Rebel's Cage (Book 4) (37 page)

Then, alone with the noise of chaos all around him, he called for Osbert. The Proctor arrived already wary and Kenrick could clearly see the fear in the older man’s eyes. It had been there for a long time, probably put there by Nash.

Kenrick swallowed down the nausea that filled him. His own fear still coursed through him, like a plague, destroying everything in its path. By the time it was done, he would be no more than an empty wasteland.

He’d been terrified, in the chapel, after the Rebel had gone. Unable to move, like a … like a child before a giant. Frozen to
the spot until his men had come for him, shaking his shoulder as though he’d been standing there asleep. That was all. Just a few terse words and that had been his entire defence against a man who had taken not just the girl from him, but also the orb. Nash was going to kill him.

But Robert Douglas had stolen something else from him, something he’d not noticed until it was gone.

He
had
to get it back.

Without another word, Kenrick took the pouch from inside his jacket and placed it on the table. Keeping his eyes on Osbert, he slid it across, his hand not leaving it until the last moment. ‘I want this translated.’

Osbert looked at the pouch briefly. His eyebrows raised in question, he said, ‘Translated, Sire?’

‘Yes.’ Kenrick said, not sitting back, not relaxing, but watching the man before him in the light of a dozen waxy candles. The thick yellow light did nothing for the Proctor’s complexion, giving his grey eyes an almost green hue.

Robert Douglas had green eyes.

Kenrick’s fingers abruptly itched and he clenched his fist to prevent himself snatching the pouch back—

But he needed to know, needed as he needed to breathe. The Rebel had warned him, had said Nash would destroy him. Kenrick needed weapons against both of them.

‘Translated,’ Kenrick continued, as though he’d not just had a battle with himself. ‘By your hand alone. Show it to no one. Discuss it with no one. Bring the results to me yourself. Do I need to say what will happen if you don’t follow my instructions to the letter?’

Osbert pursed his lips and shook his head slightly. ‘No, Sire. May I look now?’

Kenrick nodded. As Osbert fiddled with the pouch lacing, Kenrick rose and refilled his cup. He drained it again in two large swallows, but stopped then. Wine was not going to give him back himself. Osbert frowned.

‘What is it?’

‘Nothing, Sire.’ The frown vanished as Osbert pushed the papers back into the pouch, absently tying the laces once
more. ‘I will begin work on it as soon as I get to Marsay. This language is ancient and a little beyond my expertise. I do have books at the Guildehall that would assist me—’

‘Fine! Go to it! And remember, not a word to anyone!’

Osbert bowed deeply, the pouch held stiffly between his hands. ‘Yes, Sire.’

The moment Kenrick was alone again, he began to shake, hard, until he closed his eyes against it.

Never again would he let the Rebel get so close. From now on, he would keep the Malachi within shouting distance, not close enough to spy on
all
that he did, but near enough to warn him, to be some kind of barrier between him and …

He stood and made for the wine once more. He drank directly from the flask this time, swallowing until he thought he’d choke. Then he called for his horse and guard.

He couldn’t stand around here waiting for his court to leave. He had to get on the road now, had to get to Nash before he lost all his courage.

He needed to know he had some left.

*

A thick swathe of cloud blotted out the highest peaks of the Goleth range, but in his mind’s eye, Robert could see them clearly. Memory alone brought forth pictures of the sharp ridges, tall and dipping peaks, covered, at this time of year, in layer after layer of snow and frozen ice. In some places, ice had been caught up in the flow of a rock-slide, turning it grey and black, crumbling the rock before its time, etching the paths and passes of this range with treacherous footing.

The stand of trees sheltered his position as he gazed beyond the foothills. It had been perhaps three days since the last snow here. There was almost no green to be seen, just the unbroken white, bordered by fences, trees and the welcoming warmth of St Germanus Abbey, perched on the hillside like a forgotten trinket.

He remembered days spent in that abbey, trying to forget. Meeting a man who learned to see right through him.

His wounded side throbbed insistently. He would have to stop on the way home to buy some more of the pain-numbing
potion. Though it barely worked, it would be enough to ensure he got some rest, to allow it to heal again.

‘I wish you’d come with us. Even just for a few days.’

Robert glanced once at Finnlay. ‘You know I can’t.’

‘Mother wants to see you.’

‘And I want to see her.’

‘Then come. Please.’

‘I can’t.’

A silence grew between them then, uncomfortable and hungry.

‘Tell me,’ he blurted out a moment later, ‘have you learned anything more about how to find the Calyx?’

‘The Calyx?’ Finn repeated, puzzled. ‘No – though I wish we had. It might have avoided this whole thing.’

‘True.’

‘Why?’

Why? Wasn’t it obvious? Hadn’t Finnlay always been the one driving the search for it, however unsuccessfully. ‘What about Patric? Any recent word from him?’

‘You get the same letters we do. I’ve heard no more recently.’

‘I see.’ So still no hope from either avenue. ‘Do you have any idea yet what the Calyx actually is?’

Finnlay frowned and faced him. ‘No, not really – though the Key said it was a receptacle or cup.’

‘Really? Kenrick called the bowl holding Helen’s blood a calyx. I’ll bet he got the word from Nash when he learned the whole disgusting process.’

For a moment, Finnlay just blinked at him. ‘So a calyx is …’

‘A thing that holds something else.’

‘But what?’

Robert shrugged. ‘Information?’

‘Like a book?’

‘Possibly. Or a library of some kind.’

‘Oh, hell, Robert, if we’ve been looking for a library, don’t you think we’d have found it by now?’

‘I’m just guessing here, Finn. We know from our own
sources that the Calyx is supposed to hold some information, don’t we?’

‘True.’

‘And we also know that Nash isn’t interested in finding the Calyx at all.’

‘Unless he already has it.’

That made Robert pause. ‘Yes, he could have it. Or – he might not know about it.’

‘Why wouldn’t he?’

‘Because he’s only interested in the Prophecy and the Key? In the power of the Key and the Word of Destruction.’

‘You’re talking hope there, Robert. We don’t know what’s really in that man’s mind.’ Finnlay looked up at the mountains in front of them. ‘You honestly think that if he had the Key, if he had Jenn and the Word, he wouldn’t also go right ahead and kill every Salti alive just because he could?’

Finnlay was right, of course. But if Nash already had the Calyx, then Robert couldn’t use it, nor find answers within it, leaving him with Patric as his only link to hope.

‘What are you planning?’

Robert blinked, scrambling back from the shadows. He picked up his cloak and swung it over his shoulders. Deliberately, he forced a light tone, made his words glib. ‘I was wondering when you would ask.’

‘Don’t!’ Finnlay held up a hand. He dropped his voice so Helen wouldn’t hear him. ‘Just don’t do that, Robert. Not any more. I can’t keep interpreting what you say when things like this happen. It’s just too much. Can you understand that? I want … I need to know why you didn’t kill Kenrick. Surely, with all he’s done now you …’

Robert turned and faced Finnlay. There was passion in his eyes, but all of it was blood-thirsty. Ironic, really. ‘You would have me murder him?’

‘Why not? He nearly murdered my daughter! Your niece! And his men
did
murder Liam!’ Finnlay shook his head, bemused and frustrated. ‘What difference does it make
how
he dies, only that his miserable existence is done with.’

‘So I kill him in cold blood, and let the country run the
rapids without a King? Is that what you want?’ Exactly what he had been so tempted to do?

‘Do we need another war to get it? Or another King? Serin’s blood, Robert! What are you waiting for? A sign from the gods? Isn’t this enough? And if not, what
will
be enough?’ Finnlay took a step back, as though afraid of what he would do if he got too close. ‘I believe in you, Robert. I’ve always believed in you. What I can’t believe is that you won’t move because you’re afraid.’

Robert suddenly found it hard to breathe. Weight pushed down on his chest from some invisible place. He couldn’t look away from Finnlay, from the dark eyes bright with unshed tears.

‘You don’t understand,’ he murmured eventually, the words breaking him from his freeze.

‘Those are just words, Robert. How can I understand when you won’t … you won’t trust me?’

‘No!’ Robert snapped. ‘I’m not going to discuss this with you. I never said I didn’t trust you.’ But he didn’t, did he? Couldn’t afford to, because betrayal could come from anywhere and Finnlay was living with the daily influence of Jenn.

‘You’ll have your answers in the spring. I can’t tell you more until then.’ He turned for his horse, taking up the reins.

‘I’m not asking for all your secrets. I understand the need for silence.’

‘Do you?’ Robert turned back swiftly, searching for something he couldn’t name in his brother’s eyes. There was a flash there, and he spoke to it. ‘What makes you think I’m not afraid of what’s to come, eh? Why shouldn’t I be afraid?’

As though he’d said something magical, Finnlay’s tension faded away and was replaced by warmth and the beginnings of a smile. ‘No reason, Robert. As long as it doesn’t keep you from—’

‘My destiny?’

‘From doing what you know is right.’

‘And murder is not right.’

Finnlay grinned. ‘Spring it is, then. Anything I can do?’

Robert almost laughed at the sudden casual manner, at the
abrupt return to normality between them. The gift touched him where nothing had for eight years. He breathed deeply to ease the tightness in his throat. ‘Aye, spring. And you’ll know what to do when the time comes.’

‘Of course,’ Finnlay half-laughed. ‘It just wouldn’t be you without at least one cryptic instruction.’

And that gave Robert permission to smile a little. ‘Well, we wouldn’t want things to change too much.’

‘Heaven forbid.’

There seemed nothing more either could say then. But this silence stretched easily now, their gazes meeting where their principles would not. ‘You have to go.’

Without another word, Finnlay came forward and swept Robert up in a hug that almost squeezed the life out of him. There were more words than he could count in that gesture. When it was over, Robert turned to find Helen.

She stood waiting for them, holding the reins of her horse, eyes wide and knowing, and yet still fringed with an echo of fear. She was still weak, pale and far beyond normal robust health, but she would regain it quickly with rest and proper food. She’d been lucky. They’d
all
been lucky. Except poor, dead Liam.

Helen looked up at him, a smile in her eyes. ‘Bronwyn and Anna are going to be so jealous that they didn’t get to meet you.’

‘I’ll trust you to tell them as many stories as possible to make up for the omission.’

‘Can I say anything I like?’

Robert had to smile. She was such a delight to be around, his niece. ‘Feel free.’

She nodded, taking the double meaning without blinking. ‘When you come back, will you visit us?’

For a moment, he couldn’t say anything. He could feel Finnlay’s eyes on him, willing him to say something. He bought time instead, by taking the girl into an embrace, hoping that his touch, and the touch of those who loved her, would be enough to one day erase the memory of what Kenrick had done to her. ‘I will do what I can.’

She kissed his cheek and hugged him back hard. Then she let go quickly and he helped her up onto her horse. He stepped back to let them go. Finnlay said nothing, but Helen raised a hand and a smile. ‘Goodbye, Uncle Robert.’

And then they were riding away, towards the invisible mountains curtained by layers of grey and white.

How was a man to know what he loved most in the world?

A howling wind tore across the road, whipping up powdered snow in blinding swirls, almost obliterating the lights of Ransem Castle. The ice-laden air made DeMassey huddle down further onto his horse, draw the cloak closely about his face and keep his eyes on what little of the ground he could see. In front of him, the last of Kenrick’s guard trudged towards the gate, equally huddled, each man longing for the shelter of stone walls, for the comfort of a fire and perhaps a hot meal after a very long week on the road.

Small comforts. Little things designed to keep the body functioning and usable. Not enough to give answers from which to create solutions.

From the white darkness, colourless stone walls drew near and, with an ironic shiver of relief, the wind dropped and then faded almost the moment he passed through the gate. Chaos reigned then as servants sought to bring the soldiers inside, to take care of the horses within a courtyard not designed for such a large group. Kenrick had sent the bulk of his train on to Marsay, choosing to bring only a hundred men with him to report to Nash.

Perhaps he hoped so many would protect him from the man’s wrath?

DeMassey spent little time worrying about the fate of the King, who, by the look of it, was already indoors, away from the vagaries of the weather, but perhaps infinitely less safe. Kenrick was an idiot, still bound up with the superficial
pleasures of instant gratification, rarely thinking in terms of where he would be in a year, or ten years.

In reality, of course, DeMassey should have been concerned with Kenrick’s fate. After all, the young King was almost the last thing that stood between him and Nash, but weariness and his own, concealed fear brought an element of quiet disdain and as he slipped down from his horse he barely glanced up at the lighted windows above. Instead, he turned and headed towards the south tower, where, on the rare occasions when he had no other choice, he spent the night in a room on the second floor.