‘Bastards!’ De Vis growled. ‘Get that archer before me, now!’ he ordered. ‘In the garret.’ He turned to his son. ‘Get the prince and follow me. And someone fetch the king!’ Runners took off in various directions.
In the quiet of the garret, De Vis addressed his son and the prince alone. ‘Your highness. Gavriel. I suspect the moment for your escape approaches. Do you understand, both of you?’
Gavriel glanced at the youngster. ‘Yes, father. Leo, er, the prince and I have discussed it. I know what is expected of me.’
‘Don’t even look back, son,’ De Vis replied, his voice suddenly tender. ‘All our hopes are riding on your shoulders and the courage of Prince Leo.’
A man appeared at the door. ‘Tell him to wait until the king arrives,’ De Vis called, returning his attention to the pair of youngsters. ‘All right, then. My prince, your father has been summoned and I’m sorry but this will be your best opportunity to say farewell to him before I ask Gavriel to remove you from here. The secret of your escape will be known only to myself and the king. Your whereabouts I take with me to my grave.’
‘Don’t, father —’ Gavriel began but was silenced by a fierce glance from the older man.
‘No pretence now. We know what we face. We each have our duty. Don’t let our deaths be in vain.’ He cleared his throat of the emotion that had begun to sound in his voice as the king arrived.
‘I heard we’ve had a rider,’ Brennus said, striding into the garret and bringing the smell of the queen’s perfume in with him. Gavriel inhaled it as though taking in the essence of life. When would he smell something so beautiful again? He glanced at Leo and could imagine the boy thinking much the same and perhaps silently fretting over his mother.
‘Your majesty,’ De Vis, began, ‘a rider has delivered a note to us.’
Gavriel watched Brennus’s expression darken.
‘Terms, you think?’ he asked.
De Vis shook his head. ‘Where is Faren?’
The archer was almost manhandled in.
‘Well, show us, then!’ the king ordered, more ferociously than perhaps he intended. Faren flinched.
It was De Vis who snatched the note and read it. ‘Well, it seems Loethar has perfect command of our written language. Or he had someone write this for him — perhaps the poor sod recently slain. Either way, majesty, he requests that you meet him for a parley.’
The king looked surprised. ‘But this is what we want.’
‘I can’t allow you to take him up on the offer, your highness. I will go in your stead. I agree it’s important we meet but we cannot risk you.’
Brennus nodded. ‘Has he said when, where?’
De Vis handed the note to the king. ‘He is bold. He is happy to meet in front of Brighthelm, in full view of Penraven but obviously out of range of archers.’
‘Doesn’t trust us?’ Brennus said, his tone laden with sarcasm.
De Vis gave a grim smile. ‘Seems not.’
‘It says here he will meet at the sound of a bell. His, I presume?’
De Vis shrugged. ‘I’ll be ready.’ He turned to Faren. ‘You may go.’
Once again Gavriel saw the man glare defiantly at his father, although Legate De Vis hardly noticed the archer’s expression. ‘Thank you, sir.’
‘One more thing.’
‘Yes, legate.’
‘How is your sister?’
Faren shrugged, slightly embarrassed. ‘He wasn’t my brother-in-law, sir. The horse wasn’t the one I thought it was once I got up close.’
‘I wouldn’t think your brother-in-law would have a horse that answers to the whistle of our enemy.’
‘No, sir.’
‘But if it wasn’t your family why did you give him the note?’
‘He said he would find my sister for me if he could.’
‘I see. And are you aware the man was shot in the back by our not so gallant enemy?’
‘I am, sir, yes. Shocking.’
De Vis studied the archer. ‘I trust nothing incriminating or dangerous was in that note, Faren?’
The archer looked deeply affronted. ‘Why would I do such a thing?’ he demanded, adding ‘sir’ as an afterthought. ‘He got killed after I’d given it to him, sir. It was too late to worry about it then.’
Gavriel couldn’t help but mistrust the man. There was something cunning lurking behind that innocent expression, something directed at his father that he couldn’t for the life of him work out.
‘All right, Faren. Back to your post.’
The man bowed to his king, banged his fist against his heart to the legate and departed.
‘Something’s amiss there, father,’ Gavriel said, unable to stop himself.
‘Yes, I noticed. All the more reason for you to take your leave. Your majesty, I have instructed Gavriel to put the plan into action. The prince and he should leave immediately.’
‘Yes, yes of course,’ Brennus agreed.
The Valisar king turned to his son. ‘Come here, Leo, my boy. We must now say goodbye, you and I.’
Gavriel was as unhappy as Leo was to be hurrying down the stone steps away from where all the action was about to take place. The farewell between both pairs of fathers and sons had been stilted as each individual did his best to quell his emotion. Gavriel felt the goodbye as a pain at the back of his throat, as though grief had taken a form and now resided as a diseased lump … a cancer.
‘Gav, we have to watch what happens,’ Leo suddenly said, stopping short. ‘If we leave right now we’ll have no idea what has occurred, and therefore what are the best decisions to make once we’re on the run.’
The prince was right. Gavriel bit his lip as he thought it through. ‘I was going to give you time to speak with your mother.’
‘When I hugged her tonight I already felt like I’d said goodbye. She was so sad. I don’t want to see her crying like that again … unless we can take her with —’
‘We can’t,’ Gavriel interrupted. ‘I’m sorry, Leo.’
The prince’s lips thinned. ‘But you agree we need to know what’s happening, don’t you?’
‘Yes. I’m thinking we can see it from the spare watchtower.’
‘The one with the broken hinge on the door, you mean?’
Gavriel nodded. ‘No one uses it but we can probably get a reasonable view of what’s happening. We’ll also be out of everyone’s way.’
‘Come on!’ Leo said, bounding up the rest of the flight of stairs.
They encountered no one of note on their way; a few servants passed, rushing about their business, but they hardly glanced in the boys’ direction. Until of course they ran into Genrie.
‘Majesty, Master De Vis,’ the servant said, striding in her usual manner, arms laden with heavy linen. She curtsied to the prince as she stopped.
‘Genrie,’