The Prince of Exiles (The Exile Series) (15 page)

The crowd quieted without warning, and Raven turned his attention to the stage. The Elders had emerged, and were ascending silently the wooden stairs. He and Leah were seated about halfway up the side of the Odeon, and their view was uninhibited. The Elders stopped, forming an outward facing circle, looking quite regal in their formal robes of office. After a moment of silence, Crane strode forward into the center of the group, and the others folded their knees and sat back on their heels in a surprising display of dexterity.

“We have gathered here for an open Forum,” Crane said, his thin, reedy tenor amplified by the acoustics of the circle. “But before we move on to the matter of the business placed before us, we would like to open the floor to any who would wish to speak.”

Immediately people began to shout suggestions, some rude, others outright ribald, and Raven, once he’d gotten over his shock, realized that Elder Crane was smiling, as were most of the Elders. Raven relaxed. This must be some sort of tradition. The Exiles continued shouting, until the Elder raised his hands, the long gray sleeves of his robe falling back to reveal thin arms with tight, gnarled joints.

“In that case,” Crane said, his voice full of good humor, “I turn to the man who called us here. Major?”

The rude suggestions and jokes continued, though with less vigor, as the bald head of Autmaran emerged around the side of the platform. The Major ascended the steps, still in his bright red cape and armor, looking … oddly pale. His hands were shaking, something that surprised Raven. The man had stared down an Imperial charge led by one of the Children themselves, what could possibly make him nervous?

The Kindred continued speaking, though Crane had risen to once again motion them to silence. The Elder looked more annoyed than amused now, and had just opened his mouth, no doubt intending to silence the gathered crowd, when soaring over the cacophony came the voice of Autmaran:

“I call for a Prince of the Veil!”

Immediate, stunned silence. Parents quieted children and wives laid protective hands on their husbands. The jokes dried up and died away, and smiles withered on waves of fright.

Raven was just as silent as the rest of them, and for much the same reason. He too knew that title, had known it all his life through prophecy and legend.

It can’t be. It must mean something different.

“Who has spoken?” Called Crane, all laughter gone from his face, and his tone deadly serious. He obviously knew the answer, but the question was formal, ritualistic.

As if the words had withdrawn some spell that had held the Kindred in place, the gathered crowd broke into hushed conversation, moving and shifting in agitation like a tree shaken by a wind.

“SILENCE!”

Raven jumped, as did most of the Exiles. He knew that voice – it was the familiar roar of Tomaz. He looked down and saw the giant emerge from beneath the stage, dressed in full battle armor with Malachi strapped to his back, carrying an enormous staff of blackened wood that was covered with strange arcane symbols which glowed with a faint white light.

Immediately the crowd fell silent, the rolling thunder of the giant’s voice stealing the sound from them as it passed.

“What’s Tomaz doing down there?” Raven asked sotto voce to Leah.

“It’s ceremony to have an Ashandel stand as guardian to the Elders,” Leah answered just as quietly, barely loud enough for him to hear even though he had leaned in close, so close in fact that he could smell her, a deep earthy scent covered with lavender soap. “It’s a tradition going back to the founding that isn’t really necessary at all anymore, but it’s become an honor of sorts. Whenever Tomaz is in the city he’s asked to do it. Just look at him – his very presence makes everything seem more official. Like it somehow means more.”

Raven looked at Tomaz and knew she was right; the big man towered over all in attendance, and cut an imposing figure in his green-black-and-silver Rogue armor, holding the massive staff in a single hand. But there was something more now – something Raven had seen for years about the face and carriage of his brother Ramael when he had born the Ox Talisman. Even though Tomaz had only possessed it for a few short months, it had already begun to change him. He was becoming the embodiment of physical perfection – the skin of his face now seemed to glow, his black hair and beard were full and shinny, and his back was straight and unbowed by any sign of age.

“Who has spoken?” Crane repeated into the new fallen silence.

“I have,” said Autmaran, striding forward, coming even with the Elders.

Whispers picked up again, though quiet and fleeting, as if a wind of words had passed through the Kindred, scattering fragmented leaves of thought and surprise before rushing on, leaving heavy silence in its wake.

“Very well,” Crane said. “Let us discuss this motion with the Elders, and then we will bring it to the people.”

He brought Autmaran into the circle of Elders, and they began to speak, the sound of their words too quiet to be heard even in the amplified circle.

“What is the Kindred Prince of the Veil?” Raven asked Leah.

“What do you mean?” She asked slowly, green eyes piercing him in the gathering dark.

“I mean,” he said, “that the Prince of the Veil is an Imperial title as well. It’s the prophetic title given to the one who will seal the Empire’s power.”

Leah looked at him, her mouth twisted in wry amusement. She even went so far as to chuckle softly and shake her head.

“Well then the Empire has it wrong,” she said. “The Prince of the Veil is a Kindred man or woman chosen by the people and confirmed by the Council of Elders to fight off an imposing threat. There have been almost three hundred. Aemon was the first … and unless the Kindred have already been destroyed three hundred times, I think your prophecy may be talking about someone else.”

Raven opened his mouth to argue the issue – what about the rest of the prophecy, about the Prince of the Veil coming in a time when the Empress would begin preparations for the Return? – but then reluctantly closed it again. He knew that now was not the time and here was not the place. Besides, she’d likely just ignore him and believe whatever she wanted to anyway.

“The Elders have heard Major Autmaran,” said Crane, breaking the silence. “And, as is his right, he has requested to speak to you directly.”

The Kindred drew a collective breath and watched with wary eyes.

“I call for a Prince of the Veil,” Autmaran said, breaking free of the ring of Elders, “because our time is now. At no other time in all of Kindred history have we had the opportunity we have now at this time– and such opportunity is threefold.”

“He looks worried,” Raven whispered.

“He’s just nervous,” Leah said, though she didn’t seem convinced herself.

“The Kindred are strong!” Autmaran protested, though no one had said otherwise. “We have all we need here with us now – right here. We have strong Kindred! And – and three things, as I said. The – the first is Roarke.”

He took a pause here and seemed to gather himself, and as he did there was some murmuring among the Kindred. Taking the city had not been a unanimous decision to begin with; in fact, many voices had insisted they settle for routing the Roarke army, and stay safe behind the illusions. Others, Henri Perci chief among them, had very vocally supported an all-out invasion, no doubt led by him on his white stallion.

“We have a safe stronghold on the other side of the mountain now,” Autmaran continued. “With the city of Roarke and it’s resources we can invade the Empire by striking northward – or not, we could also go west to Tibour, or – or even east, though that area is mainly swampland. In any case, we now hold the greatest stronghold in southern Lucia, as I said, and it is not a resource that should simply be passed over as nothing of consequence.”

There was more murmuring here, some of support, which seemed to buoy Autmaran. He took a deep breath, which seemed to calm him a bit – his voice became deeper, and he began to speak slower, though he still looked nervous that the Kindred might decide at any time to boo him off the stage.

“The second point is simple,” he said. “It is that we have killed one of the Children, and turned another to our side.”

Raven froze in place and prayed to the Empress and whatever gods there may be that the man wouldn’t try to call him out.

Perhaps whoever pulled the strings of fate heard his prayer, or perhaps luck was simply in his favor. Many of the Kindred looked around for him, but no one seemed to know exactly where he was, and those next to him seemed not to recognize him. He slumped his shoulders and sunk himself deep into the stone seat, pulling up the hood of his cloak to hide himself more fully. The murmuring among the Kindred swelled, and then died off as Autmaran raised his arms.

“Yes, we have killed one of the Children. We have! We don’t
want
to, we don’t
think we can,
we have! Never before in all of our history has one of the Kindred been able to say that.
Never.
And yet I stand here and say it, without fear. We have killed one of the Children themselves. We thought it was impossible – we thought they were immortal – but they weren’t! And we have just proved it!”

A few Kindred cheered, and Autmaran took heart. He strode forward, walking around the perimeter of the stage, drawing himself to his full height.

“I fought at the Stand,” he said, his voice now loud and booming in the amplified acoustics of the Odeon. “I was there when the Ox Lord died. He died like a
man.
He bled! He fell! We burned his body on a pyre with the rest of the invaders. No foul spirit flew into the sky, leaving his body, no thunder rumbled, no lightning cracked the sky. He died, and the world did not care. He was not a god – and
we proved it!
”

There were more cheers here, and Raven felt something stirring inside him as well. But it was coupled with a sick, deep anger, like rot that went to the core of his pride and made the whole structure of the thing unstable.

“And the third thing,” Autmaran continued hastily, a little too quickly, “the third thing is that we have a trump card. We have a man who can lead us into battle, a man like none that has ever existed among the Kindred – not since Aemon himself have we had such a leader.”

Murmurs began again among the Kindred, and Raven wondered what all of this was about now. A single name seemed to be going swiftly back and forth among the Kindred, passing through the huge crowd like wildfire – a name that Raven couldn’t seem to make out.

“You know him,” Autmaran continued, “as a man of integrity and strength – you know him as the Teacher, and the best military mind of our age.”

Leah stiffened and Raven looked at her in concern. Her eyes were deadlocked on the Major down below.

“The leader of our armies,” Autmaran continued, “the teacher of our teachers, and the hope for us in this time of darkness.
General Goldwyn!”

Cheering burst out again, louder this time, though beneath it was a deeper current of talk, the kind of tone that implied serious words being spoken among concerned men and women.

“Yes!” Autmaran continued. “Now is the time for a Prince to be chosen – one that will lead us forward from Roarke, through the armies of the other Children, with the strength and council of Goldwyn at their side!”

“General Goldwyn,” Raven said slowly watching Leah, “isn’t that your father?”

Leah turned to him and nodded, looking concerned. Or as concerned as she could look – in all honesty, any given rock on any given day was likely to show more emotion than she did.

The noise in the sunken stadium died down again as the Elders stood as one, stopping Autmaran from continuing. They came forward, Crane once again first among them, circling the Major.

“How say the Elders?” Asked Autmaran, his voice slow and formal.