Royal Exile

As though he heard his thoughts, Sergius yelled above the roar of the wind, ‘Storm tonight. Bodes well for what we have to do. I think we’ll have some awakening.’

‘Is that a good thing?’

‘Perfect. This sort of magic works best when the elements are stirring, roaring their power.’

Corbel wondered if anyone was telling Gavriel about this. Mostly he wondered if he’d ever see his brother again.

‘What about my horse?’

The man pointed. ‘It’s going to be too fierce to leave it outside but your father took the precaution of leaving feed and water in that tiny barn — can you see it?’ Corbel nodded. ‘Good, because I can’t. It’s a blur at that distance. Anyway, tie your horse up in there. Arrangements have been made to collect it.’

‘Give me a few moments,’ Corbel said, the wind whistling now around his ears. He guided the horse to the barn and secured her inside with a bag of fresh feed and a pail of sweet water. He hoped she would be collected soon. He wished he could rub her down but there was plenty of fresh hay that she would no doubt enjoy rolling around in anyway. And this was not the time to be fretting over a horse. He secured the door and trotted back to his host. ‘It’s done,’ he said.

‘Let’s go,’ Sergius replied. ‘How pleasant to have someone to help me make that wretched trek back.’

They moved in silence, concentrating on the descent.

‘When?’ he asked as they finally arrived at the door of the hut.

The man smiled. ‘Now. Come in; I need you to drink something.’

‘What?’ Corbel asked, following Sergius into the hut.

‘No questions, no time. This,’ Sergius said, reaching for a cup on the scrubbed table, bare but for a few sweet sea daisies in a jug, ‘will cast away your resistance.’

Corbel frowned, looking inside at the contents. The liquid looked harmless and had no discernible smell.

‘You must drink it all,’ Sergius urged.

‘Only me?’

The man nodded. ‘I control my magic but I need you not to fight it. You look strong enough to do just that.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘This potion breaks resistance by making you compliant. Without it your body will instinctively fight the magic. We need you to go calmly.’

‘Where?’

‘Into the sea.’

‘Are you mad?’

‘Most people think so,’ the man replied, smiling kindly. ‘But that suits me.’

‘To drown,’ Corbel said flatly.

‘Trust me.’

‘Trust magic, don’t you mean?’

Sergius nodded, his expression filled with sympathy. ‘That too.’

‘Where am I going?’ Corbel pressed again.

‘In a way, you will choose, but whichever way you look at it, it’s away from here.’

‘Sergius?’

‘Yes?’

‘I’m frightened.’

The old man smiled softly, placing his warm, dry hand on Corbel’s arm. ‘Don’t be, son. What you are doing is heroic. What I suspect you have already done was extremely courageous, more brave than either your father or the king could have managed — and they are both men of valour. You are doing this for Penraven … for the Valisar crown. Drink, 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?’