“Why can’t you give me one?”
“What part of ‘unique to each person who carries it’ didn’t you understand, princeling?” Lead asked, cocking an eyebrow at him. “Even if we somehow had a spare Anchor it wouldn’t work for you.”
“Why not?”
“An Anchor is only given to those who have sworn loyalty to the Council of Elders and the nation of Aemon.”
“What is Aemon?”
“Aemon was the first Exiled Kindred,” Tomaz responded. “He founded the Kindred with the help of the land’s original inhabitants.”
“The savages?” the Prince asked, skeptically.
Leah and Tomaz exchanged a glance.
“Keep that opinion to yourself,” the big man rumbled. “Most of the Kindred are not Exiles from the Empire like we are. We joined them, yes, but they have been here for longer than living memory—before the Empress came. The people who live in Vale are their descendants, mixed with those like us who they took in.”
“The Exiled Servant,” the Prince said slowly.
“What?’ Leah asked sharply.
“A story,” the Prince explained, “that I was told when I was growing up. A servant who came over with my… with the Empress when she crossed the sea. He stole one of her greatest secrets and fled, taking refuge in the mountains. He was never found.”
“Aemon,” Tomaz said, nodding. “That man was Aemon.”
The Prince blinked—and found himself in the middle of the strangest forest he had ever seen.
“AH!”
He pulled his horse around so violently that the beast almost kicked him off before he could regain control. The world had changed completely. There was foliage as far as the eye could see, including large trees he had no name for that dripped long plant ropes that he thought from his reading must be vines. A bird the size of an eagle flew over his head with a bill made of the colors of the rainbow. There was no sign of the mountains they had just crossed, and heat lay heavy on him like a wet blanket.
“How—how are we in forest?” he asked, fighting to keep his voice calm.
“A forest?” Tomaz asked excitedly.
“Yes, a forest!”
“We’re not in a forest, princeling,” Leah said. “We’re walking through a field.”
As soon as she said the word ‘field,’ the world gave an odd sideways lurch as if someone had pulled a tablecloth out from under a table set, leaving all the Exiles and their mounts in place but completely changing the backdrop behind them. The Prince saw a field of wheat flowing around them, felt a cool breeze on his cheeks, saw that the sun was dipping down toward the horizon—and then the world lurched back, and it was a forest again.
“So… so this is the defense you were talking about.”
His voice came out somewhat choked.
“Yes,” Leah responded with a grin. “And it looks like it’s working.”
“So, you don’t see that rather large… cat? Over there?” the Prince asked, pointing off to their right.
“Nope. And neither do you.”
“No, I see it, it’s standing right there. It’s huge!”
“Your mind isn’t Anchored,” Leah said. “You see whatever you cobble together from past experiences, things you’ve read or dreamed or lived as a child. But it’s all illusion.”
“Whatever I imagine seeing?” the Prince asked. Leah nodded.
“The genius of the defense is that it doesn’t change your mind at all,” she said. “It simply makes the world look like a blank canvas. Your brain fills it in however it sees fit. Your default image of a new and exotic land must be a forest, or a jungle like we have in the east. Like there used to be south of Tyne before Rikard cleared it all. Strange. I would have thought you’d be walking through the corridors of the Fortress or the streets of Lucien.”
