The Thirteenth Scroll (9 page)

Lysandra held herself still a moment longer. Slowly, her
Sight
came to her and gifted her with a last look around the interior of her small cottage. Though she already knew it as well
as life within her own skin, her heart memorized anew every part of it, as if afraid she would never see it again. Then, finally,
she stepped out and firmly closed the door.

I will not think of what I am leaving
, she told herself,
only of where I am going
. Still, when she reached her garden gate, she could not help but repeat the process. Her heart embraced every stand of flowers,
clump of herbs and vegetables that fed her, the little table where she spread out crumbs for the birds, the stone bench where
she so often sat in the warmth of the sun. All these, like the forest beyond, were so much a part of her that the thought
of leaving them was like losing an arm or a leg—or her sight.

Then, with a flash of memory so intense she automatically took a step backward, her mind filled with the vision of the man
in the worn monk’s robes. Once more it seemed as if her garden was shaded in moonlight through which rich green light radiated.
As if to spur her on her way, Lysandra felt an urgency coming from the man and from the odd cylindrical object he carried.

Once again she saw the man’s eyes, so full of pain and pleading. For an instant they reminded Lysandra of the eyes of all
the sick and injured animals she had helped over the years.

But with that thought came the memory of the young shepherd and his sick ewe. Would she be just as ineffective this time?
But if so, why would she feel this need to go? she wondered. If she was going to fail, why not stay here and let someone else
answer this call?

The intensity of the man’s gaze doubled, trebled, telling Lysandra that this was more than a memory. He opened his mouth;
though her ears heard no sound, his voice filled her—mind and body—telling her that she could do what must be done.

Lysandra bowed her head in defeat.

Then, with a sigh, she turned away from this place that had healed her heart and given her a life once again and began her
journey into the unknown—heading north to Ballinrigh.

Studying Giraldus’s maps and marking out their journey had not proved as easy as Aurya anticipated, even with Tambryn’s scroll
in hand. Aurya thought she had understood the many veiled phrases and metaphors, so that his directions would be easy to place
on a map. But it took her two full days to accomplish what she thought would take only a couple of hours.

While Aurya was busy with the maps, Giraldus worked on arranging the business of the province to his satisfaction. After taking
care of the needed correspondence, rendering judgment on some of the court cases and appeals awaiting his word, Giraldus summoned
his council. Together they examined some of the province’s pending trade agreements to be certain that his absence of a few
weeks
would not jeopardize the welfare of his people. Finally, Giraldus ordered Maelik, his Master Sergeant-at-Arms, to keep the
army drilled and at battle readiness.

Then, nine days after Elon had put the Thirteenth Scroll of Tambryn into her hands, Aurya and Giraldus were finally under
way.

The route they were to follow was convoluted, and the reason for its many detours was unclear to Giraldus. But Aurya insisted
they stick to the course, no matter how puzzling the guidance seemed, certain that a mystic of Tambryn’s great power had a
reason for every twist and turn within his words.

She and Giraldus traveled alone and without pomp or insignia. This was a point of contention between them, for even when traveling
with his army Giraldus was used to a degree of comfort and the deference due his rank. But Aurya did not want them recognized.
It was important, she told him time and again, that they draw no attention to themselves; Giraldus was not the only Baron
with an eye to the throne, and spies could be anyone, anywhere. Her reasons made sense to Giraldus, and so he accepted the
small unadorned tent and lack of embellishments, finding his comfort at night in the warm closeness of their bodies while
they slept.

Each night when they made camp, Aurya would again pull out Tambryn’s scroll and study. By the third night, Giraldus was becoming
bored with her lack of conversation. She was always something of a mystery to him, and never one to easily share her thoughts
and feelings. But now her complete absorption in the scroll made Giraldus feel superfluous, even more cut off from her than
ever before.

Although he had never shown much interest in her mystical studies or working of magic—except in its outcome—Giraldus
decided to start discussing the scroll with her.
Perhaps
, he thought,
if she reads me more of it, we can use this time traveling to better our union. Maybe if I take more than a passing interest
now, she’ll soften to the idea of marriage
.

He had been delighted when Elon told Aurya what he had been hesitating to say. He knew how she felt about marriage, and he
accepted some of the reasons, even if he did not agree with them. Her illegitimate birth and unhappy childhood with a mother
too crushed by her own guilt to care for her child, the life of her old teacher and what widowhood would have meant for her
if she had stayed within society—Giraldus knew all these things.

In their early years together, he had tried to convince Aurya that their marriage would have been different, that she need
not fear the loss of her
self
, her independence. But to receive the Sacrament of Holy Matrimony, she would have to come into the Church—and to do that,
she would have to deny the part of herself she held most dear. Accepting that, Giraldus had ceased mentioning marriage.

But now, with the throne as the prize, the subject had gained a new and vital importance not even she could deny. It was for
this, more than the belief in any mystical revelation, that he had agreed to this journey. By the time they returned to Adaraith,
with or without this child she and Elon thought so important, Giraldus hoped to have found a way to convince Aurya to marry
him.

And to give him an heir. Giraldus had often thought that having a child, being able to give it the love she had been denied,
would soften the hard shell of protection Aurya wore around her heart.

With that thought in mind, he sat down near her, in the warmth and light of the small fire over which they had cooked their
meal, and asked her to tell him more
about what she was reading. He did not miss her look of surprise, and he smiled; surprising Aurya was not easily accomplished.
Still smiling, he brought the skin of wine from among their provisions, poured, and handed a goblet to her.

“The time of the House of Baoghil is over,” she said, accepting it and still looking a little bemused. “That much is quite
clear. Anri was the last King of that line. But the future… there are several references here that could be interpreted any
number of ways.”

“What references?” he asked, trying to sound enthusiastic.

“Well, here,” Aurya said, unrolling the scroll to the section she wanted, “Tambryn writes of the rise of the Third House.
That, of course, is Kilgarriff—unless the Houses were numbered differently six hundred years ago.”

“They were not,” Giraldus replied. “Kilgarriff has always been the Third House, the House descended from Lihadanes, the third
son of Liam Roetah the Builder, first High King of Aghamore. All of the Houses are numbered in the birth order of the sons
of Liam. That doesn’t change no matter how many years go by.”

Aurya nodded. “Well, Tambryn views the rise of the Third House with alarm and warns that it must be guarded against,” she
continued. “He says that unless the Third House is stopped, it is from Kilgarriff that the next High King will arise… and
that’s you.”

“And what is supposed to stop us—the child of whom you and Elon spoke? I hardly think that
I
need fear a child, no matter what anyone’s prophecies say.”

“But the child will not be acting alone, if I read this correctly. There are also several references to the Fifth House, and
to the Ninth—Camlough and Rathreagh. The
scroll says help must arise from the Fifth House… and that the Ninth House holds both threat and salvation.”

Giraldus’s well-intentioned patience shattered. He stood and threw down his cup. The wine still within it went flying, splattering
into the fire with a hissing sound.

“Why didn’t you tell me this before?” he demanded. “We’re off chasing down some
child
, while the very scroll you and Elon say we must follow warns us of enemies. Oran of Camlough is no fool to be dismissed,
Aurya, and neither is Hueil of Rathreagh. They are both warriors with well-trained, formidable armies. If they’re on the rise,
then I still say we’d be better off heading for Ballinrigh with
our
army at our backs. The
throne
is in
Ballinrigh
. While we’re off trying to find this child, what do you think the others will be doing? Just waiting around peacefully until
we return? No—they’ll be getting ready to march. We should be doing the same.”

“If you believe that, why did you agree to this journey?” Aurya asked quietly, very quietly.

Giraldus was not fooled. He had learned, long ago and the hard way, that a soft tone often masked Aurya’s most extreme anger.
But this time he did not care.

“I accepted Elon’s help, and paid him well for it, so he’d win the bishops to our cause. That’s what will gain us the throne,
not this business with ancient scrolls and heretical prophets. But I thought you’d told me everything and that this child
was our only real threat. That’s why I’m on this accursed journey, that and…”

Giraldus glared at her across the fire for a moment, then turned and stalked off.

It’s for you
, he had not said, but he had meant. His anger was because he knew that
she
knew it, too.

Heaven blast her
, he thought as he stormed away,
breathing hard with his fury.
Why can’t she do
anything
like a normal woman?

He walked until the darkness hid him and the light of the campfire was barely a glow behind him. He needed some time alone.
Being with Aurya always befuddled his thoughts. Her nearness, even after these nine years together, was like a sweet wine,
too easily consumed in excess, robbing him of both strength and reason.

He found a log and sat alone in the dark, where he could think clearly. He felt his anger begin to dissipate, but he did not
want to let it go. He reminded himself that Aurya
owed
him for the life of comfort and privilege she enjoyed. She should be subservient, grateful, and gentle. Even though she was
not legally his wife, she lived as such, and as such she should honor him. Furthermore, he was a skilled warrior; she should
trust him to provide for her, not the other way around.

Yet, even as he thought these things, he knew he loved Aurya’s fire and her intelligence. He just wished that sometimes she
would…
Oh, hell and damnation
, he thought with a sigh, as he started back to the camp. He would go apologize for this fit of temper and, now that the subject
had been opened, he would make certain that there were no other surprises left unsaid.

Then Giraldus smiled, for tonight beneath their bedroll they would make up their differences—and at
that
part of a woman’s nature, Aurya excelled.

He stepped back into the circle of firelight, expecting to see her still studying her scroll. But Aurya was nowhere in sight.
Her bedroll was gone, one of the bags of provisions, her horse…

“Blast her stubborn, heartless—“ Giraldus cursed as he gathered up their remaining travel-fare to follow her. But
which direction?
She
had the map;
she
was the one with the hopefully discerned knowledge of their destination.

Continuing to curse under his breath, Giraldus saddled and loaded his horse as quickly as he could. He spared a brief thought
to wish it were daylight so that Aurya’s trail might be more easily seen, but even in the darkness he was certain his tracking
skills would find her.

Once the saddlebags were packed, Giraldus took one of the burning branches from the fire and, using it as a torch, began to
search for signs of Aurya’s departure. Finally, he found what he was looking for: a hoofprint on the ground and some bent
and broken branches where horse and rider had pushed through.

Giraldus hastened back to what had been their camp. He quickly kicked dirt upon the remains of the fire, then threw himself
onto his horse and sped off in pursuit of the woman who angered and frustrated him, who often confused him—but whom he truly
loved.

Aurya had not ridden slowly, as if hoping he would catch up. She was moving as quickly as the darkness would allow. It took
Giraldus nearly an hour to find her. Grabbing her reins to pull her horse to a stop, he was not certain whether he wanted
to pull her into an embrace, glad of her safety and their reunion, or pull her across his knee and spank her like a worrisome
child who had run away.

He did neither. He sat glaring at her over the heads of their animals, panting with the effort to not scream at her for her
idiocy. And he waited. This time
she
must make the first move toward reconciliation or, by heaven, he would leave her now and not look back….

“You want to take your army and storm the capital,” she said at last, her tone cool and uncontrite, “then go.
I’ll find the child myself. If after so many years you have such little confidence in me or in what I tell you we need to
do, then—“

“Ever since Elon put that cursed scroll in your hand, you’ve cut yourself off from me. How can I have
confidence
, as you call it, if you won’t
tell
me everything? You give me information by little spoonfuls, like I’m some child or idiot who can only take so much. Well,
I’m sick of it, Aurya.”

His outrage seemed to take Aurya by surprise. She recognized,
finally
, that this was more than a tantrum or a bout of the impatience she was always rebuking him over, impatience that was an offshoot
of their contrasting approaches to life.