Trial of Fire (55 page)

‘I’ll meet you at the tavern.’

‘Well, then let’s go.’

*

The chapel was small, old and desperate for attention. But it was also out in the middle of nowhere, alone and used only on alternating weeks for mass for the poor farmers in the area. Even so, Aiden saw charm, the love in the spring wildflowers placed on the altar, the swept stone floor, the weedless path. He also saw the grim determination in the eyes of the men and women gathered before him, the hope flowing from the young priest who had welcomed him, and asked these people to meet him.

They had questions, many of them, and he worked hard to answer them all. Not all of their queries were about sorcery, and he had to be careful about what he said of Robert’s plans, of what would happen next, and how it would be achieved. But this was not the first church he’d visited, and certainly not the most difficult audience he’d faced. Even so, he could tell from the look on John’s face that the young priest was glad
he
wasn’t expected to make a reply.

‘One way or the other,’ Aiden continued, taking in as many of the faces as he could, ‘you must follow your own hearts in these matters.’

‘But you’re the Bishop, Your Grace,’ a man of his own years said, expressing his confusion rather than his doubt. ‘You’ve studied these things. How are we to know that what is in our hearts is right?’

‘The same way any of us do,’ Aiden replied with a smile.

‘I don’t know,’ an old woman at the back said. ‘These things all sound more than we can deal with. We’re simple folk. We don’t understand why there’s sorcerers here and nowhere else. Why is it Lusara now? Couldn’t they have stayed on the southern continent?’

‘They’ve been here a long time. They are all born in Lusara, as were their fathers and grandfathers—’

‘And grandmothers?’

Aiden laughed a little. ‘Yes, grandmothers as well.’

‘And you say this boy, Lady Jennifer’s son, he’ll be King when this is all over?’

‘Yes, he will.’

‘Another sorcerer?’

Aiden swallowed. What else could he say? Be it now or later, Andrew would eventually develop his abilities and there was no point in hiding it from a people already lied to for decades. ‘Andrew Ross is a boy of great integrity and honour, true to his Lusaran blood. I know you remember his father, but Eachern died when Andrew was a young child and his influence was limited even then. This is why Robert Douglas has chosen him for the throne – because it is his by right.’

There was silence at this, but on every face he could see a touch of that same awe reserved for the mention of Robert’s name. It was like a sorcery all of its own kind and Aiden tried not to overuse it. Still, these people, and all the others he’d spoken to, found the prospect of a rebellion driven by a legend enough to quell their biggest fears.

How patient they were, how steadfast, and deserving of more than they had been allowed. And he wanted them to have their freedom, to allow them the prosperity to build up their farms and their families, so that worshipping in this church was no longer an act of desperation, but instead, an act of thanksgiving.

He rose to his feet. ‘I’m afraid I must leave you. We’re expected in Rona in two days. I have another stop I need to make before nightfall and it’s dangerous for me to travel on the roads at night.’

Instantly, they all got to their feet, anxious for him to be away safely. One by one they came up to him and kissed the ring he didn’t wear, and at the end, he waved a blessing over all of them. Then, with Father John at his side, he walked out into the afternoon, to find Edain and Braden waiting with the horses.

‘It’s all clear, Father,’ Edain said, handing him his reins. ‘Do we go on, or back to town?’

‘We go on. The more people I can speak to, the stronger this rebellion.’ And with that, he swung up into the saddle and turned his horse. He found them all waiting outside the church, their faces speaking more to him than any words they’d uttered in the last hour. He raised his hand and signed the trium in the air, then turned away, leaving hope in his wake – and taking some with him.

*

Finnlay slid into the booth beside Joshi and handed out the tankards of ale he’d just bought. The young Generet held his between both hands and sipped, collecting a line of froth on his top lip before licking it off with a grin of satisfaction.

‘I see Joshi has adapted to life in Lusara without too much trouble,’ Finnlay directed the question at Patric before taking his own sip.

‘He’s finding the adventure more interesting as each day goes by,’ the blind man replied. ‘As am I.’

‘Well, you know life with Robert is never dull,’ Finnlay added dryly, checking that they were alone in their corner. He’d deliberately chosen this alehouse rather than the larger tavern in an effort to avoid the others. ‘So tell me, what you were saying about the Marklord? That you thought he was trying to keep track of sorcery in each generation?’

‘Yes. What about it?’

‘Well, it doesn’t make sense as to why he would want to keep track. I mean, even if you take the Prophecy into consideration, there’s just no reason to do any of it, is there?’

‘I suppose it depends on how you view the Prophecy. To some, it’s merely a suggestion of what
could
happen. Jenn believes that it’s a direction given to make sense of current events. Robert thinks it’s a curse. Others would say it is a divine gift of prescience, a warning of what will happen if we’re not wary. It could even be the description of a vision, such as that had by the Hermit of Shan Moss.’

‘And if Thraxis genuinely had a vision, wrote it down as the Prophecy, then basically, we’re in a lot of trouble.’

Patric sighed. ‘We are if you believe visions are a true depiction of the future.’

‘But so much of the Prophecy has already come true – and we can’t forget the role the Key is playing—’

‘Which seems to follow no discernible rules. Look, Finnlay, I can’t give you any answers. I have told you all that I learned and still, even with your knowledge of what’s happened while I was gone,
you
can’t tell me what I need to know. And perhaps that’s the point. Have you ever considered the possibility that we aren’t supposed to know too much before it happens?’

‘Pat, you haven’t spent the last ten years worrying about my brother. I think you’ve forgotten what that’s like.’

‘He’s withdrawing again.’

‘Yes, he is, and he’s doing it because he believes there aren’t any answers to be had. Can you imagine how that’s playing on his conscience?’

Patric took another mouthful off his ale and savoured it before swallowing. For a moment, he turned his head slightly and Finnlay knew he was mindspeaking with Joshi, saw it in the faint nod, the minuscule smile that followed it. Not for the first time, Finnlay wondered about how Patric could have learned to mindspeak when it was supposed to be something only the Generet could do – and of course, Robert and Jenn. And him.

‘You know,’ Patric said after a moment, ‘Joshi says you shouldn’t worry too much.’

‘That’s very kind of him,’ Finnlay said dryly. Despite his strangeness, Joshi was easy to like. ‘He just wants me to buy him more ale.’

‘Well, that’s true,’ Patric conceded. ‘But he also wanted me to point out that amongst the Generet, Jenn’s family line was given another name.’

‘Jenn’s?’

‘Yes, the Ally. Her line, or House, was called something else.’

‘By whom?’

‘He doesn’t know, though he believes it is very old.’

‘What was the other name?’

‘Elite.’

Finnlay choked on his next mouthful and nearly expired as Joshi thumped his back hard. Bleary-eyed, he waved his hands and gasped for mercy. ‘I give up, Pat, honestly I do. I can’t keep up with this any more. I’m too old.’

‘Not old,’ Joshi spoke up, his voice rough with lack of use. ‘Age good.’ With that, he gave Finnlay another thump on the back and rose to get them all some more ale.

Finnlay watched him go, saying, ‘All I can say is, I’m glad he’s on our side.’

‘Yes,’ Patric grinned. ‘So am I.’

*

The singing started up not long after dark and Robert, sitting in disguise in his corner, couldn’t help but tap his foot to it, swaying with the other men at his table. All part of the disguise, but Andrew had been right about how good it was to listen to music again. It was just a pity that he couldn’t do it in the open, but instead had to sit here wearing this heavy hooded cloak, listening in while his countrymen gossiped.

It was amazing how much he’d learned over the years in this very manner – and the technique did not let him down this time, either. For a start, it appeared that Godfrey had been right about the rumours and the new nunnery at Elita. It was currently one of two favourite topics: it appeared nobody had any doubts at all that Jenn was the incarnation of Mineah. He heard many impossible and outrageous miracles attributed to her, without a single shred of evidence – but these were people desperate for those very miracles, and the hope they brought. If believing that Mineah was finally amongst them meant their misery was almost over, how could they not wish it to be true?

He, himself, of course, was the subject of many other rumours. Word had spread about the rebellion, and they were all happy to share what they’d each seen or heard about. This was just as he’d wanted: it served his purpose for word to fly ahead of him, although the more rumours flew about, the less he was likely to maintain any secrecy – and some time in the next few days, he was going to need it.

As the song rolled on around him, he got slowly to his feet, maintaining the appearance of a man of seventy, crouched over with a bad back and a limp. He made his way to the door of the tavern and stepped out into the darkness.

He hated the disguise, but this town had a Guildehall and although he’d never spent any time in this place, that didn’t mean people wouldn’t
recognise him. He kept to the shadows as he paced the length of the tavern, then hobbled across the street, heading slowly for the Guildehall. It stood by the church, a fine example of wealth abused, with its stone walls, tiled roof and hardbaked wooden fence all around it.

The gates were still open, though guarded by four men heavily armed. Robert kept going, hobbling around the corner until he was completely out of sight. In that moment, he straightened up, reached inside and bullied up his powers. With a held breath, he concentrated, taking the required dimensional step sideways to make himself invisible. Done, he turned to the wooden fence, scaling it in seconds, dropping down on the inside noiselessly.

He took a moment to scout the layout of the compound, but most rural Guildehalls were built the same and he had no trouble finding what he was looking for. Dodging Guildesmen, he followed one inside the main building, slipping down the corridor unseen. He found the Master’s study with its door open wide. With a smile nobody else would see, he stepped inside.

The Master was sitting behind his desk, reading a message someone had obviously just given him. Robert kept his distance. It was one thing to move about knowing he was invisible, but if he got too close, somebody would notice the air moving, and if they reached out they would touch him and he would be lost.

So he stood and listened, and after a few more minutes, turned and made his way quickly out of the Guildehall. He exited behind a firewood cart, ran across the road and headed back towards the tavern. Only when he reached the stables did he find another shadow. There he released the shift, returned to his stoop and limp and hurried up the stairs going up to the second floor.

The room was on his right, over the kitchens, far from the tap room and all its noise. He paused at the door only long enough to send his Senses inside. Then, with a last look around to ensure his presence hadn’t been detected by anybody, he opened the door and slipped inside.

Jenn’s expression was precious as she surveyed his attire and the rest of his disguise. It wasn’t the first time she’d seen it, but last time she’d been unable to react. Now she came up, her eyebrows raised, her mouth set in a determined line, her eyes sparkling with the laughter she was subduing. Without any preamble, she removed his hat and wig, tore off the beard he wore, then rose on her toes and kissed him.

With a groan, he wrapped his arms around her, lifting her off the ground so he could walk them both towards the bed. He collapsed on it with a grunt, not releasing her from the kiss.

How had they come to this? How had he allowed himself to be so bewitched by her that a moment alone with her was worth more than anything else in his world? Where had he changed so much that he – who had remained celibate for so many years – needed only to touch her and he was set alight?

He’d had no idea that love would be like this.

‘I missed you today,’ she purred, her hands sliding down his back, pulling him closer.

‘And I missed you,’ he whispered back, admitting the truth of it, even though he didn’t want to. How could he continue with this rebellion, with this war, when she was such a weakness for him? If Nash knew – but Nash already knew enough to damn them all. ‘I’m sorry, Jenny, but we can’t stay after all.’

She opened her eyes, moving back a little to see his face. ‘What? Why? What’s wrong?’

He sat them both up, straightening her bodice with trembling hands. ‘I just stopped in at the Guildehall. I’m afraid we have less time than we thought. Osbert’s on his way – and if we don’t leave tonight, we’ll be surrounded by them tomorrow.’

She didn’t move for a moment, but studied his face. ‘And Kenrick?’

‘Won’t be far behind.’

‘So we need to run?’

Robert let her go and stood up, crossing the room to pick up the disguise she’d dropped. ‘Andrew needs more time. I have to give it to him.’ He couldn’t begin to say how close he was to failure with the boy. There was so much promise there, and yet, so little result so far. If Andrew didn’t make some move soon, it would be impossible for Robert to convince anyone that he would make a King preferable to Kenrick. If Andrew didn’t kill Kenrick – or couldn’t – then nothing Robert could do would free Lusara.