Trial of Fire (50 page)

‘We understand,’ Rayve said. His face might have been carved from stone.

‘And so sad too,’ Nash added, almost as an afterthought, ‘for DeMassey to die of his injuries in that manner.’

‘Indeed.’

Nash appeared to have exhausted his conversation with the young man, so Kenrick took the moment to intervene. ‘Rayve has offered to contact his brothers and inform them that they are still welcome at court, though of course, without DeMassey, you will need to lead them a little more directly. We can send at least one Malachi out with every squad of soldiers, increasing the chances of them finding the rebels.’

Nash didn’t respond. Instead, he blinked rapidly, his colour several shades lighter than it had been when he had come into the council room. He opened his mouth to speak, then stumbled, his hand reaching out to the back of a nearby chair.

Kenrick frowned. ‘What is it?’

Shaking his head again, Nash coughed a little, then his legs collapsed beneath him and he fell to the floor. Only then did Kenrick move, walking the length of the table to stand over Nash’s prone body. Rayve was still standing in the open doorway, his face as impassive as ever.

‘You,’ Nash gasped, ‘poisoned me.’

‘I?’ Kenrick raised his eyebrows in the same way he’d seen Nash do a thousand times. ‘Why would I do that? I need your help to rid my country of Robert Douglas. You and I have always been friends, have we not? We pledged our allegiance many years ago. I have no reason to kill you.’ This was incredible! Had somebody poisoned Nash? If so, did that mean he might be rid of this creature without any further effort? ‘You don’t know the poison wasn’t meant for me. Should I call a doctor?’

Nash’s glazed eyes darted from Kenrick to the young man by the door. Then, with an enormous act of willpower, he rolled to his side, clutching his stomach. ‘Won’t work.’

‘I’m pleased to hear that,’ Kenrick lied.

‘Can’t … poison me.’ Nash closed his eyes a moment, his skin ashen, his lips blue. He breathed in deeply through his nose, then opened his eyes again. ‘Can’t kill me.’

‘No?’ Kenrick tried to keep his disappointment out of his voice, only barely succeeding. ‘Oh, of course, that’s because you only just regenerated, isn’t it? Good. Still, Rayve, call the doctor and get some help for Nash. No doubt he will be more comfortable in his own rooms.’ Kenrick made it as far as the door before he threw one look back at the man he hated more than any other. Then he walked away. Though he would have paid almost
anything to be able to stand there and watch Nash in such pain, he couldn’t afford to risk so much so quickly.

But a little fear could only be a healthy thing, couldn’t it? Even for a man who thought he was immortal?

*

‘So what are you going to do?’ Godfrey stood before the table, arms folded, waiting. For so many years he’d kept faith with this man, knowing he needed help, trying so hard to help him and yet, always falling short of the mark. Now it was time for Osbert to help Godfrey – or rather, his own country. Whether Osbert saw that was, however, another matter.

‘I don’t think I’m going to get a choice, Godfrey.’ Osbert hauled himself to his feet and almost staggered over to the fireplace. He picked up a pot of something that looked like honey and milk and poured some into a cup. With his hands wrapped around it, he sipped. ‘Kenrick’s ordered me to ready an army of Guilde soldiers. I need a thousand men ready to march next week. How can I not obey? They go to march on a man who is a known sorcerer, who has already demonstrated his skills to the whole country. The Guilde will always support a fight against sorcery, no matter what I say.’

‘And it doesn’t matter to your brethren that Kenrick is also a sorcerer? That he is a tyrant and a monster? Doesn’t that count? Do they not see the difference between Robert and Kenrick?’

‘Better the demon you know, Godfrey, than the one you would have replace him.’

‘The people love Robert!’

‘Damn it, Godfrey, this isn’t about love – it’s about power! How much power do you think the Guilde would have under Robert Douglas? The same as we have now? After all that Vaughn did to destroy Robert? After all we’ve done since? You don’t think ordinary Guildesmen can see that conflict for themselves? Open your eyes, Godfrey.’

For a moment, Godfrey said nothing. Then he approached the Proctor, keeping his voice low, his hands clasped together in a gesture of peace he meant with all his heart. ‘Oh, my eyes are wide open, Osbert. Has the Guilde really sunk so low? Has your Sacred Vow become so transparent? The Guilde was always to be the people’s wisdom, holding and saving precious knowledge, working to build and construct, to teach and learn, to
share
. And instead, the Guilde is now nothing more than a private army, jealously guarding the knowledge of a nation in desperate need of enlightenment. The very thing Robert Douglas fought against in the beginning.’

Osbert’s gaze was low and hooded.

Godfrey continued, ‘And the saddest thing of all is that you know this to
be true in your heart. That’s why you wanted to replace Vaughn’s bigotry with your own wisdom, why you’ve remained friends with me all these years – because I could remind you with only my presence that the Guilde was always meant for better things than these tyrants have made of it.’ Godfrey paused, taking a breath. ‘You know all this to be true.’

Osbert watched him in silence, then slowly shook his head. ‘I know nothing.’

Disappointment welling up inside him, Godfrey took a step back. All his efforts to save this man’s soul had failed. There was nothing more he could do. ‘Very well, Osbert,’ he said, ‘It seems you have finally made your choice. So be it.’

Godfrey turned then and left the room, walking down the corridor as his escort hurried to catch up with him. As he passed by the stair windows, he saw that the rain had finally stopped.

*

Nash shook off the solicitous but insincere hands of young Rayve and the doctor he’d called. He got to his feet on his own, though the world spun and tilted around him like some dizzy game, and he nearly emptied the contents of his stomach all over the nice tiled floor beneath his feet.

This had to be the work of Malachi. Only they would know which was his favourite wine, which poison would cause him the most agony. Kenrick wouldn’t dare – and even the Malachi probably knew it wouldn’t kill him.

But by the blood of Broleoch, it hurt!

He took a few minutes to steady himself so he could at least walk, hold his head up high, could get himself through the castle and into his tower. Only then would he allow himself the luxury of giving in to the poison.

His sight was muffled, blurry and stinging, but he elbowed his way out of the council room and into the corridor. He knew people were staring at him as he walked past, but he refused to comment, or to give any sign that he cared at all. They might see him affected, but he could never afford to let them think he was weakened by it. This city was terrified of him, and now was not the time to break that hard-won image.

One careful step after another took him downstairs, along the corridors, out of doors and into the open. The cold bite of fresh air was almost enough to make him faint, but he spent a moment clinging onto the stone wall before straightening.

He could
feel
Rayve behind him, watching him, as though he cared, as though he was just making sure Nash got to his rooms safely – but Nash knew better. Rayve had been one of DeMassey’s brightest. Revenge often came in a poison bottle.

The cobbles of the courtyard almost beat him, but he kept his dizzy gaze
on the gate and the smaller yard beyond it. After that, his own faithful Malachi met him and escorted him inside, shutting and bolting the door behind him, just in case.

He let his men carry him upstairs. They were Bonded – he didn’t need to care what they thought.

*

Fever burned him, racking his body with a shaking that would not be stilled. His head pounded in counterpoint to his racing heart, giving him not a moment’s peace. But this couldn’t kill him. He wouldn’t let it, not when he was so close.

What poison had they used? One designed to kill, or simply to maim? It was hours since he’d lost the contents of his stomach, his body purging itself of everything, and then still going on, as though it would turn him inside out. The pain from those wrenchings alone was enough to make him want to die.

He didn’t dare take any of the unguents Taymar brought him, would only drink water his own Malachi had drawn from the well themselves – after they had tasted it – but even that he could not keep down. The bedclothes around him scraped against his skin, like particles of sharp sand, leaving his joints bloodied. He only knew the days were passing because he saw darkness fill the windows now and then. All else was one long, agonising death.

He
couldn’t
die from this. Hadn’t his regeneration been of his own blood? His own power combined with Valena’s, from his own daughter? Their compound strength should have been enough to make him immortal – and if not, then closer than this.

So if his own daughter’s blood wasn’t strong enough to resist this poison, was it possible he could die?

No!

But he couldn’t ignore the pain, the soiled bedding Taymar changed every few hours, the weakness in his limbs, the sweat, the desperate need for the torture to be over. He
was
dying. All the regeneration had given him was more time to suffer. If he didn’t act soon, he would be too weak to save his own life.

‘Taymar,’ he whispered, and the man appeared.

‘Master?’

‘Valena. Prepare her.’

‘I have her ready, Master. She has been without the drug for two days now, without food or water for the same time. We have her in chains in the next room. Her blood will save you.’

Nash could only nod weakly, then lie back and wait for them to bring her
in. He barely looked at her as they placed her down on the table, on her back, winding the chains around her arms, her legs, her belly, around her neck. She could not escape, no more than he could.

When all was ready, Nash got out of bed, using the strong arms of two men to help him, getting him to the side of the table so he could look upon her face once more, so he himself could make the cut.

She watched him with eyes open and awake, all too aware of what was about to happen. She smiled. ‘So you are humbled again. So my child died in vain. You have made my death a happy one.’

‘Yet you will help me survive,’ Nash gasped, holding on to what little strength he had left. He would not fall in front of her – not
her
, of all people. All along he’d known that this would be her end. He would make her fear him at the last if it killed him.

‘You know,’ she smiled again, ‘in the beginning, I did love you. But you gave all your soul to Jennifer Ross, leaving me with this as my destiny, pretending all along that you cared. My own fault, I know.’

Her confession sounded wrong to his ears, but he had no time to tell why.

‘Come, Samdon, kiss me one last time. Though you have ruined my beauty, I forgive you. Though you have taken everything from me, I forgive you.’

‘Why?’

‘I wish to go to my death free of the anger and hatred that flow through your veins. Kiss me, Samdon, then kill me.’

Though her face was twisted and scarred from his anger, her eyes still held him. He could only take the kiss she offered. He leaned down, bracing himself on the table, his arms shaking with the effort. But as his lips touched hers, he felt something else, something awful happening inside him, like a burning, like a glowing white-hot coal deep in his groin. With a cry, he sprang back, caught by his men.

‘You witch!’

Her laughter filled the room. ‘You fool! Oh, Sam, you fool! A kiss? Why would I forgive you? You are the destroyer – only now you will destroy no more of your own children. I have made you as barren as the earth you would rape. And come what may, you will never sire your own immortality on the Ally! You are impotent, Samdon Nash, and now you can’t even pretend you are a real man!’

Nash roared, strength coming from somewhere to hold his body upright. He grabbed the dagger from Taymar, took her arm and sliced down the entire inside length, pushing it over her head to drop bright red blood into the calyx on the floor. Then he took the other arm and did the same, not
caring if any was spilt now. He would have her blood, he would have her dead and he would do it now!

He dropped the knife, listening to her laughter soften as her blood drained from her body into the calyx, taking life from her and giving it back to him.

‘You fool,’ she whispered, her smile unmoving, ‘fool. Wanted death. Longed for it … Thank you … Oh, Luc—’

And then she was still.

Andrew ran down the alley as fast as he could, but when he skidded around the corner, all he could hear was a voice calling, ‘Look out!’

He saw the figure lunge towards him and he ducked, rolling down the slope until he landed hard against a water trough. Before he could get up, he heard the slice of steel against chain-mail, saw a flash against the moonlight, and then a grunt as the man fell to the ground.

‘This way!’

He was up and running then, following Robert step for step, listening hard for the next sounds of pursuit. This attack had all gone so wrong, but they weren’t caught yet, and they’d still managed to collapse the walls of the grain store. The chaos was perfect for their getaway too, even though they’d been caught in the act, though Andrew had a long cut in his arm, Robert was injured and he couldn’t remember if he’d seen Micah get away or not. What mattered was that the walls of the grain store had fallen and the people of this town were now attacking that stockpile with barrels and baskets, and he knew by morning there would be nothing left for the Guilde to sell back to the people who’d given it as tithe.

‘Stay here.’ Robert pressed his arm against Andrew’s chest, forcing him back into the shadows. Then he readied himself to run across an empty square on his own, to the tavern where he’d left their horses.

‘Wait!’ Andrew hissed, ‘I’ll go. You’re limping.’