Chapter Three The Girl and the Giant #2
The big man rolled his eyes and turned back to the makeshift stove, where sat roasting what looked like the entire leg of some animal. The Prince seized the opportunity to look around the shack while the man’s back was turned, looking for some means of escape.
The shack was small, barely large enough to fit the wooden table, the metal stove, and the large bed that seemed to be its only outstanding features.
It had only a single door, which was hanging precariously from a single hinge on the other side of the stove and the giant man.
The coal and clockwork pieces that would normally power the stove were missing, and it was instead powered by what looked like the most rudimentary of energy sources: a wood fire.
There was a large pack in the corner that had a roll of some kind of fabric and two large bulging things that looked to be made of animal skin attached to it.
But what drew the Prince’s eye was the enormous, sheathed sword propped against the stove. It was a sword the size of which even a Guardian of the Fortress would have had trouble wielding, the largest greatsword he had ever seen.
The sight of the blade seemed to flip a switch in the Prince’s head, and suddenly his memories caught up with him. In a flash he remembered his kidnapping in the Fortress, and the attempt on his life.
“It was you! You kidnapped me!” he shouted at the giant.
The big man didn’t even look up, but kept right on cooking, turning the leg to brown the other side as he packed away the metal canister he’d used to brew the tea.
“Not originally,” he rumbled, vibrating the very walls with his voice, “but now, yes. Because judging by those marks on your and shoulders and back,” he motioned without looking to the Talisman markings visible beneath the Prince’s loose tunic, “you’ve been marked as a potential Bloodmage, maybe even begun the training.
And yet here you are, far from Lucien. That’s of interest to me. ”
The giant took a poker and broke up the fire before turning to look the Prince in the face—just as the wooden door was flung open so forcefully it almost fell off its single rusted hinge.
A shaft of oddly colored light pierced the gloom of the cabin as a young woman rushed in; she had light olive skin and midnight black hair and wore the same simple browns, greens, and grays that the giant wore.
As she entered, her eyes, bright green, flew to the Prince, and took in his appearance in one swift glance that missed nothing.
The Prince took in her appearance just as quickly, and suddenly all of the pieces fit together. Who else would kidnap one of the Children from the Fortress? Who else would have the audacity to do something of that magnitude in defiance of the Empress?
“Exiled Kindred!” hissed the Prince, recoiling. Again, his hand dropped to his side and his missing sword. Shadows and Light! He needed a weapon!
“Bloodmage!” snarled the girl, having caught sight of the black markings under his tunic. In a flash of movement, two remarkably long, curved daggers appeared in her hands, and she launched herself at him.
“Peace!” roared the mountain of a man. He caught the young woman around the waist and threw her back across the room, where she landed with the nimble grace of an acrobat, daggers still held menacingly.
“He is not to be harmed, eshendai—he is not a danger to us!”
The Prince’s ears perked up at the strange word.
The way he’d said it didn’t sound like a name.
A title perhaps? He filed it away in his mind to deal with later.
His eyes never left the twin daggers, following every small twitch of movement as the Exile girl paced back and forth across the opposite side of the small cabin.
The blades themselves were beautifully smithed, over a foot long and three fingers wide.
From the way they gleamed in the light and the casual tension with which the girl held them, the Prince had a sneaking suspicion they were well used.
Out of his peripheral vision, he saw a glimmer of light flash through a crack in the wall of the wooden shack and another piece of the puzzle clicked into place as he realized that the light streaming through the door couldn’t be artificial. The color was off, and the angle was wrong.
It was coming from the sky.
How far away from the Fortress am I?
It didn’t matter. He would have time to wonder about his whereabouts after he’d freed himself. The girl was between him and the door; he had to get past her and out.
The Prince feinted left, then rolled under the table.
The girl lunged forward, then jumped back and got tangled with the giant.
The Prince emerged on the other side of the table and heard a sharp whisk!
sound, felt the air from one of the girl’s daggers ruffle his hair. He dashed forward. The door was there—
The Prince was pulled straight off his feet into the air and flung back across the room to land on the pile of blankets upon which he’d woken. He spun to his feet once more, only to find the girl’s second dagger pressed against his throat. How had she crossed the room so quickly?
“Do it, Exile!” he taunted, sneering in her face. “It would be just like your kind to kill an unarmed man.”
Her eyes flashed with rage, haunting green eyes that watched him with hatred and contempt, and he could see her desire to end his life.
“Remember your oath, eshendai,” the big man said slowly and firmly. The Prince remained silent, staring at her with arrogant defiance. “We are not to kill innocents, not to kill victims of the Empire’s injustice.”
“This is not an innocent!” the girl responded through clenched teeth. “This is one of the Empress’s Bloodmages! This is not even a man, it’s an animal!”
“He’s barely older than you, if at all,” the man pointed out calmly, “and it takes years of training to become a Bloodmage. If anything, he is barely a novice. But that’s irrelevant; I know that he is not part of the Empire.
I found him unconscious, left to die from his wounds by a group of the Empress’s men at the bottom of the mountains.
He’d been beaten, severely; several ribs were broken, and he had been concussed—”
“You mean you’ve had him ever since I left?”
A chill went down the Prince’s back. It was impossible; his Mother’s soldiers would never even dare to….
The memories of the events since he’d been attacked in the Fortress rolled through his head in a rush that made his ears rings.
The false slaves that had inexplicably gained access to the anteroom of the Hall of Glories.
The soldiers who had left him to die by the stream…
soldiers that had been dressed in the uniforms of the Imperial army.
No. No, it was a ruse. They were traitors; it was easy enough to change clothing. His anger rose. Did they truly think he’d fall for a trick like that?
“I’ve seen markings like those before, Tomaz, and he’s a Bloodmage, old enough for it or not. And if he was beaten like you say, he’s healed remarkably quickly!”
The Prince had seen and heard enough. He was the rightful son of the Empress, and these Exiles were nothing. It was time to put an end to this farce.
“I am not a Bloodmage,” spat the Prince, silencing them, “I am the Prince of Ravens, Child of the Empress, Seventh Son of the Diamond Throne—and you will release me, now!”
For a moment there was no reaction. But then they fully took him in, and the truth seemed to click into place.
Their eyes grew wide, and their bodies became tense and ready, as if he would at any second leap forward, shooting fire from his eyes and cursing them into a thousand pieces.
The Prince allowed himself a small smile at the pleasure of knowing the name of one of the Children still struck fear into the hearts of the Empire’s enemies.
“Release me,” he said, his voice snapping out like a whip.
The girl took an involuntary step forward, watching him with superstitious horror and awe.
But the big man shook his head like a bear dislodging an annoying fly, and the Prince watched in surprise as he stepped forward, lifted the greatsword from where it had been resting, unsheathed it, and held it up, threateningly.
“Do not lie to us,” he said. The Prince looked from the bared sword to the man’s eyes. Eyes as hard and flat as dark chips of stone.
“I am not lying,” he said calmly. Slowly, very slowly so as not to frighten the Exile and make him do something stupid, the Prince took a step forward.
He held the man’s gaze with his eyes as he had seen Symanta do when she was reading someone, watching for the slightest hint of emotion.
The man began to relax, and the Prince was certain he had won.
But then the man shook his head once more and actually stepped forward to rest the point of his blade against the Prince’s chest.
“Stay where you are,” he rumbled.
“We need to leave,” the girl said. “We need to leave now!”
“No,” the big man said. “No, something is not right here.”
“He’s a Child of the Empress, Tomaz. Shadows and fire, he’s the Prince of Ravens! Those markings are the Talisman of Death! If he’s here, the Empire is not far behind!”
She moved toward the door, panic and terror clear in both her voice and her manner, but the big man remained where he was.
There was something stirring behind his eyes, in the depths of those black chips of stone.
This was a hard man, the Prince could tell, hard by nature but hardened by a life of exile, a life lived in the shadows.
As he watched, the big man’s eyes seemed to light up as he contemplated the Prince, and small bits of fire and life sprang into being where there was nothing but coldness before.
The moment passed, and the big man took a deep breath and spoke.
“I found him in a clearing at the far end of the mountains. He was lying on the ground with only the barest hint of a pulse. I almost didn’t check. That was nearly a week ago, the day after you left.”
The girl stopped in the doorway, then slowly turned back.
The Prince could tell her mind was suddenly working very quickly.
She looked at the Prince—and not just at his face, but at his clothing, his chafed wrists, his dirty hair.
Her eyes roved over him, from head to toe, and he had the distinct impression that she was cataloging every detail of his appearance.
Her demeanor changed completely. She took a few steps back into the room.
“What do you see?” the big man asked, almost ritualistically.
“His shirt,” she said. “It’s certainly finer linen than most of what even the Most High would wear, but it’s torn and dirty.
His face is dirty—there’s dirt in his hair, too.
His wrists look as though they were recently bound together with a rough material.
He’s favoring his left side, but only slightly, so the ribs you said were broken have healed, which means accelerated healing that could come from a number of different blood magics. ”
She looked over at the big man. “How many times have you seen the Children?”
“More than I’d like to remember,” the man, Tomaz, responded darkly, “and more than once up close in person.”
The Prince’s head jerked to him in surprise.
“Have you ever seen this one?”
“No,” said Tomaz, “but he was born after my time.”
“Have you ever seen one of them looking anything less than immaculate, though?”
The big man shook his head, his bearded face drawn in concentration.
“You said he was left over a week ago? There’s been no activity here, not even a hint of any. Have you seen anything?”
“No,” the big man said. A look passed between them.
The Prince looked down and realized they were correct: the clothing he was wearing was ripped and torn where he’d been bound and thrown to the ground. There was also the mud and sweat stains from the journey he could barely remember.
“He was brought here against his will,” she said, glancing again at his wrists, his clothing, his bare feet.
Her voice was quick and breathless now. “He was in a struggle. Against a group, I would guess. He put up a fight. Those rips in his elbows are from escaping their grip… wait a minute, what’s that on his… ”
She let out a gasp.
“Hold him!”
The big man sheathed his sword and grabbed the Prince, who, despite his years of physical training, was no match for such overwhelming strength and size. Tomaz wrapped a single arm through both of his and placed his other hand on the back of the Prince’s head, rendering him completely immobile.
“What are you doing—stop this! Stop this at once! I am the Prince of Ravens! Do you not understand that?!”
The man moved his second hand to firmly cover his mouth.
“Quiet for a minute please, Prince…” he tapered off.
His head jerked up and he looked at the girl.
“I can’t say his name.”
The girl opened her mouth, but only a small noise of surprise escaped.
The heat of embarrassment and shame flooded the Prince’s face.
He stopped struggling and tried to strike up an air of dignified silence, attempting to appear as though he were indifferent to his plight, though as his face was slowly becoming tight and hot from lack of circulation, he was fairly certain it wasn’t working.
The girl stepped up to him, and for the first time he got a good look at her, and was surprised to find that she wasn’t a girl at all but a young woman.
Her eyes were boring a hole through a spot on his neck.
Quicker than he could follow, she slashed his skin with the tip of her dagger. He drew in a sharp breath, but the cut was shallow. She reached out and pulled something from his neck with a sharp tug. He just managed to suppress a wince of pain.
His eyes slowly focused on what the Exile held in her hand. It was a small three-pronged dart, made of steel with blackened tips. The end was rounded and meant to slide beneath the skin on impact.
“The tips are hollow—and it’s barbed.”
“He showed all the signs of dillixi poisoning,” the giant rumbled, “but there was a puncture wound.”
“I see it,” the girl confirmed. “He must have been drugged again after they arrived. The skin here has only partially healed, the dart must have come first.”
“It makes sense he was captured by surprise and then taken to where I found him. Why would they want to kill him there, though?”
“I don’t know. But all of that on top of his name being taken away...”
“Death Watch,” finished the big man. The girl looked at the Prince and considered him for a long time. Fear and curiosity warred in her face, but slowly the fear died away, and when it was gone completely, her green eyes grew very wide, making her look almost demonic.
“If you were the Prince of Ravens,” she said, “then you aren’t anymore.”