Trial of Fire (31 page)

It was so strange travelling in a foreign country. Flan’har had been an independent Duchy for so long that nobody remembered its origins. Its Dukes had always been the allies of the Earls of Dunlorn, and this Duke in particular, Grant Kavanagh, was a boyhood friend of Robert’s. He’d long ago given Robert free use of Bleakstone Castle, along with the protection of his borders. Still, that didn’t make this place the same as Lusara, and Finnlay couldn’t help feeling a little lost in it. One look at Andrew and he knew he wasn’t the only one.

They didn’t rest that night: they were too tired, too restless, too close to breaking, and stopping now would only delay arrival at their destination. But the night was clear and Finnlay found a star to guide him and a road to follow. After that, his mind wandered, sleeping while he was awake, fuzzing over his aching muscles, his throbbing knees and the regrets which bounced around his mind. The night felt as long as three, but eventually, when he’d all but given up hope of seeing it, the sun rose, suddenly and sharply, over a view he’d never imagined. Stunned, he brought his horse to a halt, calling to Andrew to do the same.

Before them, just a few leagues away, was an immense ocean the size of which he couldn’t begin to gauge. It stretched both east and west, and swept away to the horizon.

‘What is it?’ Andrew asked, rubbing his hands over his face. He peered over his shoulder and turned back to Finnlay.

‘It’s just been a long time since I saw the sea, that’s all.’ Finnlay breathed deeply, enjoying that odd tang in the air, letting it wake him up.

‘Finn?’

‘Yes?’

‘Didn’t Robert say we’d get to the castle
before
we reached the coast?’

‘Uh, yes, he did.’ Finnlay shook his head, apparently not yet awake enough.

‘Then do you think that might be Bleakstone back there? The one we passed about an hour ago?’

Finnlay closed his eyes and took in another deep breath. Then he turned his horse to find Andrew’s observation annoyingly accurate. They’d gone right past it in the darkness. ‘Come on,’ he said dryly, noting the smug smile on the boy’s face. ‘See if we can’t miss it a second time.’

‘I don’t see how you missed it the first time.’

‘
I
missed it? But you didn’t?’

‘I wonder what they’ll have for breakfast,’ was Andrew’s only comment; Finnlay didn’t argue; his stomach was making too much noise.

*

Robert didn’t remember the gag being removed, but the next minute, something cold and refreshing was being poured into him.. He swallowed convulsively, tasting water and something else perhaps, probably his own blood. He could hardly move. His hands were still tied behind his back, his feet still bound. He lay on his back, coughing as the water went down, hardly daring to open his eyes. The pain was …

He’d lost count of the attacks. They weren’t trying to kill him, just to beat him to a pulp – and they were succeeding. Apart from that first time, they hadn’t asked him a single question, though it was obvious they knew who he was. It was always the same man leading the attack, although the others changed. It was the leader who also seemed to enjoy the violence more than the others, as though Robert’s only purpose was to provide him with entertainment. There was no doubting the hatred in their eyes. He could see that much, in the sweltering, clinging atmosphere in his hell-prison.

They were right, he did know this hell: this was where he’d lived for so many years, these men merely the physical personification of his demon. Was he not here because he’d wanted to help a man who’d once been his friend, as he’d tried to help a woman who was his enemy?

With a last desperate swallow, the water was gone. Robert licked his cracked lips, making the most of it, then looked up, hoping to see a friendly face. It was just another of the men who had kicked and beaten him; Robert looked away. The door didn’t close as the man left, but instead, the leader came in, standing this time by Robert’s feet so he could see better.

‘My, we must be in some pain by now, eh? Well, there’s plenty more of that when you’re ready. But we must let you rest – though I doubt your stomach is interested in food, is it? I’ll be back in a couple of hours, and we’ll start the next session.’

As he turned to go, Robert took his only chance. ‘Why?’ he croaked. ‘Why are you doing this?’

‘Why? Because you’re Salti. Because you’re Robert Douglas, and you’ve terrified my people for a long time, and I want to show them how easily
even you can be humbled. Because you know where the Key is and I’m going to get it from you and Nash be damned. Because I know you won’t give it to me until you know in your soul there’s no other way for you to get away from the pain, until your will is completely and utterly broken. Don’t worry – I know how to keep a man alive for a long time like this.’ With that he smiled warmly, turned and left, closing the door behind him with a loud bang.

Robert gasped and shut his eyes against the agony. This pain was everywhere, all around him, suffocating him, crying out to him for release. Should he let them kill him? Perhaps he could lie to them – but they would know. He could hold out for a long time, and by then, it probably wouldn’t matter anyway – but it did matter, that what this was all about. It was so hard to concentrate around the pain, around the shadows dancing in the corners, laughing at him, celebrating the destruction of his dreams.

He thought perhaps it would be better if the rebellion continued without him; if he couldn’t get himself free of this, if he couldn’t withstand the pain, or hold onto his mind while they beat his body for idle sport, then perhaps it was only just punishment. He hated the Key, probably as much as these men hated him, and he wished he could give it up because, so far, it had brought him nothing but heartache: the Prophecy and Jenn, and so much else. But to give it to the Malachi would be like giving it to Nash: if the Salti didn’t know how to use it properly after five hundred and seventy years, what would the Malachi do with it, other than abuse its power, especially now that it was joined to the Calyx, an artefact he’d opened long enough to know only that he wanted more.

So these Malachi would never get the Key, and Robert would die in this room. At least that was something he could hold onto.

*

‘Your Grace! Your Grace!’

Aiden looked up from his book with a frown. It was far too early for Father John to be running around the castle in such a manner – assuming it was ever appropriate for him to do so. ‘What’s wrong?’

He arrived at Aiden’s study with one hand on the door to prop him up, the other on his chest as he caught his breath. He almost wheezed his apology, ‘Forgive me, Your Grace, but you must come down to the courtyard – there are new arrivals. You must come!’

It was impossible to miss the glint in John’s eye, and although he’d asked not to be disturbed this morning, he put his book down and followed the priest. He took the stairs carefully, mindful of the two worn steps he’d nearly broken his neck on the day before. By the time he reached the bottom, the voices he heard were coming from the Hall. John, moving like
a man in his teens, ran before him, opening doors and ushering him through. The moment he entered the hall, he realised why the priest was so excited.

‘Finnlay?’

The younger man turned at his call, smiling a little as he came forward. His face was white with exhaustion, his eyes dull and ringed with grey. Still, he bent on one knee and kissed Aiden’s hand where his Bishop’s ring would have been. When he straightened up, he gestured.

And Aiden held his breath, his heart breaking in that moment.

‘Your Grace, please allow me to present Andrew, Duke of Ayr and Earl of Elita. Andrew, His Grace, Aiden McCauly, Bishop of Lusara.’

Finnlay’s voice, too, was grey with exhaustion, but he had brought the boy safely here, which meant—

Aiden bowed, biting his lip. When he straightened, he found a pair of huge blue eyes staring at him with a mixture of fear and awe. Andrew’s resemblance to Lady Jennifer was striking, but the boy was already taller than her. And now that Aiden knew about it, he could see the strong resemblance to his father.

Aiden looked to Finnlay, unable to loosen the tightening in his throat; he was already forming prayers. ‘What—’ he swallowed hard, unable to control the blossoming grief, ‘what of Robert? How did he die?’

‘Die?’ Finnlay said, bemused, as Andrew whirled around to look at him. ‘Robert’s not dead, Your Grace. At least, he wasn’t when we left him.’

The relief that swept through Aiden almost made him dizzy. He took a steadying breath and said quickly, ‘Forgive me, Andrew. Robert had told us you would not come here unless he was dead or dying.’

‘He was captured,’ Andrew replied, ‘by Malachi. But Finnlay said we had to come here because we’d promised Robert.’

‘My lord?’ Aiden’s colleagues were coming into the Hall, all of them old friends of Finnlay’s. They greeted him with smiles and hugs, and there was much laughter for a few minutes, which calmed when Finnlay turned to introduce his young charge.

‘Andrew, this is Everard Payne, Earl of Cannockburke, Sir Owen Fitzallan, Sir Alexander Deverin and Lord Daniel Courtenay. A finer group of loyal men you will never find.’ All of them smiled at that, but Andrew’s smile was decidedly faint. ‘Gentlemen, this is Andrew,’ Finnlay said, his voice softening, ‘our future King of Lusara.’

Aiden watched carefully as the others studied Andrew, and how Andrew reacted. The boy seemed entirely without energy – and then Aiden was calling for servants. ‘You young fool, Finnlay! You’re both off your feet with exhaustion! I suppose you rode day and night to get here, didn’t you?
Well, you both get up to bed – we’ll find you somewhere to sleep and then once you’re rested, we can talk.’ He allowed only Deverin to help. Andrew was left in Father John’s hands while Aiden helped Finnlay up the stairs.

As John took Andrew into his own rooms, Aiden turned to Finnlay, keeping his voice low. ‘When you’re rested, we have a lot to talk about. I don’t know what Robert did at the Enclave, but we’ve had Salti arriving by the dozen for the last few weeks. They’ll be thrilled to see you. But there’s something else you should know – Patric has returned, and he has news for Robert.’

‘Patric’s here?’ Finnlay smiled with only half his face. The other half appeared to have already gone to sleep. ‘That’s wonderful! Robert will be so—’

‘Go, get your rest.’

With a strong hand, Deverin steered Finnlay down the Hall and into a room made up with a bed all ready. A moment later, the corridor was empty and silent; in that moment, Aiden let fly a prayer to heaven that his fear had been unfounded. And then he turned and headed back downstairs to give the order.

*

He could see strange spots of splashing colour, appearing and disappearing, swallowing the darkness and enlightening it, like an enormous ballet danced to music he could not hear. He reached out to touch each puddle with his finger, leaving behind a drop of blood, marking it with his own scars.

His body was on fire; these suns of colour were his agonies. But what was one pain when compared to another? Did his country care that this was a different tyrant to the last? Pain was pain was pain, all experienced and endured, and, ultimately, forgotten. That was the nature of pain; he knew; he could feel it with his own burning skin.

He breathed shallowly now, as he lay still, with his eyes open, watching the splashing colour, waiting for it to stop, as it would, waiting for it to become a memory, waiting for them to stop making him pay.

It grew inside him: his people
did
care that they had one tyrant after another. They couldn’t forget the pain yet because they were still enduring it. It wasn’t over, and it should have been. It wasn’t finished yet, instead, barely started.

The demon inside him wasn’t dead, but with each attack it was gathering its strength.

*

Micah ran forward at a crouch and sank to his knees behind a thick bush. Beside him knelt Gilbert, whose eyes remained fixed upon the house in the
distance. It sat on the edge of a small town; the Malachi had taken two long days to find it. For a town house, it was quite big, with three rooms below and another two above. There was a cellar entrance at the back, heavily barred and locked, and a stable in a separate building, inside a fenced area. Micah was sure Robert was inside that house.

He felt a small movement behind him as Sairead joined them, leaving her hand on his lower back. She had recovered her strength and had refused to stay behind, no matter what he’d said, which was odd behaviour given how much she hated Robert.

But then, didn’t
he?

‘Well?’ he whispered. ‘Are they still in there?’

‘Nobody’s left in the last hour.’

‘Then let’s go.’

‘I still think this plan is flawed. There are only three of us, and you have no powers. By Sairead’s count, there are six of them, not including Felenor.’

‘By my count, Robert’s been in there almost three days. If he’s still alive it will be a miracle.’

‘I can’t Sense him.’

‘How could you? You don’t know him.’

‘No, I mean, I can’t Sense anybody but seven Malachi.’

Micah ignored his look. ‘You’ll never Sense him anyway. That doesn’t mean he’s not in there. We’re wasting time.’

‘You want to stick to your original plan, even now you’ve seen the place?’

‘Yes, why not? Sairead can set fire to the building. As they all run out, you and I can go in via the cellar and get Robert. Simple.’

‘Simple? You don’t think they’ll take him with them?’

‘And risk their own lives? If he’s at all able-bodied, he would use the confusion to escape anyway.’

‘And if he’s not?’

Micah paused and looked apologetically at Sairead. ‘I’ll go alone if I have to. I got him into this. No matter what, he doesn’t deserve an end like this.’ She returned his gaze without blinking; this came as no surprise to her. Wasn’t this, after all, exactly why she hated Robert?

Gilbert sighed and agreed. ‘Very well. As soon as we hear the midnight bell, we’ll move. That way, they’ll most likely be asleep and the fire will cause the most confusion. Let’s move back until then. No point in giving ourselves away.’