Trial of Fire (40 page)

‘No, I’m saying
you
and
Jenn
are supposed to be Bonded. For the Generet, the relationship between Bonding and mindspeaking is different.’

‘Why? Why is there one rule for them and one for us?’

‘Because,’ Patric paused, reaching out and feeling for where he’d put his cup, ‘because you and Jenn were mentioned in the Prophecy. The Generet have almost nothing to do with it except as the keepers of it.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Finnlay interrupted. ‘They were supposed to keep the Prophecy? Who gave it to them?’

‘Amar Thraxis.’

A clatter on the ground made Aiden start. He turned to find Robert had dropped his cup. It rolled on the hard ground until he noticed it. Picking it up, he absently shook the last of the brew out of it, then busied himself getting up and refilling it. He took the pot around to the others and refilled theirs as well. When he sat, he was composed again, though looking a little tired after his night ride.

Patric remained silent and then took up his story once Robert regained his seat. ‘Amar Thraxis is the father of the Generet.’

‘Wasn’t he a Guildesman?’

‘Yes, one of great skill. He was also known in some texts as the Marklord, just as you suspected, Robert.’

‘How do you know this?’ Robert was mystified. ‘How could the Generet know? There were hundreds of years separating the records of the Marklord and Thraxis. Yes, some of our findings pointed towards them being one and the same man, but there was nothing conclusive.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Aiden interrupted. ‘I’m confused – why is it important who Thraxis and this Marklord were?’

There was silence a moment, as they each waited for somebody else to
answer the question. In the end, it was Finnlay’s impatience which broke first. ‘Father, all children born to one of the twenty-three great Houses of Lusara are born with a House Mark.’

‘Yes, I know that.’

‘Well, Patric has always believed that the Marks and sorcery were linked somehow, but until Robert was born, no children with abilities were born to any of the Houses. But then there was Robert, and me, then Jenn – and then a host of others that we now know Nash abducted. We believe that he was looking for Robert but failed because Robert was the wrong age or something – and he
did
abduct Jenn. And Robert and Jenn have been labelled by the Key as being the figures in this Prophecy. The only things linking them together are their powers – and their House Marks. We knew Thraxis was involved in sorcery because he wrote some books on the subject, and was considered an authority at the time. And the Marklord was the man who is believed to have created the House Marks.’

Aiden picked up the threads and continued, ‘So you’re saying that Thraxis created this Prophecy, then made the House Marks so he could keep track of the ancestors of the people who would make the Prophecy come true?’

Finnlay turned then to Patric, as did Robert. ‘
Is
that what you’re saying? That it was Amar Thraxis who created the Prophecy in the first place?’

Patric grimaced. ‘Yes.’

‘And the Generet have this written down somewhere? This isn’t just what they have in folklore? It’s carved in stone?’

Again, Patric grimaced. ‘Yes. It’s carved in the stone of his tomb.’

‘Serin’s blood!’ It was Finnlay’s swearing, but Robert was the one who sprang to his feet.

He paced up and down a little before musing aloud, ‘Then that means … of course, I should have seen that before. But if he’s got the same Prophecy as the one from Bu, then that could— Yes, and the Key was—’ Robert looked up, his whole body suffused with an energy that Aiden marvelled at. ‘Pat, the Prophecy – that’s why there was the split with the rest of the Cabal, right?’

‘Oh, yes, exactly. They each had a version carved into a wall. After the last battle—’

‘The one at Bu was destroyed, I know, I saw it. No, what I mean is, that the reason was the differences, right? That there
were
differences and that was the cause for the split?’

Patric didn’t answer immediately. Then he ran his hands through his bleached white hair, pulling it back from his face. ‘Look, Robert, the
differences are minimal, in terms of meaning and interpretation. The Generet Prophecy is simply more than the Key’s.’

‘Then why the split?’

‘Because the Generet were the keepers, and they believed that the Cabal were using the Prophecy for their own ends, to threaten the Kings and Princes of the day, to ensure their position and rank were maintained. There’s no mention of it, but I think that’s also why the Word of Destruction was created – so it could be used as an ultimate weapon nobody else could counteract.’

‘So the Prophecy …’ Robert became utterly still and Aiden’s heart went out to him. It was so clear that he needed this answer to be something else entirely, and yet, he already knew it wasn’t. ‘So the Prophecy doesn’t change? From start to finish—’

‘No, it doesn’t.’

‘Robert,’ Aiden murmured, ‘Patric never knew the ending the Key gave to you.’

Robert’s gaze darted to him for a moment, then back to Patric. ‘How does it end?’

Swallowing hard, Patric quoted, ‘
By these very means, born unto these hands, will be the instrument of ruin, dividing that which is by that which should never be. In the act of salvation, this will become desolation itself, destroying that which it would love most, and laying waste all that was created.’

‘That’s not exactly the same, Robert,’ Aiden added quietly. ‘There are substantial differences. Laying waste all that was created isn’t the same as—’

Robert just held up his hand. ‘Go on, Pat.’

There was a pause before Patric continued in the same subdued voice, ‘There was originally more to the Prophecy. Generet folklore says that he wrote it over the later years of his life, then tore it up into pieces because he was afraid of what he’d written. Then in his last days, he put it back together again, but some of it was lost. Because of that, he wrote a little more and decided that it would do as it was. It is accepted that the final Prophecy is the same as what was carved on the Generet wall, and at Bu, though I would imagine some degradation due to age would inevitably occur, not to mention difficulties with translation and language, and the sheer number of years involved. Robert, you need to understand: this Prophecy is merely one of hundreds that have appeared in so many cultures over the last millennium. It’s the nature of Prophecy that it foretells something terrible to happen – otherwise, there’d be no point.’

Robert stood before them gazing out through a gap in the wall to his
right, leaving them with only a profile to watch, a jaw firm against his last hope dashed. When he spoke, his voice was quiet, contained, intimate. ‘Of course, though none of the others was created by the man who made the Marks and was the father of a group of people who mindspeak and seem to have sorcerers’ auras but don’t. And yet,’ his voice dropped to a whisper, his words seeming to be for himself only, ‘I can mindspeak with her, I am supposed to be Bonded with her and all I can do is kill—’

Finnlay sat forward, making his own try. ‘Robert, the Prophecy predates both the Word of Destruction and the Key. It can’t possibly include either of them.’

‘And yet it seems to, as though it foretold their creation as well.’ Robert frowned slightly, his tone speculative. ‘In both cases, the men creating them did so in the attempt to save their people, and in the end, they destroyed them. I can’t see how I can hope to better their efforts.’

‘There is one other place you can try. Robert. You can’t assume anything until you’ve exhausted all possibilities. There’s one more place—’

‘What’s the point?’ Robert kept his gaze steady for a moment, then shifted himself back into the room, his eyes showing more than his exhaustion. ‘I’ve lost count of the number of sources I’ve found for this damned Prophecy, and all say essentially the same thing.’

‘That’s because they’ve all come from the same source.’

‘Exactly. So why bother looking any further?’

‘Because there’s one place where we might find the whole Prophecy, in its original form.’

‘A place where time hasn’t degraded it? Where there isn’t the same problem with language? A place we can find some time in the next few days, Pat? Because that’s all I’ve got. A few days. I have a rebellion to fight. I’ve waited long enough. I can’t sacrifice my country because—’

Patric surged to his feet, his hands reaching out to find Robert in his darkness. ‘Robert, listen to me. Thraxis made the Calyx! Remember? If he made the Calyx, there’s a good chance he put the Prophecy into it.’

At that, Robert froze for a moment, then started laughing, a little bitter, a little exhausted. ‘Fine, Patric, fine. We’ll ask the Calyx – though I don’t care too much for our chances of getting an answer considering what happened the last time I went near it.’

With that, Robert turned and strode out of the ruin. Aiden gave him a moment before chasing after him.

‘Robert, wait, I’m too old to run. Please slow down.’

He didn’t, but it gave Aiden an excuse to puff a little when he did catch up. ‘Look, you can’t—’

‘Please, Bishop, spare me your platitudes. I have no more hope to waste
on this venture. I have a war to organise. If we’re going to stop off to talk to the Calyx then I need to get these men moving today. If you want to talk, we can do it later, but not now.’

‘But—’

Robert held out a hand, stopping in the centre of Aiden’s chest. He turned a fathomless gaze on Aiden, shadows framing the green, the face pale beneath a tan won of years living a rough life. ‘Trust me, Bishop. The freedom of Lusara does not depend on how I
feel
. We’ll talk later. In the meantime, you can help me get these men organised.’

Finnlay organised the sentries, making sure they were close enough to hear what Robert had to say, while still being able to keep watch for anyone approaching. It was always tricky covering the presence of what amounted to a small army – especially in these times – but with the help of a few Salti and their ability to nudge a man’s thoughts away from a particular subject, they were left alone on their last morning in the forests of Elita.

He could only hope that they had been equally invisible for the rest of their stay: the people of Fenlock didn’t need to see anything more to convince them of strange occurrences up at the castle.

Robert, despite his lack of sleep, the injuries he kept concealed beneath his clothes and the most recent destruction of his meagre hopes, was at his best, as he always was when in front of people who were as willing as he to do whatever was needed to bring freedom to his country – even if there was a dark glint to his eye only the practised observer would notice.

It had never ceased to amaze Finnlay that Robert could do this: he could put aside what he was thinking and feeling and become this other, public person who looked as though he’d never experienced a day’s self-doubt in his life. His confidence in himself and his people was supreme. He looked into each face, into every man’s eyes, letting them know he knew how much they wanted to fight and win, that he felt the same way, and their victory would depend on that same passion. His open smile, his strong bearing and rich voice created an image that remained in people’s minds. It was this, he knew, more than any other characteristic, that made Robert the leader of legend that he was, the reason why no other rebel had ever commanded the same respect, following or adoration. And it would be this quality that would be remembered long after they were all dead and gone.

And so they sat or stood, listening to him as he outlined what they were each to do, though keeping their actual assignments secret from one group to the next, in case anyone was captured. Of the almost sixty men there, he created five groups of ten, keeping the remaining ten for himself. Each group had a leader he trusted, and a good range of skills. How he had arranged all this in such a short space of time, Finnlay had no idea, though
the Bishop was sitting there reading names from a list that looked very rushed.

Then Robert was addressing them all and Finnlay felt a shiver of something run down his spine, making his feet cold.

‘You must remember that the goal here is not to wage a battle, but to win a war. Your missions will reflect that. You go in, do what you must, and get out, escape to fight another day. I don’t want any massacres and I don’t want any martyrs. I want you all to work together, those who are Salti, and those who have never met a sorcerer before in their lives. Today, and for the length of this war, there are no differences between us. We have all had our lives torn from us, we’ve all been dispossessed. We have suffered indignity, oppression and tyranny – but despite all we’ve been through, we are still strong enough to gather and fight this enemy. That speaks of a pride which runs through our blood. A pride we can give our fellow Lusarans the day we take back our country. And on that day, I will stand with you all and remind you that you were here, at the beginning, when nobody but us thought it could be done.’

There was no cheering, no stomping of feet, but Finnlay saw every chest swell, every heart grow a little with those words. Then Robert was calling for each of the leaders to come forth one at a time to receive their assignments, while the rest began to break camp. The chaos which ensued was organised: everybody seemed to know what they were doing, except for Finnlay.

But then his attention was taken by the sight of one fourteen-year-old boy with wide eyes watching a man he couldn’t know was his father; Finnlay didn’t need special powers to see what was going on in that mind.

For a long time, he’d been bound by his promise to Jenn not to tell Andrew about his father, accepting her reasons, though he never really understood them. But when it had been suggested that Andrew was as involved in the Prophecy as his parents, it grew harder to keep the secret. Now he wasn’t so sure it was such a good idea. Andrew was confused. He was too quiet for his normal self, full of doubt and buried anger, with no real direction despite the considerable minds attached to educating him. Without a greater confidence, what kind of King would he be – assuming he was even capable of beating Kenrick? Surely he would benefit from knowing about his father; even with all that had happened, he still appeared to idolise Robert. They would all be better off if the truth was known.