Trial of Fire (38 page)

‘How?’ Osbert whispered like a man afraid.

‘I am requested to send an emissary to investigate these happenings, to see if I can attribute them to the new incarnation of Mineah—’

Osbert closed his eyes. ‘Jennifer Ross.’

‘Over and over again I am reminded that the Hermit of Shan Moss has been preaching for years now that her return is imminent, that she will appear to fight against the darkness, that this is her time. I receive reports from every source possible; every monk wishing to become a mystic has sent me a vision in the last few weeks. It’s as though they are
willing
it to happen.’

Osbert met his gaze. ‘She didn’t die in the fire at Clonnet. She was at Shan Moss – and too many people saw her, so they know she’s alive. But they also saw her use sorcery.’

‘Did they? Was it sorcery she used? Or was it something else?’

‘Oh, come on, Godfrey, don’t tell me you believe all this? She’s a
sorcerer!
How can she be the incarnation of Mineah if—’

‘I don’t know,’ Godfrey said, putting the paper back down, ‘but this I can tell you: if Jennifer Ross is the goddess, then this war is about to begin, and you, my friend, need to decide whether you are prepared to die for nothing, or for a
noble
cause.’

With a groan, Osbert ran his hands through his thinning hair. ‘Can’t I choose not to die?’ Godfrey said nothing; after a moment, Osbert gathered his robes about him and turned his face in profile. ‘I can’t lead them where they don’t want to go.’

‘Osbert,’ Godfrey said, smiling a little, ‘they can’t go if you
don’t
lead them.’

*

Nash waited until it was dark: he had always preferred entering Marsay from the river, at night. That way, he could sneak up on the unsuspecting city – and in this particular instance, an unsuspecting King.

He sat in the longboat listening to the oars dip and glide, watching the lights of other boats ripple across the water. He heard voices call out from one to the other as they made their way downriver, towards the coast, to take on cargo, or to offload it: coming and going, a circular trade. And then there were the lights of the city, damp from the day’s rain, and subdued, as though in need of summer to brighten up.

He studied the view until the black walls of the city rose before him, towering over him, making him look up and remember. ‘Taymar?’

‘Yes, Master?’

‘The Envoy will be waiting for me?’

‘Yes, Master. And he has brought the gold.’

‘Good.’ The boat began to rock a little as it approached the narrow dock. The oarsmen stopped rowing and it glided to a halt, then was quickly roped and tied off. The moment Nash stepped ashore, Taymar and his men followed behind; together they entered the alley and climbed the stairs leading up to the castle.

The Envoy was waiting for him outside the watergate, as arranged. The man looked wholly uncomfortable, not to mention cold; the robes of a southern lord were not suited to this country. By this time, after so many of these transactions, this man should have known to dress according to the climate rather than his own customs.

‘Greetings,’ the Envoy said as he gave a slight bow, as though he didn’t really feel Nash deserved it.

Nash went straight to business. ‘The gold?’

There were four massive chests at the Envoy’s feet; Nash waved to his men and all but two moved forward to collect them. As they were carried off, he gestured at the two men remaining. ‘These were going to be yours,’ he told the Envoy.

‘Were?’
The Envoy frowned.

‘But I think now I need them here more than your master does.’

‘Then I will take my gold and return home.’ The Envoy drew himself up to his full height and glared at the smaller man.

‘No, I don’t think you will,’ Nash said, and smiled. ‘You see, I need the gold as much as I need these men. But I promise you, nobody will miss you, and in a few months, when you fail to return home, they will send another in your place, and I will be able to tell them that you never arrived. They will wonder if you disappeared with the gold you were to give me, and then they will continue with the business of slavery, just as you have done over the last few years.’

‘But – but you can’t do that!’ the Envoy stuttered. ‘I’m—’

‘A casualty of war,’ Nash said to the men. ‘Dispose of the body so nobody can find it.’ And without looking back at the frightened Envoy, he began to move up the stairs, taking them two at a time, and smiling when he heard the scuffle behind him abruptly silenced.

It was a shame to sever such a useful connection, but between Kenrick, and the probably vengeful Malachi – and the Enemy soon to be knocking on their door – he needed every man he could get; it would be increasingly difficult to recruit Malachi to be Bonded. The gold would come in useful, though; armies were very expensive.

When he reached the base of his favourite tower apartments, he almost sighed with pleasure. His men had lit a fire and candles, and had opened windows to air the rooms. He wanted to run his hands through the gold which would pay for his new army, and he wished to visit Valena in her new accommodation, but he had something else he had to do first.

Keeping Taymar with him – no man of any worth travelled in the city entirely without retinue, and he couldn’t afford to flash his Bonded Malachi around too much until the regular kind returned in force, in case
somebody noticed – he strode through the smaller courtyard and then into the larger. There were soldiers about, and other people moving in the damp spring evening, though nobody paid him too much attention.

He took the steps in the hall two at a time, enjoying the fact that Taymar, a man of only thirty, was struggling to keep up with him. This new body felt so incredible; would immortality feel like this every day?

When he reached the first landing, he paused long enough to ask a guard where the King was, then he took off down that corridor, nodding and smiling at those he passed, all of whom stopped and frowned at his back.

And when he arrived at the King’s door, he waved it open before him, not bothering with ceremony, enjoying the wide eyes of the guards standing on either side of it. He strode into the room. There was a fire roaring, beating back the cold evening, and a table laden with sweet-smelling foods. A few of Kenrick’s listless lordlings were lounging about, sipping wine and pining for a damned good battle of some kind. When he found the King, Kenrick’s eyes widened with shock and, Nash was pleased to note, not a little horror.

He had to admit, almost everything qualified as a weapon these days. With a flourish, he bowed deeply. ‘Greetings, Sire. I am returned to court.’ Considering he’d never asked permission to leave in the first place, he enjoyed the hypocrisy of his greeting.

But it was Kenrick’s face which made the trip worthwhile, the very reason he’d come himself, rather than have Kenrick find out through some other means. The King was staring at him, face white, mouth open, as though interrupted mid-thought.

‘Sire? Are you well?’ Nash feigned concern and approached, almost laughing when Kenrick took a step back.

‘Yes.’ Kenrick gathered himself, but could not control the colour in his face. ‘I am quite well. And wondering where you have been these last weeks.’

Nash allowed a broad smile to crease his new face. ‘Working for you, Sire.’

‘Really?’ Kenrick walked past him, deliberately knocking his shoulder, making Nash move. As he reached the table, he poured himself a large goblet of wine and emptied it in one swallow. His men watched him with wary eyes.

‘Yes, Sire, really.’ Nash spread his arms wide, deliberately including all those useless men in his gesture. ‘I have returned just in time, too. I have uncovered a plot, Sire.’

Kenrick almost rolled his eyes, but stopped himself in time. Instead, he gestured for Nash to continue.

‘I suggest you put out a call to arms, Sire.’

‘To what end?’ Kenrick finally snapped, slamming his goblet down on the table. ‘You would have me empty the treasury by keeping a standing army against every tiny threat you imagine?’

‘Oh, but this is a very real threat. It comes from the Rebel, Robert Douglas.’

At that, Kenrick froze. ‘What of him?’ he asked.

‘Treason, Sire.’ Nash paused deliberately. ‘He has your cousin, Andrew, Duke of Ayr – and he plans to put him on your throne.’

The vision felt different: hard and mean, and full of something so horrible he couldn’t look at it. There were scrapes of blood all around on the hard floor, and thick slimy moss growing on the walls that reached so far up they vanished into infinity. But the deeper he looked, the more the walls grew into trees, with huge thick trunks and deep green bows reaching down to touch him, to warm him, to shelter him.

He sat up, blinking in the sudden bright light. It was hot and very dry and not at all what he was expecting. There was a sword on the ground at his feet, pointing towards a door. To his left, a wide open space, filled with desert, golden and red, achingly empty. He could hear them coming, through the floor, through the walls, scraping across the blood, clashing their swords.

The noise woke him.

For a moment, he couldn’t see the roof of his cave properly. It was afternoon, and the sun was coming from the wrong direction. But he blinked and gradually the rough edges of the walls and ceiling appeared to him and he smiled a little. He was getting old; they weren’t so sharp now as they had once been.

Slowly, he sat up, rolling a little over his bad shoulder, doing his best not to gasp at the pain; instead, whispering a small prayer of thanks that he could use it at all. Once he had his legs over the bed, his feet resting on the floor, he murmured another prayer, holding his hands together in obeisence, bowing his head. Once his cave fell silent again, he took his walking stick and used it to get to his feet.

He could walk well enough, but his right knee always ached worse in the afternoon, as though complaining that it had done its share and now wanted nothing more than rest. Feeling better for his nap, he stood in the doorway and breathed deeply. Spring had most certainly arrived in the forest, leaving the air richly scented with wildflowers and other growing things.

He’d smelled spring in the air in that vision. So often scent played a huge part in what he saw, and now it was telling him something he could not ignore.

Looking down to where he was putting his feet, he stepped out onto the flatstone path embedded into soft earth. He followed it around to the left of the hill, away from his cave, to where the ground flattened out and the forest was filled with young saplings dotted with fresh leaves. There, beyond his patches of vegetable garden, stood his boundary, the edge of the hermitage, on the other side, two monks and a donkey. The animal had baskets brimming over with goods strapped to its back.

‘Good afternoon, Brothers,’ he called, waving to them. ‘Come in, come in. We have so much to do.’

He smiled at them as they followed the path towards him, towing the donkey behind. They were both young and had been to visit him before, so he knew he would not have to show them around, nor tell them what needed to be done. Besides, there was no more work to be done.

‘Come, down this way. I shall put some water on to make a brew for us all as we prepare.’

‘Prepare, Brother?’ the older of the two asked. His name was Edward, and he came often to visit to listen to the visions, to learn to understand them. ‘You have had another vision?’

‘I have had so many I can’t begin to tell you,’ he laughed, clapping the young man on the back. ‘But we must not waste time like this. I will make you a brew and you will help me prepare. I cannot move the way I used to.’

He chuckled at their puzzled frowns as he took them back to the cave. The other monk set about removing the baskets from the donkey’s back while the kettle boiled and Edward questioned him. Normally, Edward would write down what there was to report and take it back to his Abbot. From there, notice would be sent to the Bishop and to all the other houses of note.

But not today.

He leaned on his stick to take the water from the fire. He poured it into a pot and let it sit, taking three earthenware mugs down from hooks on the cave wall.

‘Forgive me, Brother,’ Edward began, obviously not comfortable. ‘But your visions – they have told you something new? Something important?’

‘Very important, Brother Edward. So important that I cannot stay here any longer.’

Edward’s eyebrows rose. ‘Not stay? But where will you go?’

He smiled, poured the brew and gestured outwards, past the door, past the forest. ‘Out there. To where it’s all going to happen. To where she is.’

‘She?’

He laughed again, saying, ‘Take the other cup out to our friend doing all
the work. Then we must pack up my notes and some small things for the journey. Then we must leave.’

‘Forgive me, Brother.’ Edward put down his cup and clasped his hands together, the essence of patience. ‘But you can understand my confusion – you have never left your hermitage. There has been a hermit here for almost two hundred years.’

‘Longer.’

‘And you want to leave?’

‘Want is not a word a monk should use, Brother. I have no wants. I merely go where the Goddess directs me, and she is leading me out of here. So far, I do not understand why, but I know my visions will tell me when the time comes. Now, I do need to leave today. I appreciate you need to speak to the Abbot before you can accompany me, so this night we will spend at the Abbey, and tomorrow, properly provisioned, we will set out to cross the mountains.’

Edward’s eyes grew wide, a little excited, a little hopeful, and a little fearful, all at the same time.

‘Come, let’s begin.’ And he left Edward to take the other cup out to the younger monk.

Andrew woke with a headache. He could feel it before he even opened his eyes and for a moment he lay there, remembering the luxurious comfort of his own bed, in his own room, a place where rain didn’t fall inside; a place where, if he’d wanted, he could have remained buried for a whole day while he read a book.