. ‘Get that archer before me, now!’ he ordered. ‘In the garret.’ He turned to his son. ‘Get the prince and follow me. And someone fetch the king!’ Runners took off in various directions.
In the quiet of the garret, De Vis addressed his son and the prince alone. ‘Your highness. Gavriel. I suspect the moment for your escape approaches. Do you understand, both of you?’
Gavriel glanced at the youngster. ‘Yes, father. Leo, er, the prince and I have discussed it. I know what is expected of me.’
‘Don’t even look back, son,’ De Vis replied, his voice suddenly tender. ‘All our hopes are riding on your shoulders and the courage of Prince Leo.’
A man appeared at the door. ‘Tell him to wait until the king arrives,’ De Vis called, returning his attention to the pair of youngsters. ‘All right, then. My prince, your father has been summoned and I’m sorry but this will be your best opportunity to say farewell to him before I ask Gavriel to remove you from here. The secret of your escape will be known only to myself and the king. Your whereabouts I take with me to my grave.’
‘Don’t, father —’ Gavriel began but was silenced by a fierce glance from the older man.
‘No pretence now. We know what we face. We each have our duty. Don’t let our deaths be in vain.’ He cleared his throat of the emotion that had begun to sound in his voice as the king arrived.
‘I heard we’ve had a rider,’ Brennus said, striding into the garret and bringing the smell of the queen’s perfume in with him. Gavriel inhaled it as though taking in the essence of life. When would he smell something so beautiful again? He glanced at Leo and could imagine the boy thinking much the same and perhaps silently fretting over his mother.
‘Your majesty,’ De Vis, began, ‘a rider has delivered a note to us.’
Gavriel watched Brennus’s expression darken.
‘Terms, you think?’ he asked.
De Vis shook his head. ‘Where is Faren?’
The archer was almost manhandled in.
‘Well, show us, then!’ the king ordered, more ferociously than perhaps he intended. Faren flinched.
It was De Vis who snatched the note and read it. ‘Well, it seems Loethar has perfect command of our written language. Or he had someone write this for him — perhaps the poor sod recently slain. Either way, majesty, he requests that you meet him for a parley.’
The king looked surprised. ‘But this is what we want.’
‘I can’t allow you to take him up on the offer, your highness. I will go in your stead. I agree it’s important we meet but we cannot risk you.’
Brennus nodded. ‘Has he said when, where?’
De Vis handed the note to the king. ‘He is bold. He is happy to meet in front of Brighthelm, in full view of Penraven but obviously out of range of archers.’
‘Doesn’t trust us?’ Brennus said, his tone laden with sarcasm.
De Vis gave a grim smile. ‘Seems not.’
‘It says here he will meet at the sound of a bell. His, I presume?’
De Vis shrugged. ‘I’ll be ready.’ He turned to Faren. ‘You may go.’
Once again Gavriel saw the man glare defiantly at his father, although Legate De Vis hardly noticed the archer’s expression. ‘Thank you, sir.’
‘One more thing.’
‘Yes, legate.’
‘How is your sister?’
Faren shrugged, slightly embarrassed. ‘He wasn’t my brother-in-law, sir. The horse wasn’t the one I thought it was once I got up close.’
‘I wouldn’t think your brother-in-law would have a horse that answers to the whistle of our enemy.’
‘No, sir.’
‘But if it wasn’t your family why did you give him the note?’
‘He said he would find my sister for me if he could.’
‘I see. And are you aware the man was shot in the back by our not so gallant enemy?’
‘I am, sir, yes. Shocking.’
De Vis studied the archer. ‘I trust nothing incriminating or dangerous was in that note, Faren?’
The archer looked deeply affronted. ‘Why would I do such a thing?’ he demanded, adding ‘sir’ as an afterthought. ‘He got killed after I’d given it to him, sir. It was too late to worry about it then.’
Gavriel couldn’t help but mistrust the man. There was something cunning lurking behind that innocent expression, something directed at his father that he couldn’t for the life of him work out.
‘All right, Faren. Back to your post.’
The man bowed to his king, banged his fist against his heart to the legate and departed.
‘Something’s amiss there, father,’ Gavriel said, unable to stop himself.
‘Yes, I noticed. All the more reason for you to take your leave. Your majesty, I have instructed Gavriel to put the plan into action. The prince and he should leave immediately.’
‘Yes, yes of course,’ Brennus agreed.
The Valisar king turned to his son. ‘Come here, Leo, my boy. We must now say goodbye, you and I.’
Gavriel