Royal Exile. Fiona McIntosh

Corbel.’

      Mesmerised by the old man, oddly comforted by his lyrical voice and stirring words, Corbel drained the cup.

      And as a bright, sharp awakening lit the night sky, Corbel De Vis walked into the sea, still burdened and filled with sorrow.

      Brennus had just finished a rousing speech to his captains. The men had applauded him loudly off the makeshift podium and he could still hear their whistles and cheers. But no matter what he said or however much he had rallied their courage, even they sensed the cause was hopeless. He moved gloomily from the barracks; he had lied to the men and the only one who knew the truth of what was coming next was the man who strode in an angry silence alongside him.

      Brennus broke into the awkward atmosphere between them. ‘There is no point in everyone dying, De Vis.’

      ‘Why do only you get to be the astoundingly brave one, your highness?’ his legate replied and his sarcasm could not be disguised.

      Brennus knew his friend was hurting deeply. Sending Corbel away in the manner they did, with little explanation and no sense of what it might lead to, was taking its toll on De Vis. ‘This is not about bravery —’ he began.

      ‘It is, sire. We are all men of Penraven and we all feel the same way as you do. Why do you think your men proudly cheered for you? They admire your courage, and it provokes their own. We do not cower to any enemy, least of all the barbarian of the steppes.’

      ‘He will kill everyone who puts up resistance.’

      ‘So we’re already positive of failure?’ De Vis asked, his tone still sarcastic. ‘What happened to the mighty Penraven spirit? And, that aside, let us not fool one another, highness. He will kill everyone anyway! We might as well all die feeling heroic, fighting for something we believe in. I have to be honest — with my wife dead, my sons …’ He couldn’t finish.

      ‘What about that beautiful young thing whose hand has been offered. Are you going to ignore her?’

      De Vis waved his hand as though the king’s comment was meaningless. ‘Let’s just say I have nothing I truly love to live for, other than to serve Valisar. I’m ready to die defending the crown.’

      ‘You always have been, Regor.’ Brennus shook his head angrily. ‘No, Loethar will not kill my people. I won’t permit such pointless savagery.’

      ‘He is a savage!’ De Vis spat, forgetting himself.

      Brennus ignored the offence. ‘Listen to me, Regor. We know what he wants. We shall give it to him without a fight. But the terms are that he spares my people.’

      ‘He will not agree to such terms.’

      ‘You’ll be surprised.’

      ‘How can you be so sure, your highness?’

      ‘Trust me. He wants only one thing. And we know he is intelligent. What point is there to razing a city, killing all its inhabitants, when you want to be emperor? He needs people to rule. I’d rather Penravians answered to him until Leo is old enough to know his duty, to take action and avenge my death. This way at least there is hope for the Valisar resurrection.’

      ‘You truly believe Leo will claim back the realm?’

      ‘De Vis, don’t ask me such a question as though you yourself cannot believe in it! I have to hope. It’s all I have left.’ He shook his head, still very much in a state of disbelief. ‘I killed a baby!’ He didn’t admit that he’d had someone else do it and De Vis did not remind him who would truly bear the burden of that murder. ‘My wife …’ the king began, his voice leaden with grief.

      ‘She does not know, highness. She will never know. Gavriel will keep the secret.’

      ‘And Corbel … the murderer? How will he live with himself with an innocent’s blood on his hands? How can I? Corbel is as innocent as the child. The guilt is all mine.’

      De Vis grit his teeth. There was no time now for this indulgent self-recrimination, especially when the child involved was his. The truth was that he did not know how he would come to terms with allowing his son to be given the task and then, in the midst of the young man’s fear and loathing, sending him away from everything familiar. ‘Corbel is gone, your highness. He is old enough to deal with his own demons. He will seek Lo’s forgiveness in his own way.’

      ‘I’ve asked too much of your family, De Vis.’

      ‘We always have more to give, your highness.’

      Brennus stopped, took his friend’s hand and laid it against his heart. ‘Let me do this alone, Regor,’ he pleaded, his voice thick with emotion.

      De Vis shook his head sadly. ‘I cannot, your highness. I took an oath before your father as he lay dying. I intend to remain true to that promise and to my realm. Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps it is now time to hand over all hope to our children. But we must make one final sacrifice in order to buy them time, give them that chance to avenge us.’

      The king finally nodded. ‘Then organise a parley. Make Loethar an offer he finds irresistible. Surely even the barbarians grow weary of battle.’

      ‘I shall send out a messenger.’

      ‘No need,’ Brennus said, smiling sadly in the torchlight. ‘He will already be here, watching us.’

      ‘What makes you say that?’

      ‘He took Barronel. I don’t imagine he could be this close to his prize and not search it out as fast as he could.’

      ‘Why has he not shown himself then, made demands?’

      ‘Because he’s savouring the moment, I imagine. I can feel him out there. He’s watching, waiting, enjoying our fear.’

      ‘What do you want me to do, highness?’

      ‘Ride out. He’ll meet with you. I’ll tell you what to say.’

      De Vis shocked the king by dropping to one knee. ‘Your majesty, I beg you. Those who chose to flee already have. They’ve had enough time to reach the coast. Others, well,’ he shrugged. ‘They’ve decided to remain, take their chances, and they already know not to take arms against him. He will not slaughter them. But he cannot take Brighthelm with such ease. If it falls, let it fall with honour, nobly fighting. I shall go and meet with him — if he is to be found outside the city stronghold — but rather than making offers let us listen first to his demand.’

      Brennus looked pained. ‘We already know what he wants, man! We can give it to him immediately and avert any further bloodshed.’

      ‘Your highness, humour me in this last request. Let me look our attacker in the eye. Let me fully understand what motivates him before I make any offer. If we are to die, let’s do so in the full knowledge of his reasoning.’

      Brennus hesitated. He knew that De Vis’s plan was flawed, for it would only prolong the agony of what they faced. It was the vision of Iselda clutching the baby daughter that prompted him to agree. Surrendering slightly later rather than now would give him a few more days with the woman he loved, a few more days to ease his deeply troubled soul … a few more days to make his peace with Lo.

      ‘As you wish,’ he said, sighing softly.

      De Vis kissed his king’s ring. ‘Thank you, your majesty.’

       4

      Del Faren was in love. The object of this love was the daughter of the sculptor Sesaro, who had been commissioned no fewer than three times to produce a likeness in polished stone of King Brennus. Not even into his sixth decade and young for someone already of his stature, Sesaro’s soaring career as one of the realm’s most popular artisans had already been cut short by fear of war. He had been working on a new fountain, a vast piece that was to grace one of the new squares that the crown