‘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.
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