True Magics (14 page)

“Me, too.”

A horse whinnied from nearby, and hooves clopped on the cobbled streets. A moment later a team of four matched brown horses pulled a long, green carriage into the square. It had the emblem of the High Father embossed on the door. Two men sat on the front bench—one carrying a carrying a crossbow and sword, the other driving. Two more guards were on the back, swords at their sides.

Thomas swore under his breath.

“What is it?” Eileen asked, looking out. She saw the carriage and let out a pair of choice words of her own. Together they watched the carriage pull to a halt directly in front of Thomas’s apartment. The guards at the rear stepped down, opened the door, and brought out a step for whoever was inside.

“Are they here to arrest you?” asked Eileen.

“I don’t think so,” said Thomas. “They would have sent guards, not whoever…”

The guard held out a hand and assisted Father Alphonse to step down. Thomas’s breath stopped. He tried to take another, but it didn’t want to come. His stomach roiled, and he had to will himself to stay still instead of running inside and locking the door.

“Ah, Thomas,” said Father Alphonse, smiling. “So glad you are home. There’s someone who wishes to speak with you.”

Thomas could only stare as the Inquisitor stepped aside. Archbishop Culverton stepped down from the carriage, patted Father Alphonse on the shoulder and headed up Thomas’s stairs.

7

The two guards followed the Archbishop up the stairs and stood behind him. Archbishop Culverton smiled at Thomas. “Thomas Flarety. I hope this time is not inconvenient?”

“Uhhh… No, your Grace,” said Thomas, stepping back from the door. “How did you…? I’m not usually home.”

“We had a man watching the Academy,” said the Archbishop. Thomas’s eyes went to the man in the blue cloak, still standing in the doorway across the street. The Archbishop chuckled. “Oh, he didn’t follow you. The king made it quite clear he wouldn’t want that.”

“Of course,” said Thomas.
Then who is he working for?

After a moment’s wait, the Archbishop said gently, “Will you be inviting me in? It would be much more pleasant than talking in the streets.”

“We could invite Thomas to join us in your carriage,” said Father Alphonse, “if that would be more comfortable.”

“I think not,” said the Archbishop. “It may be mistaken for us taking Thomas into custody, and the king has made his opinion on that matter quite clear as well.”

Thomas finally gathered enough wits to say, “My apologies, your Grace. Please, come in.” Thomas stepped back and held the door wide. “And forgive the poor surroundings.”

“Hardly poor,” said Archbishop Culverton. “Most students don’t have nearly so lavish accommodations.”

“Most students don’t share their homes with the heir of the Duchy of Frostmire,” said Father Alphonse, following the Archbishop. Thomas dearly wished to slam the door on the man’s face, Instead he held it open and waited for Father Alphonse to limp inside. The two guards took up positions on either side of the door as Thomas closed it.

“We…” Eileen’s voice came out as a squeak. She swallowed, curtsied and tried again. “We have only just arrived. If your Grace will excuse me, I will make up the fire and prepare some tea.”

“Of course, my dear,” said the Archbishop. He removed his cloak—made of very expensive wool, lined with silk, and embroidered with gold trim—and handed it to Thomas who hung it very carefully on a hook. The cloak was easily worth as much as their month’s rent.

“I will keep mine on, if that is all right,” said Father Alphonse. “I find that, since my visit to Frostmire, I do not deal with the cold so well as before.”

“Please have a seat, your Grace,” said Thomas, indicating his chair. The Archbishop nodded his thanks and sat.

“I will have the fire in a moment,” said Eileen. It took longer than it should have from her hands shaking, but she managed to pile the tinder and logs in the fireplace and coax small, bright sparks out of the flint and steel. Some of the tinder caught, an Eileen breathed gently on it and slowly added more until a blaze flickered in the fireplace. She positioned a log where it would catch without smothering the fire and rose to her feet. “I’ll get water for the tea.”

“Thank you,” said Thomas. “Let me take your cloak.”

She handed it over and practically fled the room. Thomas hung it on the hook, then hung his own beside it and sat down in the middle of the couch. Father Alphonse took the other chair, and again the room fell into silence. The Archbishop looked serene, Father Alphonse was smiling, and Thomas fought to calm his heart and keep his hands from clenching into white-knuckled fists.

No one spoke until Eileen returned from the kitchen. “The fire is made and the kettle on,” she said. “We will have tea shortly.”

“Thank you, my dear,” said the Archbishop. “Please join us.”

Thomas made room on the couch and Eileen sat beside him. The Archbishop smiled at the fire and held out his hands. “A good fire is wonderful thing,” he said. “Especially on days such as these, when older bones ache.” He leaned back in the chair and looked into Thomas’s eyes. “Now tell me, Thomas Flarety, why did Henry Antonius call you north?”

“The Duchy of Frostmire was under attack,” said Thomas.

“By raiders throwing fog and fire,” said the Archbishop. “Hardly a fitting place for a student.”

“Unless the student has experience, your Grace,” said Father Alphonse. “What experience do you have with such things, Thomas?”

Thomas’s eyes narrowed. He had no idea how to talk to the Archbishop, but the Inquisitor was another matter. “Malloy.”

“Bishop Malloy.” The Archbishop sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Malloy was misguided. He believed that he could cure those who possessed witchcraft. I witnessed it for myself, and it did work, but the cost was rather high.”

Thomas remembered the burning pain in his chest when Malloy had sought to steal his magic. “Bishop Malloy tore people’s souls apart so he could gain more magic for himself.”

“He removed the witchcraft from people,” said the Archbishop. “If doing so destroyed part of their souls, then that is the price they have to pay for trafficking with the Banished.”

None of them trafficked with the Banished.
“And the little boy Malloy murdered? What was he paying for?”

“Bishop Malloy had no witchcraft,” said Father Alphonse. “He merely had a way of curing those who used it. And in doing so, he fell prey to the Banished, which led to the most unfortunate death of the child.” He turned to Eileen. “And how about you, my dear? Why did you go north?”

“Because you threatened to arrest me for being Thomas’s friend,” said Eileen.

Alphonse smiled slightly. “A threat that would not have been necessary, had Thomas spoken the truth under question.”

“I spoke the truth,” Thomas snapped.
Temper is weakness,
he could hear the Master of Laws intone in his head.
Keep your head and you won’t be stupid.
He forced himself to sound as calm as possible. “And it was illegal for you to question me in the first place.”

“We answer to a higher law,” said the Inquisitor.

“I don’t,” said Thomas.

“All men do.”

“Enough.” The Archbishop’s tone was mild, but Father Alphonse fell silent. “You must forgive our Chief Inquisitor,” said the Archbishop. “He is zealous in his beliefs.”

Chief Inquisitor?
Thomas looked over the little man in surprise. Father Alphonse smiled back at him.
No wonder the Church got him back from Sir John.

The Archbishop leaned forward again. “You went north, and you faced raiders, and you used witchcraft to defeat them.”

“No,” said Thomas.

The Archbishop’s eyebrow went up. “You went north?”

“Yes.”

“You fought the raiders?”

“Yes.”

“You used witchcraft?”

“No.”

“You threw lightning at them,” said Father Alphonse. “Just as you did at Bishop Malloy’s house to kill his guards.” Thomas felt his mouth go dry. Father Alphonse’s smiled at his shock. “Bishop Malloy’s chapel and house were burned,” the Archbishop continued, “as were many of his guards. Once we heard what you did in Frostmire, it was the obvious conclusion.”

“Did you throw lightning, Thomas?” asked the Archbishop.

Thomas fell silent.

“Do you not have an answer?”

Thomas’s mind raced, searching for some way out.

“I want you to understand what is at stake here, Thomas,” said the Archbishop. “I want you to understand why I’ve come to you, rather than just sending Father Alphonse, or having you arrested. The Banished are powerful and wicked, and they can tempt a man beyond all reason. Look what happened to Bishop Malloy. Look what is happening in the south. For a young man such as yourself, these things may seem as games, but…”

“Games?” Thomas grabbed onto the word and let his anger pour out. “Bishop Malloy killed three of my friends. The raiders killed eight students.
I’ve
killed a score or more men. Eileen…” Suddenly he was in Frostmire, holding Eileen as she wept herself dry in his arms after the battle in the streets. Then he was in the caverns seeing the terrified, terrifying look on her face after she had burned the magician alive. Thomas’s throat sealed itself with grief and horror. He closed his eyes and shook his head until it cleared. It was a long moment before he could say, “This last year has made us all into killers, your Grace. So kindly don’t speak of
games
.”

“My apologies,” said the Archbishop, and his tone made Thomas believe he was sincere. “It has been a very difficult time for you,” his eyes went to Eileen, “all of you—this last year. But you must understand that this is a very grave matter, and so I must ask you again: Did you throw lightning at the raiders?”

Thomas forced his anger and pain down; forced himself to
think
. “Your Grace knows I can’t answer that question.”

“Not answering proclaims your guilt as loudly as any answer you could give,” said Father Alphonse.

“It does not,” said Thomas, keeping his voice firm. “Any conclusions you make from my silence are based on your own suppositions, not evidence, and are therefore not a proclamation of my guilt.”

The Archbishop smiled again. “You are studying law, indeed, Thomas Flarety.”

“Yes, your Grace.”

“Why did our men die in Frostmire?”

The change of topic caught Thomas off-guard and it took him a moment to gather wit enough to answer. “They were going for help. Lord Richard made a deal with your envoy, and asked him to go south for reinforcements. On their way, Richard had his knights and the raiders ambush them and slaughter them all.” This time it was Thomas’s turn to be sincere. “For what it is worth, I am sorry, your Grace. No one deserves to die like that.”

“I thank you,” said the Archbishop. “Can I prevail on you to give me more details on your part in the events in Frostmire, Thomas?”

Thomas shook his head. “Any words I say will be turned against me by Father Alphonse.”

“Then let me speak plainly, Thomas Flarety.” Archbishop Culverton paused, weighing his words. “There are things that are outside of those gifts which the High Father has bestowed upon his creations; things that are linked to the Banished and to those who have opposed the Church in the past. The stories that are going around of a hero who fought fire and fog with lightning and steel; who healed the heir to Frostmire with the power of his touch alone; we cannot allow them to continue.”

Thomas’s mouth went dry. The Archbishop’s words left a sick feeling in his stomach, like he was slipping over the edge of a pit.

“Your actions have left a mark of suspicion on you, Thomas Flarety,” continued the Archbishop. “They have brought the eyes of the Church upon you, upon the Academy, and upon the king. It is the belief of Father Alphonse that you are practising witchcraft, and that you are directly engaged in activities that would undermine the authority of the High Father, and cast doubt into the minds of his followers.”

The Archbishop put on a sad smile, like a loving parent gently chastising his child for errant behaviour. “I wish to believe that you are a good son of the Church,” he raised a hand, as if to stop an expected interruption, though Thomas did not give it. “I know you are not a devout member, Thomas. I know that your life and mind is filled with the Academy and learning, and that you do not go regularly to chapel. But that does not mean that you have your heart set on destroying the High Father’s Church. Only now, for the sake of the Church—and for the sake of the Academy—I must ask that you do more.”

The Archbishop stopped. Thomas waited for him to finish, but the man stayed silent. Across the room, Father Alphonse was smiling again. At last Thomas asked, “What more?”

“We need you to publicly refute the Banished,” said the Archbishop. “We need you to forsake their working and swear your loyalty to the High Father and his Church. In the Cathedral. And we need you to undertake such penance as we will give you, to show the strength of your loyalty.”