Free Raven Flight by Juliet Marillier Page A

forbidding our kind and yours to meet and speak together. Above all, he fears human folk with canny skills—people like Neryn here, and certain others among our band.” His gaze rested briefly on Tali; on Sula; on one or two other rebels who had skills unusual enough to be considered canny. “But Neryn in particular, since she is a Caller.”
    Woodrush asked, “Why is this king afraid o’ magic? In older times, human folk used hearth magic, such as went into the makin’ o’ that wee basket, and thought little of it. Did the king’s mother and father no’ teach him right ways as a bairn?”
    “Folk talk of a foretelling,” Regan said. “An old woman spoke over his cradle, saying he was destined to die by a canny hand. Keldec grew up in fear of that. It is possible all the ills that have befallen Alban under his leadership have stemmed from that fear. The folk of his inner circle support and encourage him in his actions against the people of Alban. He and Queen Varda will do whatever they can to prevent the prophecy from being fulfilled, at least until their son is old enough to assume the throne.”
    “Their son?” This question came in many fey voices.
    “An infant,” Regan said. “And yes, I know a son does not take the throne on the death of his father; at least, nothere in Alban. It is a wise law that gives the right to contest the kingship to all the sons of women in the royal line. But Keldec does not care for that law; he sees no reason why it should be followed. And he will deal harshly with anyone who dares challenge him on the matter.”
    “Who is the true heir?” asked the fey guard, whose eyes were bright with interest.
    “He’s a child still,” said Regan. “There could be other claimants, but he is closest in blood: the grandson of the king’s maternal aunt.”
    “The laddie would be needin’ verra careful keepin’,” the Northie guard commented.
    There was a brief silence, then Regan said, “He is in a place of safety.”
    It was a measure of his audience’s understanding that nobody asked where.
    “With so much held secret and the price of speaking out so high,” said Pearl-Wort, “how can you know so much of the king’s thoughts, his hopes and fears?”
    Another silence. “We have eyes at court,” Regan said. “Eyes close to the king.”
    “If the heir is so young,” a wizened Northie in a sheepskin coat spoke up, “why do ye trouble tae seek our aid now? Put a wee laddie on the throne and Alban will be a’ brawlin’ chieftains, and worse than ever.”
    “We cannot wait until the heir is grown,” Regan said. “The support of our most influential ally depends on our moving against Keldec quite soon. To hold back longer from action would spell the death of the rebellion. We needthis ally; and we need your help. To answer your question about the heir, I believe a joint regency made up of certain chieftains would be adequate until the boy is a man.”
    “Oh, aye,” said Hawkbit. “Ye need our help, ye say. Doin’ what, exactly?”
    “Until the final stand, we must continue to build support all across Alban. A movement such as ours is not like a conventional army. While we must prepare ourselves as a fighting force, our main role has from the first been to draw together like-minded folk and to win the support of those who love justice and peace. To persuade them that it’s worth taking the risk. An evil is eating at the heart of Alban. We cannot let it consume us. We must make an end to the Cull; we must make an end to the fear and distrust that have marred our once-great realm. We must reestablish the authority of the chieftains and the practices that allowed power to be shared among them. Keldec has a mighty army. We must make one mightier still.”
    His voice rang through the chamber, setting goose bumps on my skin.
    “Alban is wide,” said Pearl-Wort. “From the green glens of the south to the crags of the cold north; from the western isles to this king’s