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With the trees to shield them Loethar stood with Stracker at the head of the two units he’d ordered to follow him to Penraven. It had not been his intention to try and take Brighthelm this night but golden opportunities rarely flagged their arrival in advance. And today a particularly precious one presented itself to him via a curious note that had been given to the Barronel prisoner. The Barronel prisoner they had made use of had been swiftly despatched in front of the Penravian audience but the horse had brought his body back and with it a note from a disgruntled soldier called Del Faren. Faren had curiously offered to open the eastern side gate. In return he requested they slaughter Legate De Vis publicly.
‘Do you think it’s a trick?’ Stracker mused, watching lights being extinguished all over Brighthelm as the king ordered its shut down.
Loethar didn’t answer immediately, stroking Vyk’s large head instead while he considered the situation. He too watched candlelight and torches winking out all over the massive castle, which had been so brightly illuminated for their arrival. A show of power, no doubt. He smiled in the dark. It seemed Brennus had been expecting him but if Valya’s information was correct, Brennus and De Vis were blood brothers. The king would not have expected the death of his legate and close friend.
‘No,’ he said finally. ‘Faren, I suspect, is a traitor.’
‘Having the head of the army slaughtered is certainly a daring move. He must trust you to be a man of your word.’
Loethar shrugged. ‘De Vis is expendable. It was no hardship to me.’
‘So you think we can trust this Faren?’
‘I trust no one. But I think he will be shocked that we took him at his word and did as he requested in killing De Vis. He’ll have little choice now about opening the gate for he knows I can tell the king who betrayed him. I imagine this is a man with a grudge and that desire for revenge has now been answered. A weak man — as he obviously is — will feel compelled to obey the plan, lacking in courage or imagination to do otherwise.’
‘So we go?’
Loethar nodded. ‘We only have one chance at this. If we send a scouting party, they may well get in but that won’t be enough of us to take the castle.’ He scratched at his beard, the trinkets of silver that pierced his skin making a soft jangle as he did so. ‘We all go.’
There was no time to pick up anything and Gavriel was grateful that he was already wearing his sword and dagger. As they neared the kitchens, he realised he was running so hard he was almost on top of the prince. As they burst through into the main preparation area, their arrival scattered pots and pans loudly. But instead of seeing Cook Faisal and his team, Gavriel found himself staring at the person he least expected to see in the kitchens.
‘Master Freath,’ he said, stunned.
‘Your highness,’ Freath acknowledged first, before inclining his head ever so briefly at Gavriel. ‘Master De Vis.’
‘Why are you here?’ Gavriel demanded.
The man looked down his aquiline nose at him. ‘I wasn’t aware I needed your permission.’
‘Where is everyone?’ Gavriel replied, ignoring the reprimand, looking around uncertainly. Was this a trap too?
‘I imagine you can work that out yourself, Master De Vis. There seems to be quite a show going on out there.’
‘How dare you, you bastard!’
‘Gavriel!’ The prince slid away from his champion and stood between the two men. ‘Be calm,’ he warned, sounding almost like his father. ‘Master Freath, where is Cook?’
Freath nodded once politely at the boy’s manners. ‘I have dismissed most of the kitchen staff upon the queen’s orders. In fact many staff are dismissed. I think you misunderstood me earlier, Master De Vis. Loethar and his men have already breached Brighthelm. Word has come down from the battlements from King Brennus himself that we have been betrayed by one of our own. Someone opened a side gate, and too many of the barbarian horde breached Brighthelm, I gather, before we realised we had a traitor in our midst.’
‘Faren,’ Gavriel murmured.
‘I wouldn’t know. None but the key staff is required to do anything other than return to their families. We no longer have any stronghold. Our soldiers are now fighting for their lives.’
Gavriel felt his insides twist with fear. Brighthelm breached! He thought it would be weeks, possibly months of siege before the Valisar stronghold showed any signs of weakening. And he had held to the hope that Loethar would tire of the endless waiting, that a peace could be negotiated. The vision lingered of his father’s shape being dragged behind a horse, his head in halves. ‘And you, Master Freath? Why do you remain?’ Gavriel asked rudely.
Gavriel knew that the Valisar family liked Freath but the manservant worked primarily for the queen and none of the De Vis family came into contact with him much. Gavriel had never fully warmed to the wintry, somehow superior, expression Freath wore most of the time. If he were honest, on the occasions he did come into contact with him, he found the man’s acute intellect unnerving.
‘I have no family, Master De Vis. The palace is my home, the royals are the people closest to me in the world.’
‘Indeed. Did the king tell you anything else?’
‘That I was to await your arrival and give you a message.’
Leo stepped forward. ‘What is it, Master Freath? Does he wish me to go to my mother?’
‘No, your highness. His message was rather cryptic. He wishes you to follow the plan, but not to leave as originally arranged. He believes the marauding barbarian to be far more cunning than we have given him credit for. We already know from his recent action against the legate that he has no honour whatsoever.’ Gavriel bristled. ‘Master de Vis, forgive me if I sound insensitive. The fact is your father is dead and nothing can be done to change that. Couple this with the fact that time is of the essence and you have a situation in which my words sound harsh … cruel, even.’
Gavriel clenched his jaw, unmoved by the hollow apology. ‘What are the king’s instructions for our crown prince, Freath?’
The queen’s aide straightened. ‘He suspects we are already surrounded. You cannot hear it down here but the fighting is fierce. Do not set foot out of Brighthelm.’
‘Did he tell you what we should do?’ Leo asked, aghast.
Freath shook his head, his expression grim. ‘I’m sorry, your highness,’ he said, looking only at Leo. ‘He seemed to think that you alone would know.’
Leo turned to Gavriel. ‘Let’s go.’
‘Where?’ Gavriel asked, feeling helpless. He ran a hand through his hair, glowering at Freath. ‘You’d better return to her highness.’
‘Oh, I intend to, Master De Vis, now that I’ve fulfilled this errand. Your highness,’ he bowed low, ‘may Lo light your path and keep you safe.’ At Gavriel he simply nodded as he pushed past them. Gavriel mumbled a curse under his breath at the aide’s tall, narrow frame.
‘Come on!’ Leo urged. ‘We have to go back into the castle.’
‘You know if we do that we’ll be trapped. There’s nowhere to hide indefinitely.’
Leo frowned. ‘There is a way out — it’s risky, a bit dangerous, too, but we have no other choice.’
It didn’t sound very encouraging but Gavriel had nothing else to offer. He ran out after the youngster and behind him heard the main kitchen door smash open.
Gavriel felt a surge of panic break through the stupor he had begun to drift into. ‘Run!’ he growled.
6 (#u48ece779-4d63-5318-9af2-e379eebead7e)
Loethar felt a pulse running through his body that he could liken only to the flashes of awakening that the sky experienced from time to time during a storm. Although he showed little in his expression, he was elated to finally have his prize in front of him: the King of Penraven, 8th of the arrogant, powerful Valisars that had ruled the region and virtually controlled the Set for centuries. He smiled at Vyk, who was awkwardly hopping around the king.
‘Hurry up, Loethar,’ Brennus said testily, as though bored with a game. He ignored the raven that now flew to sit on the barbarian’s shoulder.
Loethar certainly admired the man’s composure. It was true, he was prolonging this, savouring the moment he’d dreamed about from angry childhood into bitter adulthood. ‘Forgive my amusement. I expected someone tall and imposing. Instead, here you stand, not so far off my own age I’m guessing, of unimpressive height, with no distinctive features.’
Brennus returned the marauder’s stare with defiance but also bafflement. ‘Let’s get on with it, shall we?’
‘Are you so tired of life, Brennus?’
‘I’m tired of you,’ the king replied and his tone was caustic.
‘Yes, I’d noticed. But that’s another secret isn’t it?’
Brennus sighed, sounding bored. ‘You have visions of empire and yet you are not honourable enough to lead anything more than the pack of rats you call your people. We think of them as vermin. Don’t get too comfortable, barbarian. Someone, somewhere, sometime will deal with you.’
‘One of your own perhaps?’ Loethar asked, enjoying the conversation.
‘Who knows? I’d like to think so. I’d like to go to my god imagining a Valisar blade cutting through your head in the same way that you brutalised a good man just an hour ago. A man who did not deserve such an ignoble end.’
‘Your soulmate’s blood is on your hands, Brennus, not mine. If you had not insulted me he would not have had to die in the manner you describe. Your lack of courage killed him.’ He was amused to watch the king’s face redden with rage. It was obvious Brennus did not lack for courage but it was fun to bait him all the same.
‘You’re too good for beheading, barbarian. The Set will yield someone who will find a way to give you a death that you justly deserve.’
‘So you keep threatening, Brennus. I will not be quaking in my boots and looking over my shoulder, that’s a promise.’
‘At your own peril, then, barbarian.’
Loethar laughed. ‘You know what I’ve come for, Brennus.’
‘A wasted journey. I don’t possess what I assume you are referring to.’
‘The Enchantment is what I chase. With it I shall control the Set without so much as a squeak of trouble from its people. After I’ve finished with them they will be none the wiser that they ever had separate realms or royals. I will be their ruler, judge, jury and executioner.’
‘You are delusional, barbarian. I have nothing of what you seek and if I did I would die before I allowed you to use it. Surely if I had any power I would have used it against you already.’
‘Perhaps I am unreceptive?’ Loethar suggested.
Brennus smirked.
‘Well, at least you concur that such a power exists.’
‘If it does I have no knowledge of it. You are chasing an unreachable dream. None of the people of the Set will ever give you loyalty. They will bow to your supremacy, right now, I’m sure of it, but they will hatch plans around you. You are already a dead man. It is simply a matter of time.’
The king’s threat smacked of truth. Loethar’s eyes narrowed. ‘Bring me the queen.’ He watched all the bravado that had fuelled the king’s fighting speech instantly dissipate from Brennus’s eyes; although the king said nothing, his expression betrayed him as he warily looked to the doorway of the salon where he had been brought.
Loethar continued conversationally. ‘This is a magnificent chamber, Brennus. I applaud your realm’s artistic skills.’ The king ignored him, his eyes searching the doorway. ‘I thought Barronel had enviable style but I’d hazard Penraven has everything a barbarian tyrant could possibly want. I’m going to enjoy making this my seat of power.’
He watched Brennus fight to find anything to say and then lose the battle, his shoulders slumping as Iselda was escorted in, her hand tightly holding that of Piven, who was skipping at her side, heedless of the tense atmosphere.
‘Iselda,’ Loethar said, deliberately dropping all formality. ‘The descriptions of your beauty do not do you credit.’
The queen had eyes only for Brennus. She said nothing to Loethar. Vyk’s interest had turned to Piven; the bird swooped down to the boy’s head, hopping onto his outstretched arm. The boy seemed mesmerised by the great bird.
‘And this I imagine is the freak adopted son,’ Loethar continued.
Iselda’s jaw tightened. ‘Call your filthy vermin off!’ she said, flapping at Vyk, who swooped away, landing not far from the child. ‘This is Piven. He is a simpleton, yes. He is also harmless and deserves none of your attention.’
As if on cue, Piven broke from her grip and ran toward Loethar, leaping onto the man’s legs. Loethar, taken by surprise, was astonished that he managed to catch the child. He laughed as he lifted him into his arms. ‘Now you see, Brennus, if only all your people were cretinous like your son here, we could all be friends.’ He put Piven down but the boy continued holding his hand, smiling angelically. ‘I’m going to enjoy killing you in front of him.’
Loethar believed it was likely the presence of the innocent child that finally broke the king’s spirit. Without warning Brennus lunged toward one of the barbarian’s guards and grabbed a dagger. Plunging it into his own neck, he ripped it angrily across his throat, a guttural noise directed at his queen accompanying his final act.
Loethar was upon him in a moment, ignoring the queen’s shrieks. Piven, too, moved to the king’s side, dipping his fingers into his father’s blood as it spurted impressively from the king’s neck. The boy grinned vacantly toward his mother and back again at Loethar. Loethar stared down upon the dying king, angry that he had not suspected Brennus was capable of this.
‘Your days are already numbered,’ the king groaned defiantly, his eyes closing as death claimed him.
Loethar roared his anger and ripped his sword from its scabbard. With a howl of fresh ferocity he brought the blade down to sever the king’s head from his neck. The queen swooned but she clung nevertheless to one of her enemy minders, clearly determined to remain upright and strong in the face of such barbarity. She did, however, close her eyes as Loethar reached for Brennus’s head.
Holding it by the king’s wavy, ever so slightly silvered hair, he handed the head to Piven, who couldn’t hold it but dragged it over to his mother with a curious look of wonder on his face. Her husband’s royal blood streaked the bottom of Iselda’s pale gown as Piven tried proudly but failed to lift the head.
Loethar turned to Stracker and murmured, ‘You know what to do.’
Stracker nodded and left the chamber.
Loethar returned his attention to the struggling queen. She was pale and trembling, and seemingly too shocked to weep, but she impressed him all the same with her dignity.
‘You’ll have a chance to farewell your husband properly, your highness,’ Loethar said. ‘I will see you in a few hours. Take the time to compose yourself, change your gown, perhaps.’
He watched her take a long slow breath, her eyes still closed. He had imagined she would scream hysterically when he killed her husband before her. But it appeared the queen had gathered all her pain inside while forcing her courage to the fore. He admired that. She was certainly far more beautiful than he’d imagined. Valya would be even more jealous than she already was of the Valisar Queen.
‘Take the queen to her apartments,’ he ordered, ‘until I call for her.’ He watched as her husband’s headless corpse was unceremoniously dragged away by its feet, no doubt on Stracker’s instructions.
‘Come, Piven,’ she said softly, finally opening her eyes, looking only at her child, ignoring the object to which he clung.
‘I’ll be needing that head, majesty,’ Loethar said.
‘Leave that down now, Piven,’ she said to her boy, her voice as gentle as a soft summertide breeze. Her kindness reminded Loethar briefly of how he’d often wished his own mother had treated him. For a moment he felt envious of the halfwit.
‘Leave the boy, too, your highness.’ He raised his hand as she swung around, startled. ‘I will not harm him. He’ll be a nice playmate for my raven. They seem to suit one another, don’t you think?’
‘What do you want with him?’ she demanded, glancing down at Piven, who was still clinging to his father’s hair. Loethar noticed she had to stop herself from retching as she finally looked upon her husband’s remains. He could almost feel sorry for her.
‘I like him. He shall be my new pet, alongside Vyk.’
‘Pet?’ she echoed, aghast, her face a mask of despair. ‘Sooner you kill him, barbarian. He has no concept of his life, in truth. Perhaps he is best dead.’
‘Fancy a mother saying that,’ Loethar replied, derision in his voice. ‘Tsk … tsk. Even stepmothers should offer some love.’
‘He bears the Valisar name. For that you should accord him just a little respect, even if you will not show that same respect to his father or his mother.’
‘I shall send for you soon, your majesty. I thought that by keeping your son with me it might prompt you to stay obedient. But now that I know you have a heart of stone — that you would wish your own child dead — I can tell you would likely follow your husband’s theatrical lead and kill yourself. That would be most disappointing for me. Guards! The lad remains here, chained like the little beast he is now for me. Escort the queen to her rooms. She is to be treated with care and kept under watch at all times. She is not to be left alone — no matter how she begs — for so much as a heartbeat. Take her. Piven?’
The youngster turned and Loethar, pleased that he at least recognised his name, was amused beyond belief when the boy ran to him open-armed.
‘Leo, steady!’ Gavriel hissed, reaching awkwardly for the prince.
‘My father,’ Leo whispered, his distraught young face ghostly in the dim light of the one low candle they permitted themselves.
Gavriel squeezed the boy’s shoulder. ‘You should never have seen that.’
‘Now we have both had to watch our fathers die,’ Leo said, his whisper unable to hide his grief.
There was nothing Gavriel could say to ease the pain. He was still trying to deal with the recurring image of his own father’s brutal slaying. He wanted to say that at least King Brennus had taken his life on his own terms but was afraid his words would sound callous.’ What about Piven?’ Leo groaned.
Gavriel peeped through the holes bored into the stone. ‘He looks happy.’
