The Prince of Exiles (The Exile Series)

  The Prince of Exiles

  Book Two of the Exile Series

  Hal Emerson

  Copyright © 2013 by Bradley Van Satterwhite

  All rights reserved.

  This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any

  manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author

  except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  First Edition, Digital, 2013

  This book is dedicated to:

  The why of our lives

  And the hope for our tomorrow,

  With thanks to all the teachers

  Who put us on the path.

  Table of Contents

  Prologue: The Times to Come

  Chapter One: The Fall of Roarke

  Chapter Two: Death Watchmen

  Chapter Three: Elder Warryn

  Chapter Four: Formalities

  Chapter Five: Through the Pass

  Chapter Six: The Call

  Chapter Seven: Elder Goldwyn

  Chapter Eight: Aspects and Talismans

  Chapter Nine: A Cabin in the Woods

  Chapter Ten: Lapse In Judgment

  Chapter Eleven: Informalities

  Chapter Twelve: Conversations with an Elder

  Chapter Thirteen: The Exile Girl

  Chapter Fourteen: Midwinter Night

  Chapter Fifteen: Death of an Elder

  Chapter Sixteen: Survivors of Roarke

  Chapter Seventeen: Back to Vale

  Chapter Eighteen: The Second Call

  Chapter Nineteen: Prince of the Veil

  Chapter Twenty: The Coming Spring

  Chapter Twenty-One: North

  Chapter Twenty-Two: Daemons and Heroes

  Chapter Twenty-Three: The Road to Formaux

  Chapter Twenty-Four: The Prince of Foxes

  Chapter Twenty-Five: The Road to Banelyn

  Chapter Twenty-Six: The Prince of Eagles

  Epilogue: The Return

  Glossary

  About the Author

  Prologue: The Times to Come

  In the tenth month of the One Thousand and Thirty-Seventh year of the reign of the Diamond Empress of Lucien, a Son was killed.

  It was the first Child to die in the history of the Empire. For five hundred years the Children had stood as an extension of the Empress Herself: unbowed, unbeaten, immortal. To speak their names aloud was death, to question their commands was lunacy, and to go against their power was unthinkable. The tales of terror that their reign had inspired, and the stories of the Empress’ own godlike presence, had kept veiled the minds of every man, woman, and child throughout the Empire of Ages with fear and unholy dread.

  But there had always been a hard undercurrent to the frightened obedience of the citizens of the Empire. The younger Children, raised in the arrogant ways of their Mother the Immortal Empress and the power that came with Her name, knew nothing of it. They were blinded by their pettiness, as their Mother had intended. They fought wars with each other, both open and covert, seeking only more power, more privilege, more of their Mother’s rare and opiatic love. Even Rikard, the eldest of the Children and the Prince of Lions, had long forgotten what it had been like to be opposed, blinded as he was by the unthinking obedience of any who heard his voice.

  But one man, the Prince of Eagles, had never forgotten. He, Prince of the Far-Sight, the Lord of the Heights, had known of this day, known through ancient prophecy, that the Prince of Ravens, the Seventh Child, would be the one to challenge the Empress if he was not dealt with in time.

  And so it was that Geofred watched with stoic eyes from his tall tower in the province of Eyrie as the Prince of Ravens, his youngest brother, slew Ramael, Prince of Oxen, and planted the seeds of true rebellion in a land that had long lain fallow.

  When Geofred felt the death of Ramael, felt it in his very bones as if something deep in his chest had been severed, leaving him hollow and bleeding, he rose from his place of meditation and went to his Mother. He knew the other Children would have felt the death, knew that they were all connected by the Talismans. He knew too that his Mother, the Empress, would have felt it; and he, even he, trembled at the thought.

  When he arrived at the Fortress and entered Her Presence, Her wrath was terrible. Upon entering the Chamber of the Diamond Throne, he saw before him the grizzled, dismembered bodies of nearly a dozen Guardians, the giant soldiers who were worth ten men in battle. They had been torn to pieces, rendered limb from limb in a savage, maternal rage. Blood was splashed across the Blackstone walls, and the most beautiful woman who had ever lived, the God Empress, was covered in blood and sobbing upon Her throne as she clutched Herself in sorrow.

  He crossed the room, telling himself to be composed, telling himself that She would need him now – She would have felt the death more than he, and he would need to guide Her through the coming months.

  His foot nudged a Guardian’s blade, the metal grating harshly on the stone floor. His Mother’s head snapped up immediately, and Her gaze fell on him. Burning, haunted eyes stared out of a face so beautiful it had captivated men and ruled an Empire for a thousand years. The Prince of Eagles could not move – he was held in place by the fury of that stare, by the power of his Mother’s rage.

  She crossed the room and towered over him, growing taller as she gathered power around Her, the Diamond Crown bursting into light. Her face grew hard and angular as rage and grief cut lines across Her perfect skin.

  And then She spoke, asking a question that demanded an answer.

  Geofred opened a mouth suddenly dry and spoke the only answer he could:

  “I could not stop it Mother; he had to die.”

  The last word had barely left his tongue before the Empress seized the Prince of Eagles by the throat, lifting him into the air, choking him. She spat words of power at him, calling on all Seven Talismans, and her crown burst with dazzling light and the Eagle flew through the air to crash against the wall. He pushed himself up, his body aching, and ran forward. Her eyes widened as he came toward Her, surprised, and Her crown began to gather light once more, ready to kill him, ready to rip his very soul from his body if he dared to –

  When he was several feet from Her, he dropped to the floor and prostrated himself before Her, pressing his forehead to the stone, humbling himself, not daring to move a muscle, barely even breathing. The Prince of Eagles feared for his life then, for the first time in many years. One of the Children had just been killed, and another had been the subject of an attempted assassination – who could say what the Empress would do next? He could not see all futures – he was only human.

  But a moment passed when nothing happened. She simply watched him, eyes unreadable, until the light from Her crown began to dim. The Prince of Eagles began to speak then, in the flowery, flattering way he knew his Mother required, telling Her that there was still time – that they still had a chance to kill the Raven.

  Her rage, ever mercurial, melted and disappeared. She strode forward, towering over him, exuding majesty. For a moment he didn’t know what would happen. She, perfect even in Her unpredictability, was the one person in all the world he feared.

  She commanded him to explain himself, and he stifled a gasp of relief. He spoke quickly then, telling Her that the prophecies were clear: that in order to secure the Return, the Prince of Ravens needed to die before his eighteenth name day. The boy was yet seventeen, and would be until the spring. The prophecy he had told Her on the day of the boy’s Naming still held true – he must die if Her Empire was to rule for another thousand years. Not only that – the boy was the only thing that stood in the way of the Return. This me
ant that until the end of fourth month, there was still time. Ramael had been foolish, he had gone after the Raven unprepared, had gone looking for his own glory, not for the Glory of the Empress. Such mistakes would not be made again – not if She gave him command.

  When he finally fell silent, his voice was raw. But Her face was calm, and he felt relief course through him. He would survive this day, if only just. Mother spoke again, Her words like warm honey and cool wine, and commanded him to Summon the other Children. There would be no mistakes this time, She told him – they would work together, under his command. The Prince of Ravens would die.

  He was dismissed then, and he fled the room with no thought of dignity, and it was not until he had returned to his personal quarters in the Fortress of Lucien, that he began to breath easier. He sent runners to dispatch messages to the other Children, calling them all to the Eyrie where he would meet them and inform them of what was to come. Preparations for the Return were finally underway, and he would tell them the prophecies they needed to hear. The entire Empire was to be mobilized, the citizens drafted, the Armies of Ages called up and sent south for the Exiles.

  Each of the Children had a role to play in what was to come … and he only had so long to set and spring the trap before he was dead.

  Chapter One: The Fall of Roarke

  The young man who had been the Prince of Ravens stood on a cliff somewhere in the Roarke Mountains as the wind, a swirling, invisible hand, clutched at him with a fierce insistence, trying to pull him forward over the edge. Looking down from where he had braced himself he could see through a gap in the mountain range, out to where the city of Roarke rose out of the landscape; in the center was a strong castle with rounded towers and a thick inner keep made of creamy stone and dark wood. A large, sprawling metropolis spiraled out from it, contained by a smaller russet stone wall of its own. The city marked the border between the Empire and the Exiled Kindred; it was the farthest south the Empire had ever conquered, and the farthest north the Kindred had ever come in force.

  Nearly two months had passed since the city’s ruler, Ramael the Prince of Oxen, had been defeated at Aemon’s Stand. Following the death of the Ox Lord, his army had fled; the Exiled Kindred pursued, killing and capturing by the thousands. Those few who survived made their way back to the Ox Lord’s capital seat, the city of Roarke. The Kindred followed, emerging from behind their sheltering mountains for the first time in a thousand years, laying siege to the great fortress in the southern Empire.

  And now, after weeks of fierce fighting in the mountains and lowland hills, the city had been secured and the final assault was underway.

  The young man on the cliff shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. His legs had been reduced to sore, gnarled ropes of muscle from long weeks – months now – in the saddle, and though he’d become accustomed to the exercise, they still ached when he stood too long. As he looked at the distant city, he realized that the pain wasn’t what was bothering him. No, he was uneasy because it was he, Ramael’s brother and murderer, who had made this invasion possible.

  So many lives lost … all because I wrote down my brother’s secrets.

  It was not that he held a hidden desire to see the city and castle saved. Quite the contrary; he knew that Roarke was the staging point for every invasion of the Kindred lands, and this would secure their safety. He knew this was the right thing to do, that the castle had to be taken now, when it was weak.

  But knowing so did not calm the inner turmoil. In fact, knowing that it had been him, the former Prince of Ravens and Child of the Empress, who’d given the Kindred the keys to the city’s defense, only served to stoke the fire.

  And the memories that had come to him from his brother only made it worse. The memories culled from his brother’s dying mind by the power of the Raven Talisman still haunted him, even now that they were barely whispers and flashes that only crossed his mind when his guard was down. The memories had shown him how Ramael had taken pride in this city, his city, and had seen it as a work of art. He had believed, to the very end, he was doing what was right for the Empire, and that the people would love him for it.

  How could anyone be so blind?

  The irony of such a question was not lost on him. Until just recently he had been a Prince as well, proud just as Ramael had been. Proud, at least, until the Rogue pair of Tomaz Banier and Leah Goldwyn had rescued him and shown him what the Empire was truly like, proud until he’d been forced to open his eyes and see his own culpability. He had been just like Ramael – blinded by his love of the Empress, his Mother, believing that what She did was done for the good of the people.

  Maybe he did know though … maybe they all know.

  The memories that had come to him from his brother’s mind had contained an underlying sadness that had been unexpected. It was strange to know that Ramael, the consummate warrior, had felt such a thing. Where had the feeling come from? He didn’t know. And it was partly this that troubled him.

  The memories themselves were gone; they had faded, as all the memories did, an hour or so after the sword had pierced his brother’s chest. But pieces of them remained, impressions, like the ripples of thunder after the harsh flash of lightning, or the sound of rustling leaves after a gusting wind, and these pieces were painful. They cut him like broken glass, digging into his mind.

  He pushed the thoughts away. Now, hunting the forests of Roarke for the remnants of an Imperial army, was not the time for introspection and philosophy. Not that the Kindred seemed to be much for philosophy anyway, if they even spared a thought for it. After all, the Exiled Kindred were a nation of outcasts and criminals that had been banished from the Empire and had formed a stronghold beyond the mountains just south of Roarke– if there was a group less inclined to profound thinking, he could not imagine it.

  This train of thought led him to another problem: his feelings about the Kindred in general. It was true that he had fought along side them; when Ramael had invaded Vale it had been he who’d warned the Council of Elders in time to save the Kindred nation. What was more, he had consistently defied the laws of the Empire, killing Defenders, fleeing the Seekers of Truth, all the while avoiding Imperial justice. And yet, these actions had been predicated on self-preservation. He had been forced into Exile, forced to flee across the Empire. He’d sought aid from the Exiled Kindred only when he’d had no other choice but to cross into their land, warned them of the impending invasion only to stop the slaughter of thousands of innocents. All of that time he had been simply reacting, going from one motion to the next out of a base, instinctual need for self-preservation. But now, when the dust had settled and he’d had time to think about his actions ... where did his allegiance lie?

  True, he was still with the Kindred. He still rode with Tomaz and Leah, the only two friends he had ever known, though they both had spotted pasts; Tomaz had deserted his post as an elite Imperial BladeMaster and was wanted for countless acts of treason and espionage, while Leah was infamous for unknown sabotage efforts in Tyne. They were an Eshendai-Ashandel pair, which were honorary titles meaning “Dagger of the Exiled” and “Blade of the Kindred,” respectively; the titles were only bestowed on those who had passed the grueling Rogue or Ranger training, and were selected to be paired. The pairing was always meaningful – if the Ashandel was quiet and reserved, the Eshendai was fiery and impulsive, and vice versa, the idea being that each would learn something from the other. Practically, this meant that both of his friends were extremely dangerous outlaws; they were rebels against the rightful rule of the Immortal Empress, and by extension the rule of law that held together the entire Empire of Ages. They were criminals who flaunted their colorful past and made no secret of the hatred they bore for anything and anyone Imperial.

  And yet they’re also good people.

  “What’re you doing standing there princeling?”

  He jumped at the sound of the voice, though not as much as he might have once. He was getting used to being snuc
k up on – all of the Kindred had an uncanny knack for moving about unseen and unheard.

  The source of the voice was a young woman, approaching him from the treeline. She was just above him in age – how old am I now? How many lives have I lived? – at eighteen years old, having passed her Naming a year earlier; but those searing green eyes that dared the world to challenge her, those were much older. She was a Spellblade and an Eshendai Rogue, meaning she was terribly skilled with the two long, wicked daggers she wore at her waist. Her olive skin and midnight black hair helped her blend in with the forest around her, and when she wasn’t moving she faded into the shadows, the browns and greens of her clothing leaving her all but invisible to any but the best trained eye.