Tower of Thorns (49 page)

Blackthorn

O
n the third day out from Bann, a westerly blew up and the weather turned cold and wet. We rode on through it, getting crosser and chillier by the moment. Just as the light was fading, we found a sheltered camping spot near a stand of old trees. By then the worst of the rain was over; it had been a passing storm. But we were wet, the horses were wet, and all of us were perilously cold.

Without any need for talk, Grim and I set to work. He unloaded the baggage while I gathered firewood from under the trees, where it was passably dry. He tethered the horses, rubbed them down, got them food and water. I made a fire. It was necessary to use a couple of what might be called wise woman tricks to get it burning well; with everything damp, flint and tinder went only so far. I investigated the bag that contained our foodstuffs, found it had withstood the deluge fairly well, and prepared a rather eccentric porridge using everything I thought needed finishing up. The main thing was to get a hot, nourishing meal into our bellies before nightfall. With the horses taken care of, Grim sorted out our bedding and performed a swift patrol of the whole area. We had seen nothing of Flannan since we'd left Bann. We'd been avoiding encounters with other folk on the roads, thinking he might be about and asking people if they'd seen us. Or, more precisely, seen me. I was starting to believe he'd gone south by that other route, through Tirconnell, if it really existed and wasn't just one more of his lies. If he'd done that, there
was no way we could stop him from reaching Mathuin and telling what he knew.

But then, I thought as I stirred the strange-looking mixture, what could he tell? If he'd left Bann before I went up the tower, he'd be going back to Laois in the belief that I was dead. Or turned into a monster.
The doom will fall upon the assailant
, those were the final words of the curse, according to Grim. If that was what Flannan was rushing to impart to Mathuin, perhaps hoping for praise or reward, his departure was good news. If Mathuin believed me dead, I'd be safe for now. I could stay in Winterfalls, keep my promise to Conmael, and wait for the day when I'd finally make Mathuin face up to justice, in my own way, on my own terms. So why did I still have a tight knot in my belly? Why did I feel uneasy every time Grim went out of sight?

“Smells good,” he said, coming to sit opposite me and warm his hands. “What is it?”

“Travelers' Surprise. You'll have tasted better. And worse.” The swill in Mathuin's lockup had been repulsive. And yet we prisoners had licked our bowls clean, every time. You do that when you're starving. I'd drawn the line at the rats, but most of my cellmates had crunched them up raw, bones and all. “We've been through some odd times, Grim,” I said.

“Mm.”

“I'm sorry,” I said, handing him a filled bowl.

“Sorry about the food, or . . . ?”

“My cooking's not that bad. I mean sorry for lying to you. Again.”

“Way I see it,” said Grim, blowing on a steaming spoonful, “it's better to care too much, like you do, and make mistakes, than shut your ears and eyes and pretend the bad things in the world aren't there. Big job, though. Bigger than I thought.”

“What is?”

“Keeping you safe.”

We ate in silence for a while. The supper was a little odd, but we were hungry and cold enough to eat every last spoonful.

“Good meal,” said Grim, wiping out his bowl with his finger. “About St.
Olcan's. Was that to get me out of your way? Wondered why you were so keen to help them. Monks and all.”

Only the truth would do, though it shamed me to say it. “I did plan things hoping you'd be busy up there when I went to the tower, because I thought I might have to do something you wouldn't want me to do. And yes, I intended that Flannan and I would be gone before you got back on Midsummer Eve. A big strategic error. No need to point that out.”

“Funny part is,” he said, “it turned out to be a good thing. Me going up to St. Olcan's. A really good thing. And not just me fixing their roof for them. Even though I was so scared of going in, the first time, that it made me sick. Learned a bit up there. Wasn't expecting that.”

I didn't ask about the mysterious Brother Conall, and he didn't offer the story.

“Question for you,” Grim said.

“Mm?”

“Can anyone learn their letters? Reading and writing?”

This was a surprise. “Someone like you, you mean?” I ventured.

“Mm-hm.” He was staring into the fire, avoiding my eye.

“That depends on who's doing the teaching,” I said. “I was planning on starting some work with Emer when we get home. If she's going to be a healer she'll need to be able to keep her own notebook, at the very least. Read labels, make her own labels. I don't see why you shouldn't learn with her. That's if we do stay in Winterfalls.”

He looked up then. Nodded. Gave me the sweetest of smiles. “Good,” he said. “Should get these clothes dried out, hmm?”

We built the fire up, draped various items around it and settled again. It was nearly dark, or as dark as it got so close to midsummer. And beyond the glow of the flames, as cold as the grave. Grim checked the horses again. When he got back I handed him the flask of Father Tomas's special mead.

“I was going to save it until we got home. But I think tonight calls for it. It will put some warmth in the bones.”

The mead was indeed very fine; far better than anything I'd ever brewed. We passed the flask from one to the other until a goodly amount of it was
gone. Then we settled to sleep. All being well, by the day after tomorrow we would be back at Cahercorcan. It felt as if we'd been in another world.

“Good night, Grim.”

“Sweet dreams.”

•   •   •

I woke suddenly and fully, my heart hammering, my skin prickling with the awareness of danger. On the far side of the fire, Grim lay as if dead, a motionless dark form. Someone was kneeling over him. The firelight caught the glint of a knife, the red stain on the blade.

In a breath I was up, ax in hand. “
What are you doing?
” I yelled, striding forward. Flannan whipped around, rose to a crouch, the knife pointed toward me. His white face. His wide eyes. A traitor. My friend. My own voice sounded in my mind:
He should face up to us.

I hit him with the haft, hard. But he was moving and the blow missed his head, glancing instead across his neck and cheek. Flannan let out an oath and staggered to his feet, still clutching the bloody knife. Now he took a lurching step toward me, moving past Grim. Oh, gods, Grim. Grim dead or dying.

I stepped back, tripped over my hem, struggled to keep my balance. Dropped the ax. I fought to find words. Time. I needed time. I would not turn and run. How could I leave Grim? “You don't have to do this, Flannan.” I put my hands up, palms forward, in a gesture of surrender. “You didn't have to do any of it. You were a good man once.”

“Do what? What are you talking about? Your man here just tried to kill me. Went for me without even asking what my business was. I defended myself as a man does.”

“Bollocks!” The lying swine! He thought I would swallow that? “You, beat Grim in a fight?”

“You're angry. I understand that. Just—just be calm and listen. I'm sorry I didn't wait for you the way we planned. There was a—a distraction. But I've found you now, and we can go south. Do everything we were going to
do. Just the two of us. You wanted him out of the way, didn't you? We can head off for Mide exactly as we planned.”

“So why are you still pointing that knife at me?” A knife that was less than steady. He was pale, sweating, shaking. He looked as if he might do anything. “You're a liar. A liar and a traitor. There never was any plot, was there? There never were any witnesses waiting to speak out; there never was any network of like minds in the south. Just you, a godforsaken coward, doing Mathuin's dirty business.” I was damned if I was going to die without telling the bastard what I thought of him.

Flannan opened his mouth, no doubt to deny it all, then swallowed and spoke again. “I had no choice.” He shifted the knife from one hand to the other. “If anyone should understand, it's you.”

How dared he? I was on the brink of hurling myself forward and attacking the rotten mongrel with my bare hands, knife or no knife. I made myself breathe.

“You mean because I know what Mathuin's capable of? That's rubbish. Cass would never have done what you've done. Not in a thousand years. You were going to hand me over, weren't you? If the curse didn't finish me off, you were going to take me all the way to Mathuin's doorstep on the strength of those cruel lies. That's unforgivable.” Could I snatch that knife? Stab him before he wrestled it from me and killed me? He was far taller, but my blow had dazed him. I tried not to look at the weapon.

“You can't know that.” Flannan's voice had a wild edge. “How can you?”

“You forget the scribe's habit of setting things down in writing. Messages to Mathuin, carried by birds. A translation set away under lock and key. And a friend of mine who's been spending a lot of time at St. Olcan's.”

“Grim?” Flannan was incredulous. “Don't tell me that dunderhead could read. That, I'll never believe.”

“He didn't need to be able to read.” I blinked back furious tears. “He just needed an observant eye and a gift for making friends. We know exactly what you've been doing.”

“I did what I had to.”

“Rubbish! Nobody has to lie and cheat and kill. Nobody has to obey a wretch like Mathuin. How long have you been doing his foul work, Flannan? And why, in the name of all the gods, why?”

“Why did I agree to find you and bring you back? Why did I do Mathuin's bidding? I wanted to live. I wanted my wife and children to live. Is that enough for you?”

My jaw dropped. Another lie? “What wife and children? Traveling scholars don't have wives and children.”
Keep him talking, Blackthorn. Wait for an opportunity.

“I've been wed only five years; my daughters are young. I thought I was safe, Saorla. Far enough away to be out of his reach. What I told you—the first part—that was mostly true. Getting away after the plot failed. Staying away, sheltered in the monasteries for years and years. But I met Banba. Met and fell in love. Wed and moved into the nearby village, in Mide. And Mathuin found me. Found me and gave me a mission: track you down and bring you back. If I didn't succeed, my wife and daughters would be killed. He . . . he described what he would do. In detail. You know Mathuin; you can imagine. There was no choice.”

I thought of my baby in the fire. To save him, I would have been prepared to offer up my own life, my freedom, all my worldly goods. But track down an old and trusted friend and deliver her up to gods knew what vile fate? Tell lie after lie to make it happen? Not care who else got killed or hurt along the way? I hoped I would have had the strength to spit in Mathuin's poxy face.

“There's always a choice,” I said. “Getting it right can be the hardest thing of all. I wrestled with the choice you gave me. Changed my mind over and over, until I knew what I must do.” I drew a breath, glancing at the fire. Could I snatch a burning brand, somehow use that to make him drop the weapon?

“Listen,” Flannan said, dropping his tone to a conspiratorial murmur. “I don't have to use this knife. Not if you're sensible and cooperate. You could still come with me. Face up to him. Isn't that what you want, to speak your piece in public?” He took a quick step forward, feinted with the knife. I took another step back.

“Look at it another way.” I was all cold sweat, my heart fighting to escape my chest. “This is your second chance. Make the right choice this time. No more killing, no more lies. Be the man you were before, the good man. Renounce Mathuin and his evil. Make that story you told me reality. I will help you.” I wasn't so bad at lies myself. “There must be a way to get your family to safety.”