Kirin had fallen into conversation with a woman traveling with her brother. “And what prompted you to go looking for such a long lost friend?” she asked, taking a sip from the water bladder that hung from her horse’s neck.
Very few women traveled with merchants and most of those, for what ever reason, chose to be carried in the carts. He was impressed she was riding, and flattered that she had chosen to speak to him. “It’s been a decade. Friends should not fall out of contact,” he answered as vaguely as he could.
“He could be married by now,” she said.
“He probably is,” Kirin replied, shaking his head at her offer of a sip of water.
“Where will you begin?”
He looked at her quizzically. “I have no idea. Why?”
She smiled. “I think it’s exciting. You’re off on a journey of discovery. You could travel the entire realm…I mean compass…before you even get a clue as to his whereabouts.”
“That’s true. And I may never get that clue.”
“That would be a shame. Think positive, Kirin Felt.”
“And so you’re both traveling to Brighthelm?” Kirin asked. At her nod, he added, “What are you, guards or something?”
“What makes you say that?” she asked, amused.
“Well, you’re riding, for a start.”
“Very observant!” she replied archly. “No, I’m just using the caravan for security. My brother and I need to get into the city to see some relatives but we didn’t want to travel alone. So long as we pay our tithe and follow the rules, the merchants don’t mind. They’re good company as well.”
He nodded. He’d also paid a fee that allowed him the security of the merchant caravan and their mercenary guards. “Where do your relatives live?”
“Er, in a village not far from Devden.”
He’d heard the hesitation in her voice. She was lying. Why? More to the point, what was her interest in him?
“How long will you stay?”
She grinned. “All these questions, Master Felt!”
He shrugged. “Just passing the time, Lily.”
“Somehow I feel your life is far more exotic and interesting than my boring existence in Francham.”
“Nothing boring about Francham, surely?”
“Well, I’ve been there all my life. How about you? Are you originally from the city?”
“No, Port Killen on Medhaven,” he lied, unsure why but driven by instinct now.
“Far away,” she sighed. “You’re lucky to see so much of our lands.”
“You’d like to travel?”
“Yes, of course. But it is unseemly for a woman to roam the compasses. I envy you. And I hope you find your friend.”
“Your brother is very silent.”
“He never says much. And he didn’t really want to make this journey but we feel obliged.”
“And you live together?”
“Er, yes, we do.”
The hesitation each time he asked a personal question was telling. He was now convinced her easy conversation with him was contrived. She was also very pretty, which only served to make him even more self-conscious.
“How come you’re not married, Lily?”
She shrugged, seemingly embarrassed. “How come you aren’t?”
“I didn’t say that I wasn’t.”
“You didn’t say that you were either. I’m guessing not.”
“Why?”
She smiled softly. “The way you look at me.”
Kirin bristled. “My apologies, I didn’t—”
“You misunderstand, Master Felt,” she reassured. “Married men tend to have a hungry look in their eyes.”
He stared at her, only just able to see the amused expression through the murky light of the few lanterns they hung from the carts. “And I don’t look hungry?”
“Let’s just say you aren’t looking at all from what I can tell. Perhaps I should have said the way you don’t look at me.”
Kirin swallowed. She was absolutely right. “Should I start apologizing again?”
“Not at all. I can’t be offended by your lack of interest. I’m seeing a good man,” she said, her gaze as direct as her words.
“Will you marry him?”
“That’s overly curious of you,” she admonished, looking for the first time as self-conscious as he was feeling.
It was Kirin’s turn to shrug. “Don’t feel obliged to answer—” He stopped, looking ahead. “People are coming. Quite a few.”
“What? How do you know?”
“Trust me.” As they both sat up straighter to peer ahead, the sound of hooves and the squeak and groan of approaching carts came out of the darkness.
The merchant caravan hauled to a stop.
“Emperor’s soldiers,” Kirin breathed, feeling immediately nervous. He couldn’t risk being recognized. He turned to Lily and noticed her pulling her shawl over her head, tying it under her chin. He frowned. “What’s wrong?”
“Just taking precautions,” she murmured. “I’m a woman, Master Felt. It doesn’t hurt to be wary.”
Kirin’s puzzlement deepened. Lily was not traveling alone. Apart from the fourteen or so travelers alongside them both, she was with her brother, who was armed. Why would she feel so suddenly nervous? Kirin felt his earlier suspicions confirmed. Lily was not only hiding something, he could tell she wanted to hide herself along with it. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. Let’s not talk.”
“I’m sure you have nothing to fear from these men.” The soldiers, he could see, were escorting two carts holding people, none of whom bore tatua or looked at all like tribal folk. The man at the front waved a hand, asking the merchants to move to one side of the road. Kirin watched the leader of his caravan gladly acquiesce, obediently waving the group to shift as best they could.
“Who are these people?” Lily spoke softly for his hearing only, although the question was clearly rhetorical.
Kirin shook his head in reply but as he did so felt an assault on his mind. Though this had never happened to him before, he instinctively shepherded the probing magic, deflecting it he knew not where. It was gone no sooner than it had arrived and, startled, he wondered if he’d imagined it. His curiosity pricked, he risked a very small trickle of prying magic. He had been practicing this over the last seven anni, teaching himself how to control the flow with precision, never allowing it to rush from him. It had taken much of his courage to risk the headaches, the nausea, fainting, and loss of his rationality that accompanied the use of his talent and he had learned that to let it flow from him too fast—no matter how small the trickle—was to invite pain and sickness. Using it still meant repercussions but he knew now how to control it with exquisite care so that he knew exactly how much it took from him to wield it.
He cast as gently as he knew how, stealing over time and distance, through flesh and bone, creeping invisibly into the mind of the man bearing the tatua of the Green who seemed to be leading this strange group. And in this man’s jumbled, slightly angry, definitely alert thoughts, he thought he sensed what he sought. He pulled back with equal care and stealth and took a long slow breath to stem the inevitable rush of dizziness.
“Whoops, Master Kirin,” Lily warned, reaching for him. “What’s wrong?”
Kirin closed his eyes to steady the swaying sensation. “Forgive me, I feel a bit unwell.”
“Nothing to forgive,” she said, sounding worried. “Can I help?”
He pushed the heel of his palm against his forehead. “No,” he replied tightly. “This is probably the effects of the wine I drank in rather hefty quantity this afternoon.”
“Then I no longer feel quite so sympathetic,” she whispered, not unkindly.
He forced himself to focus. “Lily, have you heard of the Vested?”
She shot him a glance as the soldiers’ group began to advance again. “Yes. Why?”
“I think the people ahead in the carts are Vested.”
“How could you possibly know that?”
He tried to shrug. “I think I recognize one or two of the folk. I’ve—”
“You!” the lead soldier yelled, pointing.
Kirin looked over and noticed with a rush of fright that the man pointed at him. “Me?”
He watched the man consult with another, who was not a soldier but wore distinctive scars, painted violet, that marked him as Wikken, a so-called seer of the Steppes. The Wikken whispered something to the soldier.
“Name?” the soldier demanded.
Truth was best, Kirin decided. “I am Kirin Felt.”
“From?”
“Penraven.”
“Traveling from Francham?”
“Yes. I had business to conduct there.”
“What sort of business?”
“The emperor’s business,” Kirin replied, hoping his cutting tone would dismiss further questions.
The man appeared unnerved but once again listened to his scarred companion. He nodded, then asked, “Where are you going?”
“Heading back to Brighthelm.”
“Your business is done?”
“Yes.”
“And who are you to the emperor—what ser vice is it that you perform?”
“Nothing of such importance,” Kirin began, trying to deflect attention that he had any relationship with Loethar. “I am simply a man of letters,” he added, starting to craft a lie but realizing instantly it was an error as the Wikken leaned across from his horse and whispered again.
“Good, we will ask you then to accompany us.”
“What?” Kirin exclaimed. “No, I cannot, I’m afraid. I am expected at Brighthelm.”
“We will get you there.”
“But why must I come with you?”
“We could use your help as a man of letters.” Sarcasm had crept through into the soldier’s tone.
Kirin shook his head. “I’m sorry but I am supposed to go—”
The man laughed. “These people we carry wield the magic of the Vested,” he said, untroubled by sharing this information with the whole caravan of traders. “But my companion here is Wikken. He has ‘smelled you,’ Kirin Felt. You too are Vested.”
So it was the scarred man who had assaulted his mind, Kirin realized.
“Who is this woman you travel with?” the soldier demanded.
Before Kirin could respond, Lily spoke up. “I am his wife.”
Kirin turned and stared at her, taking care not to betray his shock. What was she up to? Why would she take such a risk?
“Are you Vested?” the soldier asked her.
“Yes.”
Kirin could not tolerate this. “This woman is—”
“Both of you will join us then,” the soldier said, waving a hand and urging his horse forward.
The merchant leader looked helplessly at Kirin and shrugged. He guided his horse to him. “You’d better go, Master Felt. I’m sorry but I suspect they mean no harm.”
“Do you?” Kirin glared and then softened. It wasn’t the trader’s fault. He nodded sheepishly. “My apologies, sir.”
“None needed. Go safely with Lo.”
There was nothing for it but for Kirin and Lily to turn their horses and join the group of soldiers, who coalesced around them without crowding them.
“What did you do that for?” Kirin demanded of Lily in an urgent whisper, staring ahead.
“I’m asking myself the same question,” she replied and he could hear in her voice that she was not lying.
“It was stupid, Lily. This feels dangerous. What about your brother?”
“Don’t worry about him.”
Kirin stared at her. “I’m not, I’m worried about you!”
“Well, don’t,” she said, tartly. “So, you’re Vested?”
He nodded. “You heard I work for the emperor,” and as he noticed her attractive face darken at his words, he added in the lowest of murmurs, “but not in the way that you think.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Not now,” he said, shaking his head. He was surprised to realize that in the last few minutes of alarm, the dizziness had passed and he was at least feeling well again, if not safe. “I shall tell you more when we’re alone.”
She seemed to accept this. “Who’s that man with the scars?”
“He’s Wikken. Did you understand what the soldier was saying?”
“No.”
“A Wikken is a seer of sorts, from the tribes. Apparently this one can ‘smell’ magic. I have little experience with them—he’s only the second Wikken I’ve seen in my time. It was my impression they refuse to leave the Steppes.”
“Well, he smelled you.”
“Pointless, though, I have such little skill,” Kirin lied.
“Why’s his face like that?”
Kirin didn’t know the proper answer to that. He turned to the soldier riding nearby; now that the men knew Kirin wasn’t planning on being any trouble, they had given the newcomers a wide berth. Kirin had to beckon the man, whom he guessed was around his own age, to guide his horse closer. “Yes?” the soldier asked, his expression quizzical.
Kirin drew make-believe lines against his cheek. “Can you tell us why he is scarred like that?”
The soldier smiled. “When anyone from the tribes shows genuine promise as a seer, he is cut each year from manhood. The wounds are packed with the ashes of our ancient dead, which we have kept for as long as our people have lived on the plains.”
“Why?” Kirin asked, intrigued in spite of his anxiety.
“We believe that the Wikken will then carry the memories of our forefathers, so that he is enlightened by their knowledge and experiences.”
Kirin nodded, keeping his expression bland.
Lily was not so careful. “You mean those scars are filled with the remains of cremated people?”
The soldier grinned. “That’s exactly what I’m saying. The wounds heal and push the packing of the ashes outward and that creates those magnificent scars,” he said, awe in his voice. “They’re purple anyway but he stains them that deep violet.”
Kirin glanced Lily’s way and she seemed to grasp his unspoken warning. “How fascinating,” she replied. “Thank you.”
“How many Wikken are in the Set?” Kirin asked, his voice casual.
“Shorgan is the only one now. There are only two living Wikken at present. The other is much older, far more powerful and remains on the plains.”
“So Shorgan likes it here, does he?” Kirin added, smiling, encouraging the man to spill as much information as possible.
“I believe he does. Our emperor sets little store by the Wikken today. He is keen that we do not dwell too much on the old ways of mystery and magic.”
“And yet he hunts down the Set’s Vested,” Kirin commented.
The man shrugged. “For different reasons. He wants control of the magic but he doesn’t make a lot of use of it from what I’ve heard. It’s too bad; I think I take an interest in sorcery.”
“How come?”
“Because my grandfather is the other Wikken.”
“I see. And you have no…?” Kirin wasn’t sure how to phrase his question but the youngster understood.
He shook his head. “Nothing at all.” He smiled. “I am all warrior,” he declared, banging a fist to his chest.
Kirin was pleased to hear Lily give a soft laugh on cue. He was relieved she had grasped that they needed to be as little problem as possible to these people.
“Why do they need my wife and myself?” Kirin asked, taking his chance and trying to make the words my wife sound natural even though they caught slightly in his throat.
The man shook his head, made a face to say he had no idea. “Just interested, I imagine. These Vested are being transferred. I am guessing that Shorgan sensed you, and that our captain is simply taking precautions. He’ll send a runner soon enough to inquire about you. It’s likely you’ll be escorted back to the city almost immediately.”
“And where are these people headed?”
“I haven’t been told. I just follow the leader.”
“They’re safe, though?”
The man frowned, slightly bemused. “I wasn’t here for the overthrow—I was just three moons too young as Loethar only allowed men who were two decades and older to march—but I hear it was a bloody one. I accept that those memories do not easily fade.” He gave a small bow that touched Kirin’s heart. “But our emperor does not want a massacre. We should not be feared as murderers.”
“He did a pretty good job of it ten anni ago.”
The man nodded and sighed. “War is ugly. But now he wants everyone to be loyal to the empire and to get on.”
Kirin felt his own treachery quicken his pulse. This man riding next to him was either terribly naive or one of the most sincere people he was likely to meet. If only he knew that the companion he was talking so freely and openly with was part of a long-held plot to tear down the very empire he admired so much.
“If he wants that he should not treat these innocents as prisoners.”
The warrior frowned. “Do they look like prisoners?”
Kirin looked over at the eight or so people he counted chatting amiably in the carts. One was telling a tall tale, it appeared, and even the soldiers riding alongside were joining in the laughter.
“No, but they’re not free, are they?”
The man shrugged. “What is freedom? Are you free?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, do you answer to someone?”
“We all answer to someone.”
“Then none of us is free.”
Kirin’s eyes narrowed. “Let me say it another way. I didn’t want to join this caravan but against my will I am being forced. To me that is not the choice of someone with freedom. These people would presumably not choose to be moved.”
“On the contrary,” his companion said, “they all volunteered to move into another compass.”
Kirin blinked, surprised. “Why?”
“I guess the emperor wants to put their skills to good use in another part of the Set.”
Kirin didn’t think Loethar would relinquish control of anyone possessing magic but he let it pass. Whether or not these Vested had volunteered did not solve the dilemma of him and Lily being absorbed into this group, or him being dragged further from Clovis’s trail.
“We do keep a record of the Vested, of course,” the soldier added.
“Oh?”
“It’s a new method but very effective, transportable, and knowledgeable.”
“Knowledgeable?” Kirin queried. “How can a list be discerning?” He watched the man’s brow crease in puzzlement at this word. “Er, how can a list think?”
“Ah, I see. It doesn’t have to. It’s not a list.”
It was Kirin’s turn to be baffled. “Not a list? What is it, then?”
The soldier laughed. “It’s a man. His name is Vulpan. He’ll want to taste your blood, too,” he said, waggling a finger.
Kirin felt a thrill of fear spike through him. “What?”
“You’re both Vested, aren’t you? He’s based at the next town. That’s where we’re headed. Everyone in the group will be recorded then.”
No one had interrupted Freath as he’d told his terrible story. The tallow candles had long ago guttered their last and now the foursome was illuminated in soft moonlight, shaded by gossamer cloud. Grave, thoughtful expressions had claimed their faces and they were as still as the trees that encircled them.
It was Leo who broke the silence. “My father asked you to do this,” he stated, as though needing to set straight in his mind all that he’d just heard.
“He could not know what would unfold but he certainly asked me to play the role of traitor if the Valisar throne was usurped. It was not a role I relished, your majesty, but I would deny my king and queen nothing, least of all my life. I loved both of them but I revered your mother. She was truly the most magnificent woman I have known and I have never, your highness, ever come to terms with the manner of her death. But she demanded it of me.” He looked down.
Leo stood, his expression one of distress mingling with disgust. “I’ve thought you treacherous for all of this time. I have hated you, dreamed of sticking my blade in your belly or dragging my dagger across your throat. I made a promise to myself that I would kill you at the first opportunity.”
“All perfectly understandable, your majesty. If I have managed to convince Loethar of my disloyalty to your family, what chance did you stand watching me from afar?” He gave a rueful smile. “It seems I have fulfilled what was asked by my ruler.”
“How could my mother ask such a thing of you, Freath?”
“She never actually said the words,” Freath admitted, noticing the flare of fresh anger in the young man’s face. “But she conveyed just as well what she expected of me. She was so brave. I am glad you did not have to hear her shrieks, your majesty, for they were false and for the barbarians’ benefit alone. She was not afraid to die, your highness. She was, however, afraid to live to see her precious children come to harm. If it is any consolation, majesty, she was aware that you had not been found. We couldn’t be sure where you were but we knew you were safe—if I may dare use that term loosely.”
“And then you decided to find Leo for Loethar,” Faris finished, obviously impressed by Freath’s incredible tale.
Freath nodded. “It was either that or allow him to kill hundreds of boys, majesty,” Freath said sadly. “I am yet to recover from the self-loathing of that incident but the awful plan kept the body count to nine, when it could so easily have become nine hundred or nine thousand.” He sighed. “I see each one of those nine boys’ faces in my nightmares. Tomas Dole—the one we used as you—even talks to me in them.” He gave a soft anguished cry that sounded like a choked sob. “Says he forgives me.”
“What made you think Leo was with us?” Faris asked.
“Who else was there?” Freath challenged. “I know the king came north not long before the wars began in the Set. At the time I remember thinking how odd it was that he came here without Regor de Vis. I traveled with him as far as Berch; he needed me alongside taking notes on what needed to be done before war arrived. You see, he was already making plans for the potential overthrow and I now realize he must have come and found you, Master Faris.” He looked at the outlaw. “I didn’t realize this at the time, of course. But the king was traveling extremely light—his horse, Faeroe, two soldiers, that’s about all. And the day I left to return to Brighthelm, so did he, plainly clothed and this time with only one soldier. The other escorted me.”
Faris nodded. “Yes, we saw him leave his man behind from miles away. He left Faeroe for his son and a locket that belonged to Iselda so that Leo would know it was no ruse.”
Freath looked amazed. “The locket. I had the castle searched room by room for it. The queen was devastated by its loss. We believed it stolen and it has irked me ever since that a thief was among us.”
“My father wanted me to understand that he had been here, that Faris was not lying to me.”
Freath looked at the king. “How clever of you, majesty, to work it out.”
Leo shrugged. “I was raised on secrets, Freath. My father was a shrewd Valisar—it seemed he did not need magic to be a clever and cunning king.”
Freath understood. “You do not require it either, highness, to claim back your throne. And you can be as cunning and ruthless as he was,” Freath replied. At Leo’s glance of surprise, he raised his hands. “Isn’t that what this is all about? Are we not all trying to put the rightful king back onto the Penraven throne?”
“Leo’s not sure whether anyone wants that anymore, Freath,” Faris sighed. “He thinks Loethar is doing a good job.”
“He is. If I didn’t know better I’d say he not only took up where your father left off, your highness, but he has continued in a way that would make your father and Regor de Vis proud.” He watched Leo bristle. “Forgive me, but I speak only the truth. I despise him each day of my life but for every moment that I despise him, I also admire him. It is a war that rages within me constantly.”
Faris glanced above his head to Jewd. Freath wondered if that was the signal to snap his neck. “You confuse me, Freath. What was your intention in coming here?”
“I came to warn you. I also ran out of patience with my own patience! I needed to know if we still had a Valisar king or whether my endeavors were in vain.”
“To warn us about what?” Faris demanded.
“Loethar seems to think one of your men took an arrow-wound recently. I was worried that it was you, Faris. They seem to be very hopeful it was you but I can see that you are well. And your giant friend behind me is also able, as is that man you called Tern. Presumably they were mistaken or it was—”
“What of it?” Leo snapped.
Freath hesitated, surprised. “Er, well, only that whoever took that wound—if one of your band has—is now a marked man.” He watched Faris steal a glance at the king and heard Jewd move around to face him as Leo and Faris stood. Freath swallowed. Something was clearly wrong.
“You’d better explain that,” Faris said.
Freath looked at his captors. “It’s as I say. The wounded man is marked—or so I’m assured. They will hunt him down and I feared that if they can find this man, they might find you, Faris. And no disrespect to you and your men but my real concern was for Leonel. I didn’t want his security threatened.”
“Loethar thinks he’s dead.”
Freath nodded. “Loethar has no reason to suspect otherwise. It hasn’t entered his mind that there is anyone who threatens his imperial authority. Those loyal to you, highness, heard of your escape into the woods third-hand. We couldn’t know for sure if it was you. We simply had to hope and pray that it was.”
“And how did you convince Loethar I was dead?” Leo asked.
“Magic, your majesty. The man that your protector here threatened to have killed not so long ago saved you from being hunted down all these years…saved all of us from an early grave. His name is Kirin, sire. Kirin Felt. He is Vested but pays a hefty price for his skills.”
At their quizzical glances he explained quickly how Kirin had used his magic to make Lily and Father Briar identify Tomas Dole as Prince Leonel.
“And so Felt will die?” Leo asked.
Freath shrugged helplessly. “I suppose so, eventually. He has already lost some sight in one eye. We have spared using him and he has been teaching himself how to control his magic but it will destroy him bit by bit as he uses it. Yes, your majesty, it will kill him. It is this uncanny Vested magic that has Loethar on your trail, Faris, and confident of hunting you and your men down.”
“I see. And why were you permitted to come north?”
“He wanted to send warriors into the woods and hills of the north but I suggested a more subtle way of finding you was to tax the north heavily. I assured him that the quickest way to capture you, without having to use brute force or bloodshed to compromise the magnanimous profile he is building, was to allow the northerners to yield you.”
“By taxing them?” Faris queried, incredulous.
“Yes. I said if he taxed them, blaming them for the money you steal, they would yield you.”
Faris pointed his finger. “What makes you think—”
“I don’t!” Freath snapped. “It was all I could come up with on the spur of the moment. He was already sending men, including his brutish brother, who likes nothing better than the sport of bloodshed. It was the only way I could stop them sending enough warriors to saturate the north and find the wounded man. I was desperate, Faris. I needed to give you time to either bundle him off on a ship somewhere, or kill him. But what ever you decide, don’t let him remain close, not even within a few miles of you or the king. If you ignore this warning you will be found and killed. He wants your head on a spike and he has the means to do so.”
Freath was surprised by the frigid silence that followed his comment.
“You’re that certain?”
“I can only tell you what I know and what I know best these days is Loethar. This is a man not prone to emotional outbursts. For him to be so animated, so open about his potential success is unusual. I suspect this means he is awfully confident of hunting down the man who took the arrow. He would never reveal so much if he weren’t utterly sure of his position.”
“How can he be that confident?” Jewd asked, the sudden rumble of his deep voice making Freath flinch.
“Because he’s using magic!” Freath spat. “Why aren’t any of you taking this seriously? Loethar’s in control of virtually all of the magic that once existed across our realm. He’s clever,” Freath said, shaking his head. “When he arrived he thought that he could literally consume the magic, endowing himself with it by eating people. I know now he was confusing this with a far more ancient and very specific practice available to only a handful of people. But I only discovered very recently that he no longer kills the Vested as he used to. Newly born Vested he protects. He rewards parents for owning up to their skilled children—provides housing, wages, all sorts of benefits. He looks after them. And in return, he knows where they are at all times.”
“And I suppose you’re going to tell us that it’s because of this Vested that we should feel uneasy?” Leo asked.
“Uneasy, your highness? No, you shouldn’t feel uneasy. You should feel terrified. If what Loethar has said is true, then he has harnessed a skill with which any man or woman can be hunted.”
“But, Freath,” Faris interjected. “This is foolish. No one knows what I look like; Loethar’s people—magical or not—have no way of earmarking me.”
“Not you, perhaps—not at the moment, at least—but they have one of your men marked.”
“No one was seen,” Jewd qualified.
Freath shook his head sadly. “But he bled.”
“So what?” Leo frowned.
“I can even tell you where he bled,” Jewd offered. “He bled onto a tree. Not much either…unnoticeable to most.”
“One of the Vested,” Freath said seriously, “according to Loethar, has the curious ability to recognize a person through their blood.” He watched his trio of companions frown.
“What?” Faris asked. “How? Smell?”
Freath shook his head. “Taste. He tasted the blood that was spilled from the arrow-wound and now Loethar is in a celebratory mood that it is only a matter of time before Vulpan marks the man. You have got to get that man away from our king.”
He watched Faris walk away to lean against a tree, thinking and then his big friend, Jewd, moved to stand near. Leo had not moved. “Where did you hide, majesty?”
“That is a secret that I must pass on only to another Valisar, Freath.”
He nodded. “In that case, you will be pleased to know the other news I have heard.” He flicked a brief glance at the two men talking urgently between themselves, then looked back to the king. “We believe your adopted brother, Piven, though lost, has not perished.” He saw Leo straighten with interest and even in the dim light could see the monarch’s eyes flash with a new intensity.
“You’re sure?”
“No, sire, I cannot be sure but the person who sent the news is very reliable—a true friend and loyal to you. Kirin Felt has gone in search of him. We understand that Piven has been living in and around Minton Woodlet.”
He watched relief spread over the young monarch’s features. “I thought Loethar might kill him.”
Freath nodded. “In his strange way, majesty, Loethar was fond of Piven. He once confided in me that he had two friends, neither of whom spoke. One was the bird that you know about, the one he called Vyk. The other was Piven.”
“My brother was always so affectionate and good to everyone,” Leo admitted. “I hated watching him be so friendly to the barbarian.”
“The good thing is, your majesty, that he is considered long dead. Loethar has effectively dismissed both of you from his mind. If Piven is found, we can not only re unite you brothers but we finally have a reason to rally people.”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Faris counseled quietly to Leo, arriving back from his discussion. “We have to take this Vested working for the barbarian seriously.”
Freath gave a sound of relief. “Thank you. Just get your wounded man as far away from here as possible. Send him to Medhaven or better still, put him on a ship somewhere to…”
“You don’t understand, Master Freath,” Leo interrupted. “You see, the injured man is me.”