Trial of Fire (5 page)

‘Easy now,’ Deverin soothed, not moving, keeping his voice gentle. ‘I just
wanted to take a look at your friend. I can see blood on his face. His wound will need attention. I mean you no harm.’

John could see the other Bleakstone men were tense, ready to move if necessary, anxious to protect the Bishop – but the young man could also see that. His eyes scanned them all, his stance not softening. He made small shifts to keep himself between Deverin and his friend, who lay unmoving on the ground behind him. Then the man spoke, a word John didn’t recognise.

A chill rippled down John’s back.

‘I understand you’re frightened,’ Deverin continued. ‘But we just want to help your friend, that’s all. Can I come closer? Just to look?’

For a moment the young man didn’t move, then, slowly, he took a step to the side, his sword no less of a threat than before. McCauly moved up close behind Deverin, but not close enough to jeopardise the delicate balance. He watched the young man as Deverin knelt down and reached out a hand to the injured man’s face. With a glance at the sword, Deverin pulled a cloth from his jacket, folded it and held it in place over the wound.

‘Father? He needs to see a Healer. This is deep and he is unresponsive. I fear he may—’ Deverin stopped suddenly, his whole body stiffening. Then, urgency in his voice, he added, ‘Father, come here!’

Eyeing the young man warily, McCauly threw him a smile and moved to Deverin’s side. He looked down at the injured man.

‘Do you not recognise him?’ Deverin whispered.

Aiden froze too. Unable to stop himself, John moved forward until he could see the face of the injured man. The pale skin was tanned by years on the southern continent, there was the nasty gash over the right eye and his hair bleached almost white, but it was impossible not to know the man who lay before them, badly injured from the shipwreck.

*

‘Sweet Mineah’s breath,’ Aiden whispered in a prayer of thanks. ‘Patric!’ He reached out a hand to Patric’s shoulder, but his movement was halted by the sword neatly slid before his throat. Immediately, Deverin moved, his own sword drawn as he sprang to his feet, but Aiden moved quickly, desperate to avoid bloodshed.

‘Deverin, no. He’s just trying to protect Patric.’ He rested back on his haunches and raised a hand to the blade. Carefully he pushed it away, his eyes rising to meet the young man’s. ‘Somebody go fetch some clean water and a bandage of some kind. Everybody else stay back.’

‘Father,’ Deverin murmured in warning, but he did move back a little, putting his sword away.

Forgetting the others, Aiden kept his gaze on Patric’s protector. ‘Do you understand my language?’

The young man narrowed his gaze and said nothing. His eyes were pale, a glittering grey, his skin olive, tanned. He might have been about twenty-five, but no older. Fine dark eyebrows and a small cut on his bottom lip were the only distinguishing marks on his face, but there was such intelligence in those grey eyes that Aiden tried again. ‘We are friends of Patric. Friends. We want to help.’

The stranger frowned a little, his eyes darting to Patric for a moment, then back to Aiden. He opened his mouth, his lips forming a word, but making no sound. Then, as one of Deverin’s men returned with a bowl of water and some cloth, the young man finally spoke, his word a question directed at Aiden.

‘Malahi?’ For a moment, Aiden didn’t understand. Then the stranger spoke again. ‘You – Malahi?’

‘You mean … are we Malachi?’ Aiden shook his head, spreading his hands to indicate his peaceful intentions. ‘No. We are not Malachi. We are friends. Patric’s friends. Will you let us help him? Bind his wounds,’ Aiden indicated the bandages, ‘and we have a safe place to take him, where it is warm and—’

‘Warm?’ Suddenly the man’s expression changed. His eyes widened and he took his first proper look at the other men standing behind Aiden, Deverin, Payne and Daniel, John and the twenty soldiers they’d brought with them. ‘Robrt?’ he asked.

Again, Aiden shook his head. ‘No, Robert is not here.’

The stranger turned his gaze back on Aiden again, his sword now hanging loose at his side, though still not sheathed. ‘B … Bi’ship?’

Aiden smiled, unable to help himself. He nodded vigorously. ‘Yes, I am the Bishop. Patric’s friend.’

The young man lifted his sword and slid it into the scabbard. He nodded once, then stepped back. Immediately, Deverin moved forward; he knew more of healing than the others. Shortly, they were ready to travel and, with his eyes on the stranger, Aiden mounted up, his burning curiosity in check. His questions could wait until they got back to Bleakstone. They would have to wait until Patric awoke.

But all the way back, Aiden prayed – both in thanks for his friend’s safe return, and that the return heralded a turn in their fortunes. But pray though he might, he did not yet dare to hope.

*

John stood back, well out of the way of the men who carried Patric into the bedroom and laid him gently on the bed. A fire had been lit and hot food was on the way up. John had to swallow his excitement and wait for the room to empty a little.

‘Just be careful there, John,’ the Bishop murmured, his tone wary. ‘Patric’s friend is a little protective. Keep all your movements open and visible.’

John nodded, barely glancing at the others before stopping at the bedside. He’d been unable to get a proper look at Patric on the journey back to Bleakstone; even now, his memory did him no service: the man was almost blue with cold and the bandage over his forehead didn’t help. ‘We need to get these wet clothes off him and get him warmed up. Then some soup, I think.’ He reached out and pulled the blanket away from Patric’s shoulder, and would have kept on – but a hand shot out, gripping his wrist so hard he recoiled.

The stranger stood over him, grey eyes glittering in the firelight, long hair ratty and tangled. But there was something in that gaze, something … intangible, but too akin to that ripple over his Senses. John paused.

That something intangible abruptly filled his awareness, sparking his Senses until his skin almost burned. With a hiss of pain, he jerked his hand away from the other man, who matched his surprise, and his equal awareness.

This man was not Salti, nor was he Malachi. But if not, then
what
was he? How had he come to be travelling with Patric, and
where
had he come from?

‘John?’ The Bishop was at his side, his voice steady and easy. ‘What is it?’

‘I … don’t know. This man is … I don’t know what he is but—’

‘Is he a danger to us?’ Payne queried from the open doorway where the others waited, out of the way.

‘Danger?’ John frowned, unable to think in those terms. He’d never experienced anything like this before and knew not how to judge if it were a danger. ‘I can’t tell you; all I know is that he is some kind of … sorcerer.’

‘Some
kind?’ Payne’s dry question slid into the silence. ‘How many kinds are there?’

‘What do you Sense?’ Aiden spoke softly, his gaze moving between John and the stranger. ‘He’s not a Malachi?’

‘No, it’s not at all like a Malachi. But I think he feels it as well. He knows I’m a sorcerer too.’

‘Well, we still need to get Patric changed before he gets a chill. Why don’t you—’

He was cut off by a moan from Patric. The Bishop moved to his side, the young man with him; John went round to the other side of the bed. Patric moaned again, his hand coming up to his head where the bandage covered his wound. He murmured something that John didn’t recognise, then
suddenly his hand reached out and his friend took it, as though Patric was dizzy and needed it to gain his balance.

Then the Bishop spoke. ‘Patric? Do you know where you are?’

Patric frowned, but didn’t open his eyes. For a moment, John held his breath, then, slowly, Patric smiled. ‘Aiden? Is that you?’

‘Yes, it’s me.’ McCauly was grinning hard now, looking at the others. ‘Welcome back.’

‘I’m at Bleakstone?’

‘Yes.’

‘Thank the gods!’ He relaxed a little then, swallowing.

‘How do you feel?’

Patric’s forehead furrowed against some pain. ‘Not so good … Cold.’

‘Well, we’d like to get you changed into dry clothes, but your … ah, your friend is very protective and won’t let us near you.’

‘My … friend?’ Patric shook his head slowly, then stopped as the pain took him again. He gasped and the stranger moved closer, his stance menacing. Then Patric’s expression changed completely. ‘Oh, you mean Joshi?’ Patric was silent a moment, then he continued, ‘Joshi kept me alive. We were … attacked on the ship … coming over, and—’

‘Easy, Patric,’ Aiden said, still smiling, ‘you’ve plenty of time to tell us everything. Right now, we need to get you changed and warmed up. You’ve got a nasty cut on your head.’

‘Jus … feel tired.’

‘Then you sleep, Patric. Just sleep. John, can you help Patric into warm clothes? I’ll try to get Joshi to change before he also catches a fever.’

‘Aiden!’ Patric sat up, reaching out for McCauly’s arm and gasping again in pain. ‘I need to find Robert! Is he here?’

‘No, he’s in Lusara.’

‘I have to find him … it’s important—’

McCauly urged him back down onto the bed. ‘I can send him messages, but I have no idea where he is, or when he’ll get them. I’m sorry, Patric, but we’d given up hope you’d come—’

Patric grabbed his arm again, this time opening his eyes. ‘Find him!’

John bit back a gasp of surprise; McCauly frowned. Patric’s eyes were as white as his hair, as though the colour had been bleached from them by the sun.

McCauly spoke again, his voice soothing now. ‘Rest, Patric. Don’t worry about Robert. Just rest.’

Patric was back in one piece – but he was completely blind.

*

Aiden stepped into the corridor and closed the door behind him. Almost instantly, the questions began.

‘What did Father John mean by Joshi being some kind of sorcerer? What if Patric has changed sides?’

Aiden turned to Daniel and shook his head sharply. ‘We have no reason to suspect him. So far Joshi has done nothing but try to protect Patric. John didn’t say he was a threat.’

‘No,’ Deverin grunted. ‘He said he didn’t know if he was. That doesn’t mean—’

‘We have too much at stake here,’ Payne hissed. ‘Is it wise to take in a complete stranger with sorcerer’s powers? What if he’s just waiting until we’re all asleep? What if—’

‘Enough!’ Aiden interrupted. ‘It is exactly this kind of fear that has driven sorcerers into hiding and made them afraid of us. I repeat, Joshi has done nothing to threaten us; in fact, he’s done us a huge favour by returning to us a man we know to be a friend and ally – one who has spent the last nine years risking his life to find something to help Robert. Are we going to repay that with suspicion?’

There was silence for a moment, then Deverin, who was personally responsible for Aiden’s safety, said, ‘Be that as it may. I will still have a guard posted outside this room and the young man will be followed wherever he goes until we can be sure.’

‘Do what you must,’ Aiden nodded. ‘I understand your concerns – but I beg you, treat Joshi with the respect he deserves or you will do both Patric and Robert a great dishonour.’ Aiden waited until he got a nod of assent from all of them, then he turned back into the room.

*

Though he’d been at Bleakstone a week, it still took John a few extra minutes finding the kitchens. For a place this size, they were horribly small, though, oddly, only half-used. But there was a roaring fire, and tables of food mid-preparation, and smiles on the faces of those who worked there. He quickly explained what he had come for, and he was given a tray. He gathered bread, cheese, pickled herrings, sliced red onions, a tub of mustard and some hard winter apples. Cups and a pot of brew filled the tray; he was about to ask for some help when the Bishop appeared at his side, refreshed from his nap and ready to face the evening.

‘Stocking up for the next winter, Father?’

‘I … they were hungry.’ John hefted the tray and McCauly carefully removed the cups and pot, making it substantially lighter. ‘Thank you.’

‘I take it both Patric and Joshi are awake?’

‘Yes, Your Grace.’ The kitchen door was held open for them and as he called out his thanks, Aiden followed behind. ‘Patric has a fever, but he’s not too ill at the moment. I wouldn’t like to see him travel, though. He wants to talk to you. It’s hard to keep him in bed.’

‘And Joshi?’

John lifted the tray to see the stairs beneath his feet. ‘He says nothing, but he has removed his sword and is constantly there to help me with Patric.’

‘And you Sensed nothing further from him?’

‘No. But then, I haven’t really tried.’

‘Oh? Why not?’

John stood to one side as McCauly elbowed another door open for them. ‘The truth is, I’m not all that skilled as a sorcerer. I’ve spent my life trying to be a good priest. I’ve had very little occasion to use my abilities and, as a result, I have little training and rusty talents. I know enough to see what he is, but not enough to tell you more. If Robert were here …’

‘If Robert were here we wouldn’t have this problem in the first place.’

‘No, I suppose not.’

‘Here, put the tray down a moment.’ McCauly placed his burden onto a table set against the wall. Aiden peered down the corridor towards Patric’s room, then back the way they came. His voice soft, he asked, ‘What do you know of the Prophecy?’

John shrugged. These were mysteries that had concerned those who lived at the Enclave, things he’d not given much thought to. ‘Only what I have been told. When Robert was nine, the Key spoke to him, and from that moment onwards, he claimed the message was personal and for him alone. Then, fifteen or so years ago, it spoke to him again, only this time everybody in the Enclave heard it. It gave him the rest of the Prophecy and the secret was out. In her letters, Jenn said that Patric had gone to Alusia in the hope of finding another group of sorcerers who might know more about the Prophecy.’

The Bishop looked down the corridor again. They couldn’t see the door from here, nor the guard standing outside. He dropped his voice to a whisper. ‘We believe that group quarrelled with the Cabal, who were at war with the Empire. Jenn thought the Prophecy was at the heart of the dispute.’