Trial of Fire (60 page)

But something had changed somewhere, and he was not the only one to notice it. It was Owen who found words for it. ‘We know where we’re heading now,’ he said under the noise of the music. ‘Somehow Andrew has found us a direction. It’s amazing what can happen when a boy finds out who he is, where he came from. Amazing how it opens his eyes.’

Finnlay hadn’t reacted to that – to his knowledge, Owen didn’t know the great secret – but as he glanced at the old man, he could see that perhaps there were people who didn’t need to be told. They were prepared to have faith, no matter what.

Andrew sat on the other side of the fire, spending more time watching his father than anything else. Jenn had always watched Robert in the same manner, and with the same eyes. The unfairness of it all made Finnlay’s belly ache; more, he longed to be able to kiss his own wife, to hug his own daughters. But his contemplative mood was broken by one of the sentries, who ran towards the fire, his face white with shock. He came to a halt before Robert, who stood, quickly.

‘What is it?’ he asked.

‘The Bishop, my lord,’ the sentry stuttered, out of breath, ‘he’s been captured!’

‘Where are we?’ John’s soft query was silenced immediately by the Guildesman’s order to be quiet.

Aiden needed help getting down from his horse – it wasn’t too easy moving about with his hands tied behind his back. It was too dark for him to see much more than John standing beside him and the two brothers just behind.

‘This way.’ A Guildesman grabbed Aiden’s elbow and took him further into the darkness, towards a vague shape in the distance, where thick twisted trees overshadowed what looked like a group of tents, lit from within. As they approached, he could see from the corner of his eye people moving about, some hunched down around small campfires. The night had started out clear with some moonlight, but now, so close to morning, clouds had blanketed even that small comfort.

This was an army in wartime, hiding its numbers from the rebels Aiden represented.

‘In here.’ He was shoved into a tent so hard that he stumbled. John was immediately at his side, using his own shoulder so the older man could steady himself.

A single oil lamp hung from the apex of the tent, giving enough light for Aiden to see the faces of the men who had captured them, and his fellow prisoners. Though their fear was largely hidden, they were all too aware that this could – and probably would – be their deaths.

‘Sit down,’ the Guildesman ordered, then turned and left them. Aiden could hear him leaving instructions with guards outside, then his footsteps as he walked off.

‘By the gods, Father, I’m so sorry,’ Braden murmured, deep regret filling his voice as he stood by the door, hands bound behind him. ‘I should have been Seeking more often. I should have seen them approaching.’

‘No, it’s my fault, brother,’ Edain contradicted him as he moved about the small tent, looking for something he could use as a weapon other than his own powers. ‘You’re not the Seeker – I am. It was my responsibility to warn of dangers, and I failed.’

‘Robert will kill both of us.’

‘Aye, that he will.’

‘Robert won’t kill either of you,’ Aiden replied firmly, finding a stool to sit on. He was so tired he could hardly think straight. ‘If we live long enough to see him again, he’ll be too relieved to do either of you any harm. Please, sit and rest. We need to be ready.’

‘For what?’ John sat cross-legged on the floor, while the brothers found places at either end of the tent – still in guard formation – but none of them did so in comfort.

‘For whatever the gods send us,’ Aiden replied calmly, wishing he really felt that inside. But even if he didn’t, he wasn’t going to show these men, his brothers, his fear, much less any Guildesmen, not after all these years of quietly fighting their bigotry and greed. If he was to die, then at least he had had the opportunity to do it fighting, to help to shape the people’s minds against such things.

‘How long do you think they’ll hold us here?’ Edain whispered, turning to listen to the noises of the camp. ‘I should think there’s close to a thousand men out there. Do you think the others will have escaped?’

‘I’m sure of it, or we would have heard by now.’

Edain grinned wryly and settled back to rest.

Aiden moved to do the same, but a shout from outside put him instantly on guard. There was the unmistakable sound of horses galloping into the camp, and other noises he could not decipher. Immediately, the brothers were on their feet, if necessary ready to use the powers Aiden had forbidden them in order to protect him.

Aiden kept his seat, gesturing to John to do the same. He was in the company of three Salti, but if any of them were to exercise their powers to free him, these Guildesmen would crush them, giving in to the fear the Guilde had always fostered towards sorcerers. Too many would be hurt, and ultimately, for no reason. This war was not about victory, but about freedom, in whatever form it took.

‘Where is he?’

Aiden blinked hard at that voice, and came to his feet to face the man who stormed into the tent. He looked around at all of them, his frown deepening, then turned to the soldiers he’d brought in with him.

‘Take those bindings off the priest!’

Instantly his men rushed to comply, and Aiden’s wrists were finally free. He suppressed a groan at the sudden release and started rubbing the skin to get back circulation.

‘Leave us!’ The men scrambled out of the tent, leaving Aiden alone with his fellow prisoners, and Osbert.

For a moment, the Proctor said nothing, but just stood there with his
hands on his hips, shaking his head from side to side. Then he turned his gaze on Aiden, his anger evident.

‘What, in the name of insanity, possessed you to go out on your own? Have you no concept of what’s going on here? This is war, McCauly! You are damned lucky my men didn’t behead you the moment they caught you! That’s the King’s order, you know. You’ve been under sentence of death from Selar’s time, and Kenrick’s done nothing to change that.’ He looked at the others, his anger undiminished. ‘Father John, I see. And these two, no doubt, are some of Robert’s sorcerers. Well, a fat lot of good they’ve been to you, McCauly. And what was Robert doing allowing you out without his protection? I just can’t believe this is happening!’

Aiden blinked. This was certainly not the reaction he’d been expecting. He drew in a breath, not entirely sure how to deal with this: it had been seventeen years since he had last seen Osbert, and back then, Vaughn had been Proctor, and this man an ambitious Governor looking to improve his position. What he saw now was startlingly different. Osbert had aged, and not at all well. He’d obviously put on some weight, but lost it recently and too quickly. There were grey bags under his eyes and a pallor to his skin that did not look healthy. His face, the way he moved, his anger: so many things spoke of a man who was working under too many pressures, and had been for a long time.

‘What am I going to do with you?’

‘I wasn’t aware there was a question involved,’ Aiden replied. He put a hand on Braden’s shoulder, gently urging him to sit down again. None of them were in danger at this minute.

‘Where is Robert?’

‘Robert who?’

Osbert rolled his eyes. He took a step forward, huffing with anger. ‘The same damned Robert you’ve been working with for the last seventeen years to wreak havoc and rebellion, that’s who! The man who’s made my life a misery! Now tell me where he is!’

‘I don’t know why you’re asking me,’ Aiden replied calmly. ‘I haven’t seen him for months. I have no part in any rebellion, and I certainly have no desire to make your life a misery.’

‘Damn it, McCauly, you have no idea what you’re playing with here.’ Osbert dropped his voice to barely above a whisper. ‘Nash is in camp this very minute and if he finds out you’re here, you are a dead man. The only hope you have is if I send you off to Kenrick – and I have no choice about that. If I don’t send you, then
I
am a dead man.’

‘Then you must do your duty.’

‘Oh, don’t you start, too. Damned priests.’ Osbert moved away, running
his hands through his thinning, greying hair. Stress almost emanated from him in waves. ‘If Nash gets hold of you now, he’ll find out every secret you know about Robert, the rebellion, everything. If I send you to Kenrick, he’ll try to get you to talk, but he’ll give up. He doesn’t have Nash’s skill for torture. And if I send you to him, Nash won’t suspect me of trying to get in his way. But Kenrick is three days’ march from here. Anything could happen to you along the way. Anything.’

Osbert came to a halt, his deep frown creasing his face like a shadow. ‘I can’t keep you here. If I do, Nash will hear about it. I’ll send in some food. Eat quickly. You’ll leave inside the hour.’

As Osbert turned for the door, one of his men shouted to him, ‘My lord! More priests!’

Aiden frowned at John and, without hesitation, followed Osbert to the tent opening. There before him were two dozen Guilde soldiers, four holding flaming torches up in the night. On the ground kneeling between them were two monks, and behind, another Guildesman holding onto a donkey.

‘What’s this idiocy?’ Osbert snapped. ‘Are you stupid enough to go around arresting every priest in the country? Are we suddenly at war with the Church?’

‘My lord, these men were asking for you. The older one there, said he had a message for you.’

Aiden felt Osbert sigh rather than heard it. It seemed he wasn’t the only man here who’d had a long night.

‘Well, monk, what’s your message?’

The older of the two men lifted his head and with his bound hands, signed the trium in the air before him …

‘Oh, by the gods—’ the words were out of Aiden before he could stop himself. A cold wash of shock swept over him.

Kneeling there, his face raised in hope, his eyes open in pure innocence, was Vaughn, Osbert’s predecessor, presumed dead nine years before.

‘What is this?’ Osbert whispered, horror and shock shaking his voice. ‘Is this some kind of joke?’

The younger monk raised his head and quickly got to his feet, holding out his bound hands in supplication. ‘Forgive us, my lord. This is not a joke. We did not mean to offend. This is … this is the Hermit, my lord.’

‘The Hermit?’

‘Of Shan Moss.’ The young monk looked from Osbert to Aiden and back, as though unsure to whom he should be speaking. Osbert appeared to have forgotten Aiden was even there. ‘We have travelled many weeks and endured much hardship. The Hermit—’

But Osbert was shaking his head, saying, ‘This is no hermit! This is—’

Aiden reached out a hand to Osbert’s arm, but even he could see recognition in the eyes of a number of the men gathered around them staring at the Hermit. The Guildesmen were looking first to their Proctor, then each other. It would take no time at all for word of this to fly about Osbert’s carefully constructed army.

‘You see me and know me,’ the Hermit smiled warmly. ‘The goddess said it would be so. She said you would know me as I do not know myself. I have come to the place she intended.’

‘No,’ Osbert hissed, his face horribly white. ‘This is insanity. This is a trick of some kind, some ghost sent to haunt me, some—’

Aiden gripped Osbert’s arm firmly, shaking a little until he got the Proctor’s attention. Wide-eyed, Osbert turned to him, as though he had no comprehension of what was expected of him. Aiden waited a moment for Osbert’s shock to subside, then spoke. ‘He does not remember. Look into his eyes. This is not the Vaughn we once knew. Look. This is no trick.’

Osbert frowned, then whispered to Aiden, ‘Nash told us he’d been murdered, but we never found a body. All these years, somehow he survived. The Hermit must have taken him in or something. But it was Nash who … So that I could take over. Serin’s blood! I played right into—’ With a groan, Osbert turned his back on his men, facing the tent, closing his eyes for a moment.

‘I have a message for you,’ the Hermit spoke again, his voice so different to that which Osbert recalled so clearly, but then, this was a different man: he was old, infirm, his eyes a little blind. All that he was, all that he remembered of himself was gone. Of course he would sound different. ‘The goddess gave me a vision. To warn you. She is amongst us and begs that you forgive.’

‘Forgive?’ Aiden asked the question as Osbert appeared unable to take anything in.

‘Forgive, yes. She says the Guilde has a strong heart and must be ready to open it. There are wounds which need to be healed, and only the Guilde can begin this work of hers. She says that this above all, is the Guilde’s Sacred Duty.’

‘That’s your message?’

The Hermit smiled again. It was a little hard to take in that Vaughn was that same Hermit who had, for so many years, given Lusara the visions her people clung to for hope.

‘Osbert,’ Aiden murmured, ‘you have to—’

‘No!’ Osbert looked up, his gaze hollow. ‘I am so sick of priests telling me what I have to do. Get back inside.’ He turned to his men. ‘Call Lyle and
bring him to me. Put these two in with the others and make sure nobody escapes.’

With that, Osbert stalked off, the weight on his shoulders increased tenfold.

*

Nash breathed deeply, letting his eyes open with the movement, feeling his body relax against the carpet beneath him as the cool pre-dawn air surrounded and caressed him. He’d been gone for hours this time, draining precious strength, leaving him empty and hungry. The darkness had always helped his Seeking, always given him a cushion he could rest upon as his Senses swept across the country, but this time he’d stayed out too long, and now his eyes could only see the interior of his tent, the lamp hanging above, the soft glow of the brazier.

He rolled to his side and sat up. Dizziness swept through him, making him pause, then he stood, grabbing the thick robe he’d dropped the night before, covering his nakedness in warm wool and silk. He reached for wine and drank a full cup before pausing for breath. He sipped another as he walked to the door of his tent.

‘Taymar?’

His servant lay wrapped in his own blankets beneath a canvas lean-to. Hearing Nash’s call, he sat up, blinking to wake properly. ‘Yes, Master?’