Trial of Fire (71 page)

Robert wiped dust from his mouth. ‘Dead.’

Joshi said something then, in a language Robert thought he should understand but didn’t. Patric translated. ‘Joshi says it’s over.’

‘Yes,’ Robert said, looking down at Jenn. ‘Yes, it’s over.’

Grief rose in him then, like a tidal wave, but before it could consume him, he saw something he had never expected: a faint movement in her chest. It was all the hope he needed. With a cry, he pressed his fingers to her throat and felt the tiniest pulse there; placing his ear down on her breast to listen, he could hear a beat: there it was, faint but strong, and most definitely alive.

‘By the gods!’ The words came out choked and thick, his throat still full of dust and fear, but he pulled her up until he could hold her, until he could wrap his arms around her and bring her back. ‘Jenny, oh, Jenny,’ he
whispered. This time he was never going to let her go, not ever. No matter what happened, she was never going to be out of his sight for more than a few minutes, and he would kill anybody who tried to take her from him.

He closed his eyes then, rocking her gently, feeling her heart beat stronger with each minute, her breathing getting steadier until she started to cough. Then he felt a hand on his shoulder, squeezing to get his attention. He looked up to find Joshi standing over him, a bottle of water in his hand. Robert took it and held it to Jenn’s lips, letting only a few drops in before he took a long drink himself. Joshi returned a moment later with a dripping-wet cloth, which he used to wipe some of the dust from her face before encouraging her to drink again.

He settled down to hold her gently until she was ready to surface on her own, watching as Joshi bound Patric’s wounded shoulder, and Patric in turn wound a torn bandage around Joshi’s left hand, and another around a badly wounded thigh. Both men moved as though they were decades older, slowly and painfully.

Finally, Robert spoke.

‘Thank you,’ he said hoarsely.

It brought a smile to Patric’s grimy face, but it was Joshi who replied, ‘Thank you, Enemy. Joshi happy. Generet happy.’ He looked at Patric and added, ‘Thraxis happy.’

*

Godfrey felt it the moment it stopped, and that pain was enough to make him gasp out loud. But he wasn’t the only one. The young man guarding him, who Nash had called Taymar, stopped in that same moment, frozen, his eyes wide with some unnamed fear. Then, as though he were made of crumbling stone, he collapsed onto the floor of the tent, on his knees, arms wrapped around his middle.

Godfrey still couldn’t move, but now it was only ropes that bound him to the chair. The power that had controlled his body and kept him frozen all these hours had suddenly gone; he prayed that it meant Nash was dead, that Robert had finally defeated him.

He listened to the noises outside as he had for the last hours of the battle. Unable to leave the tent, listening was all he had. But now the noises changed, shifted, the cries of pain closer and softer, the cries of anger and fury all but gone.

Was it over? Did he dare hope that the decades of torment were finally at an end?

Then he heard something else, a voice he knew, calling, ‘Godfrey! Godfrey, where are you? Godfrey!’

Did
he dare hope?

After hours of being held in Nash’s power, he had little voice left; he shouted out weakly, but his voice not loud enough to fill the tent, let alone reach further. He need not have worried: the tent flap was pushed open, and Osbert appeared, a sword in his hand, his glorious Guilde yellow besmirched with blood and gore, his eyes more alive and alert than Godfrey could ever remember.

‘There you are! Thank the gods!’ In an instant, Osbert had cut the ropes tying him, helping him to stand, though a little unsteadily. ‘Are you injured? Do you require a Healer?’

‘No, I’m fine,’ Godfrey croaked. ‘Just a little stiff and sore. Nash wasn’t around long enough to do anything.’

‘I’m so sorry I left you, I promise you. If I could have taken you with me I—’

‘Don’t worry about it,’ Godfrey smiled, almost laughing at the complete change in his friend. ‘We survived – but what happened?’

‘Kenrick is dead,’ Osbert said baldly, looking around the tent and noticing Taymar on the floor, rocking back and forth. ‘Andrew is King. Of Robert, we have no word.’

‘Well,’ Godfrey took a deep breath, ‘if this young man’s reaction is anything to go by, I think Nash might well be dead, too.’

Osbert looked properly at Taymar, then turned slowly to Godfrey. ‘Really?’ he asked.

‘I believe Taymar was Bonded to Nash. I think that Bond is now broken.’

Osbert peered out of the tent and called out orders to one of his men, adding to Godfrey, ‘Nevertheless, we’ll put him in chains until Robert gets back. He’ll know if the boy is a danger. Now come, McCauly is looking for you.’

‘He is?’ A smile took control of Godfrey’s face then, followed by a sudden shaking in his whole body. ‘Is it really over?’

‘Yes, my friend.’ Osbert took his elbow and matched his smile. ‘It’s finally over. Come, there is celebrating to do.’

‘Wait,’ Godfrey said, ‘I really need to know: what made you change your mind?’

‘My mind?’ For a moment, Osbert frowned, not understanding, then comprehension flooded across his face. ‘Oh, that. Well, that fool Vaughn and his stupid visions, actually.’

‘Stupid visions?’

‘What was it you said? If I didn’t lead them, they couldn’t follow? Well, I told my Guildesmen that if the goddess was fighting on the side of the rebels, then we were fighting on the wrong side. I don’t think it took them
that long to make the decision. It was a choice between two sorcerers, but one has a goddess for a mother.’

‘Or so Vaughn believes.’

‘Does it matter?’ Osbert said. ‘It would kill the old Vaughn to think that he gave me the opportunity to redeem the Guilde by fighting beside Robert.’

‘Nash laughed.’

‘Did he?’ For a moment, there was a shadow in the man’s eyes, an echo of his former living fear. ‘Well, I’ll wager he’s not laughing now. Come on, Godfrey. We have a King to crown.’

Godfrey emerged from the tent into night. Thunderous clouds were heavy in the west, flashing constant lightning from one point to another, though there was no rain as yet.

The camp he walked through was very different to the one he’d last seen. Here, every pavilion had its sides raised, where the wounded and dying were being treated by monks who appeared to have arrived en masse from the gods knew where. Amongst them were Guilde Healers, and the overall feeling was one of relief, of release, and – he finally dared to think it – of freedom.

Osbert led him through the camp, not giving him a chance to linger, however much he might have been tempted. Instead, he was taken to the edge of the battlefield, where there were so many dead, but there were many still alive too, taking care of the bodies.

In front of him was a sight that nearly made him stop in his tracks: a huge bonfire had already been built, and on a bier lying at its heart, was Kenrick’s body. Even from here, Godfrey could see the blood spattered across the costly robes. And then he looked to the right, where men he knew and some he didn’t stood waiting for him. The sight of Aiden McCauly brought tears to his eyes. McCauly smiled and strode over to him, not pausing until he’d embraced Godfrey, slapping him on the back half a dozen times, expressing what words never could. ‘Oh, Father, I am so glad to see you alive. I had feared that – but no matter. You’re here now. Well done, Osbert, I knew you’d find him.’

‘Godfrey?’

McCauly released him and stepped back and Godfrey was swept up in another embrace, this time from a young, but apparently relieved King. ‘We’ve been looking for you for hours! Where were you?’

Godfrey breathed deeply, ready to answer, but Osbert broke in, saying, ‘Nash’s pavilion, bound and held by some power of Nash’s. But – well, it seems that power suddenly died. Taymar, Nash’s Bonded servant, is rambling now, incapable of speech. We think that – it could mean Nash is dead.’

Andrew’s eyes widened, but they filled with sorrow at the same time, making Godfrey frown. But Aiden was there, with a hand on the boy’s shoulder. ‘Don’t think the worst, Sire. There’s no reason to think they did not survive.’

Andrew turned to him, hope in his face, then abruptly called out, ‘Finnlay? Can you mindspeak my mother?’

Finnlay came to stand with them. ‘I’ll try, sire,’ he told his nephew.

Godfrey barely understood what was going on, so he kept his silence. He had spent too many years apart from all these people, while they’d all been fighting for the same cause.

Eventually, Finnlay shook his head a little. ‘I can’t get through to her. But that doesn’t mean anything bad has happened. She might be shutting me out, or she could be—’

‘Unconscious?’ Andrew interrupted, almost bouncing with urgency, ‘Can you try Seeking her? If Nash is dead, he can’t Sense you any more – and if he isn’t, well, he doesn’t need to Sense you to know where you are now. Or if you can’t find her, try for m— for Robert.’

Finnlay’s expression softened, reminding Godfrey of the man’s brother. ‘I’ll try, though I’m a bit rusty these days.’

Again, they all fell silent, waiting as Finnlay closed his eyes, a small stone emerging in his left hand, gripped lightly. Godfrey ignored the dozens of questions that he had.

Then, abruptly, a smile flooded across Finnlay’s face. He opened his eyes. ‘I found Robert, and Patric and I think, Joshi, too. I can’t find Jenn, but—’

Andrew held up a hand. ‘I know the ending of the Prophecy, Finn. We’ll wait until they return. Right now we have other work to do.’

Finnlay smiled briefly and stepped back.

His expression now grim, Andrew walked past him until he stopped by the quiet bonfire. He stared up at Kenrick’s body for a moment, then raised both his hands. Godfrey held his breath as fire flashed out of the boy’s hands, setting the bonfire alight. The flames spread quickly, forcing them all to step back from the heat. All but Andrew, who stood close by until the flames finally licked around Kenrick’s body, and only then did he turn and walk back to McCauly.

The Bishop gazed with compassion on the young King, then reached into his robe and brought forth a narrow silver circlet.

‘This was found amongst Kenrick’s things. It’s not the coronation crown, but it will do until we reach Marsay, the people need to see something. Consider it a symbol, if nothing else. We’ll have a proper coronation within a week.’

Andrew didn’t say anything, but his expression was sombre. He knelt
before McCauly, but the Bishop didn’t place the circlet on his head immediately. Instead, he turned to Godfrey. Gently, he took Godfrey’s hand and placed it on the circlet, so they were both touching it as it reached the boy’s head.

‘By the blessings of Divine Mineah and Serinleth,’ McCauly began solemnly, ‘and in the sight of Broleoch, we crown thee, Andrew, King of Lusara.’

From all around, the sound started quietly, building as Andrew rose to his feet, until it was a cheer more deafening than the sounds of battle had been. Blinking hard, the boy kept his place as first McCauly, then Godfrey traced the trium on his shoulders and forehead. Then Finnlay took up the chant.

‘Long live the King!’

*

Andrew hadn’t felt like eating anything, but Micah had insisted, pushing a plate into his hands, and warning him that if he didn’t clean it completely, then there would be half a dozen burly men who would be willing to hold him down while Micah force-fed him. Andrew decided to give in graciously; after the first mouthful, however, he found his appetite had returned and the rest was devoured within minutes, leaving Micah standing before him on the other side of the table with a smug grin on his face. He’d had the table removed from Kenrick’s pavilion and set up outside, so the men could see him no matter where he was, or what he was doing.

‘Any more?’ Andrew said without inflection.

Micah just took the plate from him, returning moments later with more bread and the remains of the stew. ‘That’s all there is, I’m afraid. Osbert’s already sent parties out to the nearby towns to find us more food. Too many mouths to feed.’

‘That’s not a bad thing,’ Andrew said around the bread dipped in gravy. ‘The more mouths, the more survivors.’ He had barely finished when a yawn overtook him and he almost dropped the plate.

‘You should get some sleep,’ Micah said, pointing towards what had been Kenrick’s pavilion. It was late, and the entire camp was doing its best to bed down for the night, although there were some defiant souls still up, sitting around a campfire nearby, playing on flute and drum. The music was light and easy.

‘They’ll be here soon, sire,’ Micah added, soothingly.

The title still sat uneasily on him: all he had done was kill Kenrick. Was that all one needed to do to become King? Was that all a King was?

There was still much to be done: there were so many wounded, on both sides – sides that were now one. Healers worked by lamp and candlelight
while the storm rumbled in the distance, apparently unwilling either to move closer or to die away completely. Gilbert’s Malachi patrolled the perimeter, on the watch in case Godfrey had guessed wrong and Nash still survived. How could he sleep when there was still these questions hanging over him?

Andrew could barely contemplate the possibility that Robert hadn’t saved his mother, and yet, he’d been fairly warned, had known for a long time that it was likely that she would die along with Nash, and yet—

‘Sire?’

The intonation in Micah’s voice hit him and he leapt to his feet, turning to the north to watch the approach of four horses, three mounted. Even through the darkness he could make out Patric and Joshi, and then Robert emerged, with his mother across the saddle in front of him. His feet took him forward without thought – and then Micah was helping her down from the saddle and she was smiling at Andrew, walking into his arms and holding him close.

He could hardly speak as she held onto him, her whispers making no sense to him until he remembered that she hadn’t known that he had survived either. Then she was kissing his face, leaning back to look at him, before pulling him close again, tears falling down her face.