Royal Exile. Fiona McIntosh

replied. ‘Where are you hurrying to?’ She cast a stern glance towards the prince but she addressed Gavriel. He wished she hadn’t done either.

      ‘Actually, none of your business,’ Leo replied.

      ‘Well, can I let someone know you are in this part of the palace, your majesty?’ It was offered sincerely, no hint of curiosity in her voice. Gavriel believed she was genuinely being polite.

      ‘Why?’ Leo asked.

      She was undeterred by his uncharacteristically brusque manner. ‘This area is mainly storage. I just thought —’

      ‘Don’t think, please, Genrie, not on my behalf anyway,’ Leo said and Gavriel frowned as the prince moved on. He threw a glance of apology toward Genrie but she appeared unimpressed by his politeness or by the prince’s rudeness. She’d already turned her back on him.

      Once inside, Gavriel pushed the door closed quietly. ‘Why are you so determined to be rude to Genrie?’

      ‘I told you. She dislikes me and it’s obvious. And that’s fine, I don’t care. But I don’t appreciate her snoopy ways. She’s far too interested in my life, always giving me looks of disapproval.’

      Gavriel sighed and when Leo pointed toward a candle, he shook his head. ‘No flame. We’d light up like a beacon from outside and I just know my father will know who it is.’

      ‘Mine too,’ Leo said, conspiratorially. ‘Have we missed much?’

      ‘Nothing as far as I can tell. If you stand on that old crate, you’ll see better,’ Gavriel said, pointing. ‘That window will give you a good view.’

      Leo did as suggested and a silence fell over them both as they spotted Legate De Vis guiding his horse slowly out from beneath the great gates of Brighthelm. He held himself proudly erect and Gavriel noted that his father had shown immense faith in the barbarian leader’s request for parley, taking himself unarmed toward the enemy.

      Leo seemed to read his thoughts. ‘Your father is not wearing his sword or any armour,’ he said, awe in his voice.

      ‘It’s a peaceful discussion,’ Gavriel said, although the callous death of the Barronel rider suggested it was anything but that.

      ‘A peaceful discussion?’ The prince scowled. ‘Before we all start trying to kill each other, that is.’

      ‘There’s Loethar,’ Gavriel said, pressing forward, squinting as he saw a shadow move against the line of trees.

      ‘Does he really think he’s out of range of our archers?’

      ‘No. He knows he’s not. He won’t take any chances. They’ll talk, that’s all.’

      ‘I wish I could hear their conversation.’

      Gavriel nodded silently in the dark of their tower. The torch his father carried threw a bright glow around the parley spot, which was well past the halfway mark between the castle and the woodland. Once again he felt a surge of love for his father’s bravery. Loethar moved his horse forward into that circle of light now and Gavriel held his breath, certain that every other person watching — especially the king — did the same.

      Initially both men sat seemingly relaxed in their saddles, leaning slightly toward each other. But the language of their bodies quickly changed when the barbarian stiffened. Alarm pulsed through Gavriel as he saw his father open his arms at his side, in a strange gesture that echoed of an attempt to convey innocence. And then, suddenly, the marauder reached behind his back and lifted a mean-looking blade clear of a hidden scabbard. It was a fluid movement, clearly one he had performed countless times previously and Loethar didn’t break speed or rhythm as he brought the blade down onto the legate’s head with all of his body’s force, cleaving a grisly path that ended midway through the soldier’s neck.

      Gavriel let out a sound of anguish and then his stomach heaved at the momentary glimpse of one side of his father’s head falling away before his body slumped unnaturally sideways. The legate’s horse started at the unnatural movement, turning a frantic circle before dashing off toward the trees. Gavriel could see little other than what the moon and the torch — now smouldering in the grass — could highlight, but the vague shapes told him that his father had fallen to the ground. The legate’s foot was still stuck in the stirrup and although it was bent at an unnatural angle, it clung doggedly and his body was being dragged behind the now panicked horse.

      Loethar was yelling from somewhere in the dark. Gavriel could no longer make out his shape but his voice carried through the still, suddenly unnaturally silent night.

      ‘I demanded to see you, Brennus, not your lackey! And now that you have insulted me, not even paid me the due respect, I will slaughter every member of your family and one member from every family who lives in Penraven. Do not let it be said that I am not a magnanimous emperor of the Set for I shall let them choose who dies. But there will be no mercy for the Valisars.’ He spat, turned his horse and rode for the trees, long before the first archer could refocus sufficiently to unleash a single arrow into the darkness.

      Gavriel stood unsteadily, swallowing back the desire to vomit, to scream, to hurt Loethar. Breathing shallowly he gasped, ‘Leo, we go now.’

      ‘Gavriel,’ an equally shocked prince began.

      ‘Now!’ Gavriel yelled into Leo’s face and the youngster fled toward the door.

      And then they were running.

      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