Gavriel sat with his back to Loethar, his emotions torn and confused. How was he suddenly feeling sympathy and respect for the hated emperor! He could almost be grateful for his memory loss now; without it he knew in his heart that he would not have found the control to overcome the desire to kill the man who slew his father so callously. The distance of years and the lack of time to fester meant his grief had been diluted; it was fortunate for Loethar that while the immediate motivation to kill was there, maturity meant more wisdom and a cooler approach to fiery situations. He wondered if Leo was in the camp nearby, and whether the years would give him the same level of control when he was confronted by the slayer of his father.
Leo would be around twenty-two anni now. And Lily—oh Lo, Lily, for whom his whole sorry adventure from this place had begun—she would be a much older woman. Had she stayed here? He hoped not. Strange as it was, the candle that had been lit for Lily all those years ago burned just as fiercely now with the return of his memory. Unlike his memories of pain, the delight he had felt in her company ten anni previous had returned to him complete. He hoped with all of his heart that Lily had moved on, that no one knew where she was and that somewhere in the empire she was happily married with a family. To see her now would be too hard.
But in truth his greatest concern was seeing Leo again. King Brennus had entrusted him with arguably the most crucial role in the whole sorry saga of the invasion, and he had failed to fulfill it because of his pettiness over Kilt Faris and his lovelorn behavior toward Lily. He felt devastated at letting down the Crown, his family name, and himself. Corbel would never have let anything get in the way of his duty.
Corbel. That was his next task, to hunt down his brother. But Leo had to come first. He cast a silent prayer now that Lo had watched over Leo in his absence and kept him safe. He knew he shouldn’t expect the king to recall their boyhood fun or how close they’d been through that traumatic time of the overthrow, but he hoped his offering of Loethar’s neck might go some of the way toward forgiveness.
“Are you all right, Gav?” Elka asked, sidling over.
He nodded. “Just wondering what’s next. I’m sorry I’ve dragged you into this, Elka. You would have been home by now in the mountains.”
She shrugged. “You didn’t make me do anything. I make my own decisions.”
“There’s something I should tell you both,” Loethar interrupted from behind them.
“I don’t want to hear it,” Gavriel replied. “I don’t want you to talk to me.”
“But it’s important. It may be helpful at this point for you to know that I’m—”
“Here they come,” Elka cut across his words, standing. Gavriel followed suit and even Loethar struggled to lift his head, balancing on his elbows.
Gavriel grinned in relief. “That’s Kilt Faris,” he murmured. “The one limping. He looks to be in as bad a shape as you, Loethar.”
“Good,” Loethar said, “you can limp along together,” although his voice sounded choked. Gavriel glanced over at the emperor, whose eyes appeared slightly glazed and his expression unfathomable. If Gavriel didn’t know better he’d say it looked like greed, possibly joy. It didn’t make sense. But he also didn’t care about Loethar right now.
He turned his attention back to Faris, his grin returning and widening. Gavriel lifted an arm, yet more relief and even gladness surging through him to see the familiar, albeit older and—Lo rot him—even more handsome face approaching.
“Ho, Faris!” he called.
Kilt Faris stopped dead.
Gavriel continued, “Good to see you, Jewd…Tern.”
“Who are you?” Faris demanded, clearly taken aback.
“I didn’t think you’d recognize me. May I approach?”
Faris nodded.
“Stay here,” Gavriel said to Elka. “Watch him,” he added, pointing to Loethar. “Don’t trust him.” She gave him a look of disdain and he returned his attention to the men.
As he left the shadows of the tree, Gavriel realized dusk had fallen. He didn’t see Leo in their midst, and though his heart began to sink at this realization, he forced himself to remain optimistic, striding toward the baffled group of men.
A cry went up from the trees. “Gavriel!”
Everyone looked around, startled, as another man, young, tall and sandy-haired, burst from the cover of the trees, yelling and laughing.
It was Leo. No mistaking it! Gavriel leaped into the air with a cry of unrestrained laughter and then he too was running, ignoring the arrows trained on him and the men who tried to stand in his way. He vaguely heard Faris give Leo a warning but he and Leo were an unstoppable force, charging toward each other and then, as undignified as his father might have deemed it, Gavriel had his arms clasped around Leo.
“I’d recognize that arrogant stride anywhere!” the young king bragged, his eyes searching to see behind Gavriel’s beard. “It is you, isn’t it, despite that slight limp I noticed?”
“Yes, Leo. It’s me.”
They began to laugh again and then Gavriel pushed back. “Let me look at you. Lo, but you’re tall and so broad. And your voice is so deep!”
“Never as tall or broad as you, though. When did you get so old?”
They clapped each other on the back, unable to tear happy gazes away.
“So, de Vis, you finally return,” said a familiar voice.
Gavriel swung around, his arm still slung around Leo, who was wearing a lopsided grin. “It’s a very long story, Faris, which I will gladly share with you.”
“No longer the boy, I see,” Faris commented wryly. “No longer the city noble, either.”
Gavriel nodded. “That’s true on both counts. I’ve spent all these years in the mountains.”
“But why did you take all this time?” Leo asked. “Gavriel, it’s been ten anni!”
Gavriel looked down. This was harder than he thought. “As I said, it’s a long story. Those warriors—I assume you saw them, they were left dead—they beat me badly enough that I lost my memory. It was returned to me only days ago.” He eyed Leo. “As soon as I had my memory back, I had to come and find you.”
“We tried to find you,” Faris began. “But I fear not hard enough.”
Gavriel stopped him with a hand. “No need to explain. It’s the past and I was impetuous. Nay, stupid! I blame only myself. Let us leave that now. There are more important matters.”
“Such as?” Leo asked, eyes shining, his smile seemingly immovable.
Gavriel stepped back and bowed to Leo. He’d almost forgotten he addressed his sovereign. His father would turn in his grave! “Such as, the prisoner I’ve brought you, your majesty. Take a closer look, my king.”
All the men turned now to look at Loethar, who regarded them from a distance.
Leo stepped forward and squinted. Then he took another step, and another; his smile froze and then it disappeared. His expression moved from sunny to stormy in moments. And he began to shake his head.
“Stop him!” Gavriel murmured, leaping forward, realizing that Leo didn’t have the benefit of either his years or the memory loss to dull the impact of seeing this man again.
But Leo was too quick for all of them. He closed the gap between himself and the prisoner alarmingly fast. Gavriel watched with horror as the king paused only momentarily to draw Faeroe from its scabbard.
“Leo, no!” he yelled, chasing after him with no explanation to the shocked onlookers, determined that Loethar should not die like this.
Leo wasn’t hearing anything, though. Gavriel, even running as hard as he was, knew he couldn’t catch him in time. Even as he watched, Leo pulled back his sword arm, just steps away from the man leaning against the tree.
Loethar was helpless. Everything seemed to be happening so slowly he had time to take in that his killer was young, even time to notice that his death would be meted by the Valisar family sword he’d read about in the royal library. He recognized it, even from a distance, with its distinctive serpent snaking around the hilt. It was a fitting way to die, he decided as he adjusted his position so that he could at least look the young man in the eye when Faeroe descended. Without having to be told, he knew his executioner would be Leonel; no longer the boy, but a man. Curiously, his final thought, as death descended, was of Freath. Freath, his aide, his most regular companion…even his friend…had duped him. It was a shocking realization. Freath had duped them all. Loyal to the Valisars all along, he had obviously led an audacious and dangerous double life.
And as the dying sun’s rays glinted off Faeroe’s blade, he smiled, privately congratulating the manservant for his daring and cunning.
But neither he nor Leo had calculated on the speed, long reach and powerful body of an angry Davarigon. Loethar watched with surprise as Elka appeared from behind the tree. It was too late for Leo to change his course and she knocked him over with ease; it occurred to Loethar it was as though she were swatting a fly.
He heard the would-be-king go down with a loud groan as Elka rolled over him, wrenching the sword and flinging it to the side as though it weighed nothing.
“Not like that, your highness,” she said, agilely rolling to her feet in a single move that astonished Loethar. “I presume you are the king?”
She hauled Leo to his feet. Enraged, he instinctively swung a fist at her that she nimbly caught mid-air. Loethar couldn’t help but be amused by her protection. He was sure he didn’t deserve it.
“Forgive me, King Leonel,” she growled, staring down at him. “But you will thank me for this later, I’m sure.”
Would he? I wonder, Loethar thought, enjoying the spectacle.
“Get your hands off me, you filthy—”
“Leo!” Gavriel said sharply, arrving at the young man’s side.
“Whoever this Davarigon bitch is that you’ve brought, she will unhand me. Now!”
“Not until you calm down,” Gavriel replied.
Loethar saw that he masked his displeasure at Leo’s offensive language. He glanced at Elka as a very tall man approached; she seemed unmoved by the Valisar’s insult.
“You’re very fortunate the men didn’t fill her full of arrows, de Vis!” the newcomer said. “What is she thinking attacking Leo and who is this man?” He swung around to regard Loethar, who was suddenly enjoying watching the theater of these outlaws unfold. “Kilt is asking.” He looked back and frowned. “He’s been badly injured but I don’t know what’s wrong with him—he seemed determined to come out and see for himself but now he’s having to be helped back into the camp. He’s really unwell.” He turned back to Elka and Gavriel. “So you’ll have to tell me instead.”
Elka looked hard at the king; once again Loethar was reminded that the Davarigon believed she answered to no one. He liked that about her and it attested to what he’d always believed about the mountain tribe: that they kept one foot in Set territory and the other firmly in the mountains, as though sovereign territory. Elka was Davarigon first, Set after.
“Your majesty,” Elka said, releasing Leo’s hand, ignoring Loethar’s scoffing sound at her use of the title. “I apologize for treating you this way, but, as you can see, we have brought you Emperor Loethar for your punishment…” Her gaze narrowed. “Your calm and calculated punishment,” she added.
“Loethar?” the big man echoed, swinging around.
Loethar gave a good attempt at a sarcastic bow, using only his aching head and a sardonic smile. “Tell Faris I can’t wait to meet him.”
The outlaw’s attention flicked to Gavriel for confirmation. “Is this a jest?” he asked, shocked.
“Jewd, it’s Loethar, I can assure you.”
Jewd. Loethar stored the name. Perhaps it had been Faris they’d injured with the arrow. What wouldn’t he give to have the blood-smeller now!
Jewd now looked both horrified and fascinated. “Kilt is going to love this! How did you capture him?”
“It’s a long story,” Elka replied.
Gavriel looked at Leo. “You need to think on this, your majesty,” he said. Loethar could tell he was deliberately using the title to impress upon Leo his important role now as a king, not just a man with a grudge. “Believe me, I have had to overcome my own desires to slit his throat for the murder of my father. You now have the opportunity to ignore revenge and instead deliver royal justice for the innocent people of the Set who died under his army’s sword. That is what both our fathers would demand of us.”
Loethar was further impressed. He watched the youngster shake his head clear of all the rage and unsettling emotion.
Leo nodded at Gavriel, then impaled Loethar with his gaze. “He is to be guarded day and night. Jewd, can he be secured?”
“Of course, your highness,” Jewd said, clearly picking up on Gavriel’s language.
“Then let’s get him shackled.” Leo began to move away, seemingly too disgusted to look upon the emperor.
“Your majesty!” Elka called after him.
Leo stopped but did not turn. “Yes?”
“He is injured.”
“So what?”
“We would treat an animal better in the mountains.”
“None of you would permit me to put him out of his misery, which is how we normally treat a badly injured animal,” Leo snarled, impressing Loethar. He turned now to face Elka. “Forgive my insult earlier. I can see you are a friend of Gavriel’s. But please don’t ever believe that gives you the right to treat me in a familiar fashion.”
It was obvious to all that Gavriel wanted to step in but, even knowing her for just a short while, Loethar was sure the Davarigon was too proud to have him fight her battles.
She didn’t take a step back, he was glad to note. If he’d had the strength, he would have clapped Elka and de Vis for their honor. “King or not, your highness, I will always treat all men fairly. This man deserves to answer for his sins but no one here would condone either his brutal slaughter or torture at the hands of the untended injuries. I believe, your highness, that compassion is what should set the Denovians above their barbarian conquerors.”
Loethar didn’t agree but he enjoyed watching her noble words sting Leo.
“As you wish,” he said, after a difficult pause during which he regarded first Elka, then Gavriel, and finally the Davarigon again. He moved away without another word but to the sound of Loethar laughing at his back.
Roddy wiped the sweat from his eyes as he straightened. He looked at the sad sight of Sergius’s broken body lying atop the kindling. It had taken them all day to build the pyre and Ravan had only just reverently carried his friend’s once frail, now twisted body, to lay it in readiness for burning.
They’d worked in silence for most of the day, gathering the driftwood and what ever they could find to burn at the top of the cliff, both lost in their thoughts, neither eating but taking regular swigs from a flask of water that Ravan had brought down to the beach. Roddy noticed the tide was moving in.
“Have we enough time?” he asked, his first words in an age.
Ravan nodded reassurance. “We will light the pyre at twilight.”
“Why not now?”
“It is said that twilight is a most magical time. The moment just before the sun rises and moments after she leaves us for the day—those times are when magic can be at its highest potency.”
Roddy was fascinated despite his fatigue. “I didn’t know that.”
Ravan continued. “And we are in a position to wield a great magic, Roddy, because Sergius’s spirit will be released where the land meets the water. It is believed that this meeting point of the elements also heightens powers. We are giving ourselves the best possible chance of success.” He looked out to the horizon, where the sun hung very low in the sky, burning a deep pink, spreading crimson slashes across the water.
“Then let us enjoy your friend’s last sunset,” Roddy said.
The two new friends sat shoulder to shoulder on the sand and waited in companionable silence.
Roddy finally felt he belonged.