reach the edge of City lands by dawn. He didn't even know how far they extended—or where this road led. He could use the moon to keep himself heading due west, though there was no guarantee that the road would oblige him by going the same way.
For once his father had been telling the simple truth, just as Perulan had. 'My dear young Kellen, have you ever heard of anyone who simply LEFT the City?'
No, Perulan. Not even you, Kellen thought mournfully.
Banishment wasn't banishment—it was murder. Banishment was just a convenient and innocuous way for the Council to explain how they got rid of troublemakers. A bloodless death sentence that the Council could claim— assuming anyone ever dared to ask—represented a fair chance for the victim. And until his father had told him the truth down there in the cell, Kellen would have believed them, just like everyone else in the City believed in the myth that the Banished just went elsewhere to live. Of course they did. The High Council was wise and kind; the Mages wouldn't condone anything that wasn't in the best interests of everyone involved. As for the Outlaw Hunt, well, that was just to make certain that the Banished didn't sneak back inside the City with the farmers to make more trouble, of course.
But Lycaelon had given him the reality behind the pretty myth. And no matter how much Kellen was inclined to doubt everything his father had to say, there was something about standing all alone in the middle of a dark forest on a road that led to nowhere that made Lycaelon's words ring with truth. 'Banishment is a death sentence. No one has ever escaped an Outlaw Hunt. No one!'
Banishment was murder.
How could anyone find the edge of the City lands when no one knew where they were? In all his fruitless days of searching the City Library for information about the lands outside the City, Kellen had never even encountered one scrap of information about the extent of the City lands beyond the City walls—nor had anyone volunteered to provide that vital piece of survival information to a Banished Outlaw.
So that much of what Lycaelon had told him must be true.
Kellen began walking again, more slowly now, as furious with himself for believing the High Mages' lies so easily as he was with the Council for having lied to him—to all of them—for all these years. Why couldn't they just be honest enough to admit they were executing people? Why did they have to play at being merciful?
Because if they didn't people would object to the killings. And there would have to be more executions. And then people would see them for what they are, a small voice inside Kellen said reasonably.
It was all part of a pattern of life in the Golden City. The Council saw to it that there was nothing new that might make people think. Nothing to excite people, or upset them. Nothing that would make people question the way things were, or question the fact that the High Council acted for the good of all, always. Nothing that would make people question the way things were. In the City, anything unpleasant or distressing simply… disappeared.
Just the way Kellen was going to disappear now.
'Oh, Kellen? I remember him. Lycaelon's son. He wasn't happy here, so the Council Banished him, for the good of the City.' And everyone would nod their heads, thinking of how wise, how just, how kind, how merciful the High Council was. And life would go on, following the rules the Council laid down for it.
But at least I have until morning before they release the Hunt. They'll have w work all night to enchant the stone Hounds, and even if they're ready early, the Council will abide by the letter of its decree and not release them until morning. If there was anything left for Kellen to be certain of among all the lies and betrayal, it was that. Why should they put themselves to the trouble of breaking one of their endless petty rules when the Outlaw Hunt could find him wherever he went, and they knew there was no way for Kellen to escape them?
But they were wrong. Lycaelon had been wrong. Kellen did have a way. He just wasn't sure he was going to use it yet. He needed to think very carefully about it first, and he wasn't yet certain, really, truly certain, deep in his gut, that he'd come to the point where he had no other options.
He walked on until it was too dark to see at all, stumbling several times on the wagon-rutted road before he tripped over some unseen obstacle and landed heavily on his hands and knees. That was the point that almost broke him; tears of fear, frustration, and anger welled up in his eyes and despair enveloped his heart as the Felon's Cloak enveloped his body, and at last he was finally willing to admit that he'd reached that point. Groping carefully around himself, Kellen sat down in the middle of the road, facing back the way he'd come.
There was nothing to see. If he'd hoped for a glimpse of the lights of Armethalieh on the horizon, he was disappointed. There was nothing there to see—not even the lights of the highest towers, for some reason. Nothing but more darkness, and more shadows.
It was spring, but it was still early enough in the season that the temperature dropped sharply at night this close to the coast. Kellen shivered now in earnest, pulling his inadequate cloak tighter around himself. If he'd known when he got up this morning that he was going to be arrested and Banished, he'd have dressed more warmly and worn stout walking boots at the very least.
At least there was nothing there he'd really miss. Everything he'd owned had been bought as part of Lycaelon's idea of what Lycaelon's perfect son should have. The few things he'd bought on his own, from the allowance that was also a part of what Lycaelon's perfect son should have somehow never managed to stay around very long if they were deemed too unsuitable. Kellen had learned very early not to get too attached to possessions.
