Templar's Destiny (9780545415095) (4 page)

We reached the inn as the sun sank softly into the pearl gray of coming night. In truth it was no more than a heap of wood squashed among a row of decrepit houses. All about the place was an air of decay. I was worried suddenly for Aine, who had shrunk within the hood of her cloak, and for Gaston, whose mother said he was far too young to be exposed to a place like this.

“We thank ye for gettin' us here, Gaston. Home's a long way off — ye'd best head back now,” I said, feeling guilty. He would have a long night's walk ahead but I wanted him gone even if he thought he'd not be noticed. Without a word, he turned on his heel, and I breathed a sigh of relief. I was sure he would argue.

At the door of the inn I hesitated, reaching for the feel of those inside. Five. Beneath my palm the door gave way, and I was immediately overcome by the smell of river, waste, and old drink. The dark inside the inn was like a weight on my eyes, and Aine's surge of fear clogged my throat.

Fabienne was right. She should not be here. The faces that turned our way held many shades of threat. Though the power of the land still hung about us, it had thinned during our journey. The men inside eyed our arrival with far too much interest. Quickly, I stumbled forward with Aine nearly on my back and closed the door behind.

“What do you want?” The innkeeper was a frightening sight. Tall and wide with a shock of gray hair that was loosely braided, he loomed above us. His beard was matted and a jagged scar stretched from his left ear up to the corner of his drooping bloodshot eye.

“Two ale,” I said, reaching with leaden fingers for the coin in my sporran. His black eyes traveled over my shoulder as I fumbled. Several coins tumbled onto the counter, and I pushed them toward the man.

He made no move to fill my order, and I felt Aine's terror. The man's eyes were firmly fixed upon her. Quickly, I called the power to me. “Ale. Two,” I said again.
This one holds no draw for ye,
I whispered. The man wavered and blinked, then poured and passed the drinks.

We took our seats on a bench in a darkened corner beneath the stairs, blanketing the room in the cloak of a whisper.
There is no one new here.
Two by two the feel of eyes dropped away, and in the dank recesses of the inn we became nearly invisible.

Aine fidgeted with her cup, taking small sips and peering from beneath her hood. The nervousness in her was strong and brushed against my mind.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Many have met death here,” she whispered. “Some o' it is new. All o' it is terrible.”

“Give me yer hands,” I said, reaching for her.

Aine's fingers were cold as her visions slid through my mind. I read them quickly, then directed the power away. Pinpricks of light danced before my inner eye.
Distance,
I commanded. Aine's visions dimmed, and the violence of the scenes dulled and slipped away.

“Better?” I asked. Aine's read of the past sometimes frightened her badly. Once I found that I could dull the intensity, I was determined to help. Aine had saved my life. I would do anything for her.

“Aye. But ye should have a care an' no' waste the power on me. Ye might need it an' ye'd be too worn down to use it.”

“I feel fine,” I said. And I did. From the moment the healing had begun within me, the use of the power had become easier, more instinctive than ever before.

“No more. Ye will pay, Tormod. All use is for a price,” she said. “Ye know that.”

I shrugged. The thing was, I wasn't at all sure that the rules applied to me now. The power was different, as was I.

She said no more as we waited for Bertrand's arrival, listening to the hushed conversation going on all around us. We stayed there that way, invisible to the inn's patrons, for several marks of the candle, until the flicker of a familiar pressed against my shielding.

I felt Bertrand's approach at the inn's front door and spread the web to include him.
He is nothing. A traveler. Not worthy of notice.

When Bertrand entered, not an eye turned his way. He moved directly to the big man behind the counter. Coin flashed, the innkeeper nodded toward the stairs, and Bertrand disappeared up them.

Aine and I remained below for a few moments more, ensuring that no one had followed, then rose to join Bertrand, the mysterious Monsieur LeGotte. As we passed, I drew the power around us, careful to arouse no attention.

We had made it just to the top of the stairs, when a flare along the web I had been weaving jangled. I looked to the door as three men entered. All wore the black mantle with red cross that marked them as trainees of the Knights Templar.

Aine had rounded the corner at the top of the landing and disappeared. I was on the last step when I felt the tingle of a probe sliding along the strands toward me. Quickly, I moved out of sight and severed my link to the web.

Bertrand closed the door behind me as the probe slid over the inn. Aine shuddered by my side. “Ye broke off quickly,” she said. “Why?”

“They're here, an' some or all are gifted. They're probing the inn.”

Her intake of breath was loud in the quiet of the room. “Did they sense us?”

“I don't think so. 'Twas probably just a precaution. They would have no reason to be vigilant here. But still, I dare no' monitor them through the power. We'll have to make other arrangements.”

“One o' us will have to get in there,” said Aine.

A knock from the corridor startled us all. I drew my dagger and stepped in front of Aine as Bertrand opened the door a crack and looked beyond. A moment later, Gaston stepped inside, carrying a tray that held a loaf of dark bread, a wedge of cheese, and a pitcher of ale. “The Templars have arrived. They're waiting on the others.”

“We know. I thought I told ye to be off,” I said, faintly annoyed.

“I found out that he is due here tonight as well,” Gaston said cryptically. “I thought you would want to know.”

I tipped my head and raised an eyebrow in question.

“De Nogaret. He comes, but not every time they meet.”

I felt Gaston's distaste for the man. “Ye should go home. This is no lark.”

“I can go in,” he said. “I can serve them and tell you of what they speak.”

Bertrand objected. “No. Yer mamere would skin me alive. Get ye home, now.”

In part I agreed, but the vision I'd seen as we traveled was still fresh in my mind. “Bertrand. It's no' altogether a bad notion,” I said.

“Are ye daft?” said Aine, getting angry.

“No. No' a' all. It makes sense. He's known here an' he's got a knack for going unnoticed. We canno' use the power for fear o' being discovered, an' we need to know what they are meeting about.”

“I can do it. No one will mark my coming or going. I am nothing. They won't even know I exist,” he said with confidence.

A closed expression came over Aine, and I took it for agreement.

“They will still no' speak freely with ye in the room,” I said, moving toward the table, absently breaking a chunk from the bread. “But if we could get ye in an' out with little notice, maybe it would be worth a try.”

Gaston fell quickly into the game. “Do you have any coppers?” he asked.

“Aye,” I said. “What d'ye need?”

“Paul-Henry is set to serve tonight,” Gaston said. “I have to give him a reason not to.” I allowed him a decent lead and had discreetly followed. The Templar trainees were drinking and talking among themselves, loose in their guard. It was nothing to slip past without attracting attention. Gaston found the boy in the alley, sitting on an overturned keg. I hung back, lingering near the wall, and let Gaston approach alone.

If the boy did not fall in with the plan I might have to use the power to make him.

“Ye have the night off, Paul-Henry,” Gaston said with an air of authority.

The boy glanced my way, confused. I pulled the hood of my cloak low. “But Monsieur Le Monde is expecting me.”

“
Non.
It is agreed. I will serve for you tonight.” He drew the boy up by the arm, but the boy resisted.

“Mamere needs the healing herbs. I have to work.” His voice got louder as he dug his heels into the ground. “Do not think to take my place.” The words that followed came in a full stream of French.

Gaston took the three coppers that I had given him and pressed them into the boy's hand. As Paul-Henry's fingers closed on the coin, he stopped protesting, then turned on his heel and was gone.

I breathed a sigh of relief. I didn't have to use the power on him. Although he had seen us together, it was dim in the alley and the chance of his recognizing me again was slim.

“Make the arrangements with the landlord, Gaston. An' when ye're in the room keep yer eyes an' ears open. Do nothing save listen. I mean this. These men are dangerous.” He nodded and disappeared back inside.

The air was brisk. I stood a moment breathing in the cold, looking around and allowing Gaston to get to where he was going. It was a fair-size property, and I saw that my first impression of it as dark, thick, and squat was not truly accurate. Here in the back, the inn stretched up two times the height of the main. There was one window set below the rough wooden eave on the side, two set high up on the rear wall, and one, I guessed, on the opposite eave, though I could not see it from where I stood. Heavy boards layered the outer in a rough and irregular pattern. They overlapped and crosscut one another as if it had been patched many times.

The air had cooled when the sun went down and a brisk wind cut up the alley. I ducked through the door that Gaston had disappeared behind, into a kitchen glowing with activity. A heavyset woman chopped greens at a wide wooden table covered with carrots, turnips, and onions. She waved her thick cleaver in my direction. “Pardon,” I mumbled, quickly exiting with my head dipped low.

The light beyond the door was considerably dimmer than it was in the kitchen, and it took a moment for my eyes to adjust. The Templars were no longer at their table, and the inn had begun to fill. A loud crew of river men jostled for the innkeeper's attention while two boys brought around bowls of stew and dark bread.

I made my way toward the stairs, allowing my gaze to read the men. I used only the energy of the room to fuel my probe, a distinction that had only recently come to me. It was the usual flit of random thoughts and images — arguments between friends, worries over the crops, the catch, or the business at hand. There was nothing out of the ordinary. I slipped through the growing crowd and up the stairs toward the room where Aine and Bertrand were. As I turned the corner, I felt the hum of Aine's warning and pulled up tight to the shadows.

“And bring hot water, boy,” came the command. “Damn walls are thin as reeds. I need a hot draft to ward off this raw throat.” Gaston hurried my way with his head down and yet his eyes flicked up and over me as he passed. I nodded.

I remained in the hallway a moment to be sure no one followed Gaston, then let myself quietly into the room we had let. Bertrand was seated in the corner on a thick wooden chair, his hands steepled and pressed to his lips. The prayer of Our Lady whispered across the room. Aine sat tensely on the pallet. “The rest have come,” she said.

“How many?” I asked softly. I didn't want to disturb Bertrand in his devotions.

“Two guards, one official, an' the three Templar from below,” she said. I nodded and moved toward the table set in the corner opposite Bertrand. “They have all been here before,” she said.

“What? How d'ye know?” I asked.

“I read the room,” she said.

The hair on the back of my neck rose. “Aine, how is that possible?” I had a deep feeling of dread that roiled in my gut even before she answered.

“I went in before they arrived,” she said defiantly, her eyes flashing fire.

“Are ye daft?” I hissed. “Ye should have waited! They were just below an' could have come upon ye a' any time.”

“Yer no' the only one here with powers, Tormod,” she retorted.

“'Twas dangerous. What would ye have done if they found ye there?” I raked a hand through my hair. I didn't need this. Gaston was unpredictable enough, and now Aine was doing whatever she felt like. How was I supposed to handle the situation when I couldn't even control the people who were my allies in all of this?

“When ye weren't there to save my neck, ye mean?” she snapped. “That is what ye're sayin', isn't it? Yer no' my da. I was doin' just fine until ye came along, an' I'll do just as well when ye go.”

“Ye were fine?” I said with a gasp of shock. “Under the roof o' a man who beat ye?”

She sucked in a breath, and I ducked my head. It was a blow beneath me, and I knew how it had affected her even without the flare of her embarrassment and hurt. Bertrand didn't know any part of her former life, and it was not my place to reveal it to him.

“They spoke o' a captive being brought from abroad. They gave the order to use whatever means necessary to gain the information needed.” She spoke the words to hurt me, and nothing else she might have said would have done the task as well. My shoulders bowed under the weight of it.

“Where? When?” I asked, reeling with fear. They spoke of Torquil, I was sure of it.

“Nothin' in the read gave the destination. I found only that the men delivering him are working for someone highly ranked.” Regret now colored her words. We had stung one another, but it was of no account.

“We know that already. 'Tis the King,” I said.

“No, Tormod. 'Tis no'. They spoke o' the King an' de Nogaret. The one they are delivering Torquil to is another.” Her animosity had waned. “I'm sorry.” She laid her hand on my shoulder, and at once my anger and confusion lessened.

I nodded. “I'm sorry as well.” I lifted my shielding a bit so that she would feel my sincerity. “We have to know more. We need to get to wherever he is set to be delivered before they arrive.”

Bertrand had finished his devotions and was watching us. “There is a way,” he said, “to use the healing properties o' the land to insinuate one o' ye into Gaston's consciousness. Ye will see as he does an' hear what he hears.”

“But the power network will surely ripple if we do anything o' that kind,” Aine said.

“No' if we do it together, an' we do it right.” He rose and started taking leaves and roots out of his pack and laying them on the table in front of him. A small wooden bowl and a vial of dark green liquid followed. “Be quick about it. Gaston should be in the room soon, if he's no' already there.”

Bertrand motioned that I should sit cross-legged in the center of the pallet and that Aine should sit likewise facing me, holding my hands.

“This is old land power. 'Tis an earlier training than what is given to current initiates o' the Order.” He held the vial to my lips, and I tipped my head and took a long swallow. “Now ye, lass. It tastes awful, but its properties will astound ye.”

He put a hand on each of our shoulders. “Stay together. Keep yer hands locked or ye will lose the link between ye. D'ye understand?”

As we grasped hands, Aine's memory was suddenly painfully my own, and I saw images of the bairn lying still and broken in the dust of the road. I wanted to drop the link — the images were too raw and painful — but I could not. Torquil needed us, and we needed to be as one for this.
It's all right,
I mindspoke.
We will make no mistakes this time.

“I will provide the ground. When ye are ready, focus on Gaston,” Bertrand instructed.

And it was as easy as that. There was no ripple to the power web, though I was not at all sure how Bertrand managed it. I was instantly beyond the shields of Gaston's mind.

The room came sharply into view. Tallow candles burned dimly from a large table set with a number of goblets and trenchers. Eight heavy chairs were crammed around the table, and a small, single pallet was set against the far wall.

As Gaston turned his head, Aine subtly expanded my view of the room. The Templars were young, as Gaston had said. Although he avoided looking at them directly, Aine's hum gave me the ability to provide the suggestion that he glance their way when no one was paying him heed.

The voice who had requested the tea was a man of mid years, tall and dressed in clothing that was several cuts above what we had seen in the streets. His brown hair was tucked back behind his ears and brushed the collar of his doublet. A soft cap flopped low over his forehead, and his oddly long and delicate fingers wrapped the mug of tea that Gaston placed before him. I recognized the face from Gaston's memories. It was de Nogaret.

“I don't have all night to wait,” he snapped to the nearest Templar.

“He said he would meet us here. He does as he wishes,” mumbled the soldier guarding the door. He was small and wiry thin, his face sharp like a weasel, with wary, dark eyes that passed over the room and its inhabitants in a constant sweep. I noticed that his hand often strayed to the sword at his side.

Gaston moved silently, pouring ale into each of the cups set out on the table. The pitcher was large and awkward in his small hands, but he moved about the room as if he were a shadow. None of the men there paid him heed.

Impatient, I tried to look at each of their faces. Gaston was not of a mind to do that, though, and as I exerted a tendril of pressure, the pitcher tilted in his hand. Only quick movement on his part sent the wash of ale to the floor and not onto the Templar for whom he'd been pouring. I felt his confusion as he wondered what had happened.

“Have a care. If you wet my boots, you'll pay heftily.” His meaty fist rose with menace. A tremor of fear went through the boy.

Aine spread my view of the room so that I could see the men I had been trying to get Gaston to look at. I didn't recognize any of the faces. All were intent on the food and drink laid out on the table. Eggs, fish, cheese, and sausage were arrayed with several loaves of bread and a jar of honey. Although the establishment was rough, these men were obviously treated with deference.

The strange drink in my body had an odd, calming effect. Normally, this type of read would open my mind to the emotions of all of the room's occupants, but it was not so this time. As I was marveling, the door to the hallway opened, and all eyes seemed to turn in that direction. When at last Gaston lifted his gaze to take in the newest arrival, I was struck a near physical blow. Without the benefit of time to recover, I was hit again.

“Get out.”