The Path of Flames (Chronicles of the Black Gate Book 1) (31 page)

A pounding on Audsley’s door awoke him with a cry. He wrestled with his sheets and blanket, kicking and struggling, and heard Aedelbert’s indignant
mrhaoi
as he leaped to the floor. He reached out in the dark for his nightstand where his spectacles lay, almost knocked them over, then rose to one elbow and placed them on his nose. With the shutters pulled and thick curtains hanging over the windows, the room was muffled and dark. Sitting up, heart pounding, he called out, “Who is it?”

The door cracked open, ruddy torchlight spilling in behind the guard. “Apologies for waking you, Magister, but everyone’s being summoned to the bailey. Lady Kyferin’s command. Right now, like.” Then he pulled the door shut and plunged Audsley back into darkness.

“Now? Wait! Are we under attack?” He scrambled out from under his covers and hurried to the window, where he yanked aside the curtains and threw open the shutters. Immediately freezing air washed over him, but he leaned out bravely to peer at the inky landscape below. No army, no torches, no catapults being readied for an assault. Mystified, he slammed the window shut and fumbled over to pick up his candle. He knelt and held it out, and a moment later a flame flared to life as Aedelbert licked the wick. Audsley set it on his bedside table and set about getting dressed.

“Summoned to the bailey, he says. No further explanations! What am I, a magister or a groom?”

“Mrhao
,” said Aedelbert, and hopped up onto the bed to watch him intently, his eyes catching the candlelight and flaring gold.

“Yes, quite,” said Audsley. “But I do hate to cause a fuss. Regardless, we shall soon see.”

A few minutes later he threw on his cloak and hurried out the door, only to turn and rush back to place the candle in a lantern and hurry back out again, only to return for his satchel, into which he threw some parchment, a spare quill, a stoppered vial of ink, and his Noussian glass. Aedelbert, having expected his various returns, waited till the last to hop up onto Audsley’s shoulders and settled down comfortably.

He stepped out of the Ferret Tower into bedlam. A large crowd was gathered in the bailey, most holding candles or lanterns, swaddled in sheets or huddling together in the cold. Stumbling forward, he saw soldiers everywhere, none familiar, facing the crowd with their hands on the hilts of their swords. Knights, too. Lord Laur’s men, he realized, wearing hauberks and helms.

He saw Elon the smith and hurried over. “What’s going on?”

Elon had his biggest hammer with him, casually resting it over his shoulder. “No idea, Magister Audsley.” The smith’s voice was a barely audible rumble. “But from the look of things, nothing good.”

“Oh, dear,” said Audsley, pushing his spectacles back up his nose.

Aythe the baker was there, the pages and stable boys, the cooper and butler. Master Bertchold was standing beside an empty cart which was clearly going to be used as a platform from which to address the crowd. Everybody was present, he saw, including a large number of their own soldiers, some of them with cuts and scrapes on their faces and none with blades in their scabbards.

“By the Black Gate,” he whispered. “The castle’s been taken.”

“What?” Elon hunched over. “You think?”

Audsley nodded. “Quick. What should we do?” He pressed his fingertips to his lips. “Lady Kyferin called this assembly, so she’s not being held prisoner. Yet she’s clearly being forced to act. Do you think—”

The muttering all around him stilled as Lady Kyferin emerged from the barbican. She looked like a vision, a thick white fur robe draped around her shoulders and hanging to her heels, a gray gown of thick wool beneath. She was accompanied by Asho and Ser Wyland, with Kethe following, all of them still in their feasting finery.

“What’s going on, my Lady?” yelled a soldier.

She ignored the question and took Ser Wyland’s hand as he helped her step onto the cart’s wheel, then up onto its back. She stood gazing out over the crowd, her face somber. Audsley felt his dread deepen and he resisted the urge to take hold of Elon’s hand.

“My friends, we are undone. Lord Laur has installed himself as my son’s ward against my wishes and has demanded that I remove myself at midnight through the Raven’s Gate to Mythgræfen Hold.”

The crowd erupted into exclamations of shock and wonder, and Audsley saw the foreign soldiers stiffen in anticipation. Aedelbert sat up in alarm, but Lady Kyferin raised her hands and the crowd stilled.

“Lord Laur has stated that any who wish to accompany me through the Gate may do so. No one here is compelled to go, and I wish to say it plainly: I do not expect any of you to come. Mythgræfen Hold is a ruin, and all of you know its reputation. You would be following me into exile and perhaps worse.” She smiled then, and that smile, broken and kind and sorrowful, pierced Audsley’s heart like an arrow. “You are all brave and good people. I would not wish the dangers I am to face on any of you. So please, step forth if you wish to follow me, but know that I will rejoice at the sight of each and every one of you who choose to stay. For now more than ever we must have faith in the Ascendant. His Grace shall act as soon as he hears of this, but until then we must accede to Lord Laur’s demands.”

Again the angry whispers sprang up, as if the canopy of a great forest were being shaken by a stern wind. Audsley couldn’t swallow. Mythgræfen Hold, known as The Doomed, where countless soldiers and knights had died and disappeared. The outpost that could not be held. People were arguing with each other, most of them looking down shamefacedly, or away altogether.

Elon started forward. Audsley startled, hesitated, and then thought to himself:
be bold!
Immediately he stepped after the smith. The crowd parted before them, falling away, and in moments Audsley found himself before the cart, staring up in fear at Lady Kyferin. She looked down upon him, and her smile near cracked his heart all over again. He felt a frisson of terror and excitement. Mythgræfen Hold! Ser Wyland, Asho, and Kethe all moved around to stand with them. Brocuff the constable stepped up along with ten other soldiers, but Master Bertchold walked away to join the great crowd that was hanging back. Marshall Thiemo was staring at the ground. Audsley peered around, trying to catch sight of Father Simeon, but couldn’t see him anywhere. Ser Tiron emerged from the crowd, fully armored and growling at people who didn’t move aside quickly enough. A handful of other servants joined them; Audsley recognized an undercook and a baker, along with two grooms and Elon’s apprentice, Edwyn.

Lady Kyferin waited a moment longer and then looked down at the twenty or so people who had stepped forward. “You don’t know what your loyalty means to me. I will never be able to thank you enough, but we’ve precious little time. The Gate opens soon. We must be ready. Please, gather your belongings and then meet me at the keep roof as quickly as you can.”

Ser Wyland helped her down, and then she was gone. The crowd erupted in a roar of outrage.

Ser Laur leaped up easily onto the cart, which creaked dangerously under his weight. “Listen up! Lord Laur was your Lord’s brother. It is right that he be Roddick’s guardian, and he shall discharge this duty with all honor! By what right does he take this duty? The right born of blood! He is a fair master, and he shall see your walls safe and guarded by loyal men. Your lives will not change. The only change is that your future is now assured. Now, everyone disperse. To bed! I want this bailey cleared but for those who are fleeing through the Gate. Go!”

The crowd began to break up. Audsley stood there wide-eyed until Elon clapped him on the shoulder, causing Aedelbert to flare his wings in alarm. “Hurry, my friend. We’ve precious little time. Do you need help with your belongings?”

Audsley pressed his fingers to his temples. His belongings? How was he to carry everything that he needed? “Yes,” he whispered. “By the White Gate, yes! Brocuff!” He hurried over to the constable, who was giving his men orders. “Please! Two of your men—by all that’s sacred, I need them now!”

Brocuff hesitated and then gave a curt nod. “Janderke, Ord, help Magister Audsley.”

Audsley almost wilted in relief. He knew Ord from a few card games he’d joined on the sly earlier that year in the barbican—he was a man with caustic wit—but Janderke was a hulking new guard he’d only seen about the yard. “Thank you, thank you. Now, please hurry. Follow me.”

He led them up the Ferret Tower stairs to his room and threw open the door, lantern held in one shaking hand. Aedelbert flew from his shoulder to the far windowsill. Moving forward, he set the lantern on the center of the table and then stopped, despair swamping him. He needed a week to pack up, not twenty minutes, and three carts, not two pairs of arms. He turned in a slow circle, wanting to pull out his hair, and then shook himself. “All right. Quick, gather those sacks. I’ll place scrolls here for you to put in them, Ord. Be careful! Janderke, I’ll set out cases for you to pack. Again, by your hope of Ascension, be careful with these treasures!”

Choosing which scrolls and ledgers to take was like choosing which teeth to keep. Agonizing, he drew forth one tube only to replace it and draw another, then curse and take out both. He withdrew boxes from beneath his bed, pulled down charts from his walls and rolled them up, gathered his writing materials, five large jars of ink, his blank vellum, his personal Silver Triangle, his various lenses, his runic stones. The pile on the table mounted, and both guards strove to pack everything away in the increasingly heavy bags.

“Magister, it’s time.” Ord placed his second sack on the table next to the first.

“But—one moment more. I know it’s here somewhere. I can’t leave without—”

“Sorry, but if we don’t go now, we won’t be going at all.” Ord swung one bag over his left shoulder, and caught the second under his right arm. “I’m heading up to the keep. Janderke?”

“Ready,” grunted the other man, bear-hugging a massive and unwieldy sack to his chest.

“All right, all right.” Audsley threw a random assortment of clothing onto his bed, then wrapped it all up in his covers and threw the rough sausage over his shoulder. He hurried after both men to the door, then turned to stare back at his room.

His satchel! He ran back in, threw it over his neck and picked up the lantern. So many wonders left behind. So much precious knowledge.

He ran back to the door again and stopped. He’d forgotten Amethaes’ Celestial Rubric. And the Genealogies of Prim. And his Ur-crystal!

Aedelbert hopped up onto his shoulder and licked his cheek. Audsley groaned, turned, and ran down after the two soldiers, cursing Lord Laur each step of the way.

Fifteen minutes later he staggered out onto the keep roof, puffing for breath and sweating profusely despite the cold. A large crowd had gathered, carrying bags, sacks, and crates, and pushing goods piled high in the ancient keep wheelbarrows. The customary full moon guard were standing to one side, faces drawn with tension. A large contingent of Lord Laur’s own soldiers along with ten of his knights were also in evidence, Ser Laur standing beside Lady Kyferin, face as cold and hard as marble. Audsley drifted forward, suddenly unsure where to stand. At the front with the other dignitaries? In the back and away from attention?

The Gate Keeper was standing to attention, hand resting just above the Gate Glass, ready to turn it the moment the Gate flickered to life. Ord and Janderke were waiting for him, and he stopped by their side before patting himself.

His satchel. It was gone.

Panic surged inside him. He knew he’d grabbed it. Where had it gone? Dumping his bedroll sausage, he searched frantically about his person. Gone! “One moment,” he whispered. “Aelderbert, watch our belongings.” The firecat leaped down onto his bedroll, and Audsley ran back to the staircase.

“Master Audsley!” hissed Ord, but Audsley ran on, mind spinning. He had only minutes. The strap must have finally given way under the weight of everything else he’d been carrying. Holding his candle aloft, he examined each step, casting about, knowing he had to turn back, knowing that the Gate would only be open for a few minutes. “Where are you? Where?”

He descended down to the level of the Lord’s Hall, and as he approached the archway he heard a murmur of voices. Seeing his satchel lying against the landing wall, he snatched it up, and then hesitated. One of the voices was clearly that of Lord Laur. Blowing out his candle, he sidled closer to the doorway and saw the Lord in an apparent disagreement with his priest, Elisio.

Audsley hesitated, then pressed as close as he dared. He was no soft-soled creep-abouter, but he could tread quietly when necessary. The Lord’s Hall was dark, lit now only by a candelabra in Elias’ hand. Taking advantage of the gloom, Audsley snuck farther in, his heart pounding fit to burst, not daring to breathe.

“…I understand,” Lord Laur was saying. “But that’s out of the question. That’s my final word on it. We’ll wait till the next opening.”

Elisio was scowling. “You hold them in the palm of your hand. All you need do is squeeze, and this threat is finished.”

“There are forms, priest.” Lord Laur looked at the man in disgust. “I’ll wait the month. Then we’ll proceed through the Talon, and that will be the end of it.”

Audsley quivered, every ounce of him riven by fear. The priest turned to glance in his direction, and that was all the impetus Audsley needed. Bursting for air, he retreated back around the corner, satchel clasped to his chest, and raced back up to the roof.