Trial of Fire (68 page)

He ducked again, slipping on ground sodden with blood. He pushed forward again, heaving his shoulder into one man while he swung to cut down another. On his left, Micah stumbled, a bleeding slash on his left arm, and Finnlay had blood smeared from his cheek down to his hip. He was covered in it himself.

How long would they last? The volunteer force had broken ranks, but he couldn’t see how anybody was doing now. He couldn’t even look back to
see if the Bishop was still watching from the hill. There was only the swing of the sword, the bone-jarring clash of metal on metal, the stench of blood, and the deep, soul-wrenching terror that swept through him with each step he advanced.

They couldn’t last, not like this. In another few hours, this battlefield would be covered in bodies, and most of them would be his men. Without Robert’s leadership, they were blind. Without Robert, this army had little chance of survival, even with Finnlay as its general.

Andrew stumbled again and fell, his face landing in a puddle of blood, leaving him choking and retching. He heard a shout of warning and rolled, just as a blade stabbed into the ground where he’d been lying. Continuing the roll, he got back on his feet, sweeping in a curve to slice his blade across the stomach of the soldier trying to kill him.

Each step was hell. Each swing, each cut, echoed every minute he’d spent training with Robert, but it was only when he saw the clouds banking up in the distance, forming a backdrop to Kenrick’s camp, that he finally realised what he had to do.

*

Nash slowed as they began the incline. There was something familiar about this place, though he could swear he’d never been here before. By the look of his guides, they were getting close, and he wanted to be extra careful about the danger of ambush. His Seeking still revealed nothing, but his eyes and ears told him enough. Above were steep high cliffs, beyond which was Nanmoor. The ravine grew more narrow as they travelled, following a tiny watercourse, little more than a trickle of water. There were plenty of trees, all in full foliage now, settling in to the promise of summer, but no matter where he looked, or how hard he listened, he could not penetrate the unnatural silence which blanketed the entire gorge.

This was certainly the right place for a trap.

He looked up at the sky, where a line of dangerous grey cloud spread across the blue, promising thunder, lightning and rain to come. His men followed behind, saying nothing, but as alert as he was, watching for what they could not see.

In front, the blind man took the lead, as though he didn’t need eyes to see where he was going, and his companion kept close behind him, as though protecting from some danger Nash had not yet come upon.

And then, finally, they came to a halt. The blind man dismounted and put his hand out in front of him, head tilted on one side as though he were listening. He moved toward the cliff face and a wall of solid rock. As his palm flattened against it, Nash heard the grinding of ponderous weight, a shuddering in the earth beneath his feet.

This was no trap. If there was to be an attack, or an ambush, then it would have happened by now.

Agonisingly slowly the face of rock slid to the left, revealing a dark chamber beyond that spilled cool air out into the evening. With a gesture, the blind man stepped aside, offering Nash entrance to the underground world.

He hesitated only a moment before ordering his men to dismount. Still he Sensed no danger – though he definitely Sensed
something
 – but it was hard to say what it was. The closer he got to the door, the more that something prickled at the back of his neck, the more it drew him in further.

Perhaps it was destiny, calling him on to glory. He smiled to himself, and stepped into the darkness.

Instantly, he felt the cold air, smelled cooking, horses, other traces he couldn’t name. A faint breeze touched his face and was gone. Four of his men were left at the entrance as sentries; the rest of his Malachi drew their swords and followed him into the darkness. Passing him, they cautiously moved up the long cavern, exploring each side-fissure and alcove. They reached the end without incident. With a clenched fist, Nash made his own light, and moved forward.

He’d hoped she would be waiting for him. Perhaps she was in the cave where she kept the Key.

With a gesture, he ordered his men to move out into the other caves, and it wasn’t long before he was called. He turned to his left, following an uneven fissure, down a short slope until it opened into a comfortable room. There was a bed, a long table, cooking implements and even a fire crackling away.

She’d been here recently. He could
feel
her presence in the air. He began to feel as if his blood was rushing through his body, making him ready for something he had only ever dreamed about.

A Malachi waited for him at the end of the room, gesturing towards another fissure. He followed this one, stepped behind a wall of rock and traversed a low, sloped tunnel until it opened out into a room that almost made him gasp in surprise. A pool in the middle of the rock chamber glowed green with light from some invisible source.

And standing there, looking more beautiful than he had remembered, was the Ally.

*

With a final lunge, Andrew made it to the top of the slope and fell to his knees. His left arm stung badly from a cut he’d received an hour before. No sooner had he come to a halt than McCauly was at his side, putting a cup of
wine in his hand and urging him to drink. Before he could say a word, the Bishop was winding a bandage around his wound.

‘Don’t. It’s nothing and there are other men hurt worse than me.’

‘Just keep still,’ Finnlay grunted from his left. ‘They’re being tended to.’

‘How goes it?’ McCauly asked, his expression grim as he tied one knot after another.

‘I don’t know,’ Andrew murmured, looking over his shoulder at the unholy mess of battle still raging behind him. For the first hour or so, it had been easy to see the demarcation line of where his forces met Kenrick’s, but now it was just a sea of heaving, fighting bodies, and an even bigger sea of dead ones. ‘We have to stop this,’ he said.

‘We can still win,’ Finnlay said, helping him to his feet. ‘If we call a retreat, and regroup, Robert’s strategies can still rout this army. Don’t lose hope.’

‘I haven’t,’ Andrew said, and looked up at his uncle, at the Bishop, and at Micah and Deverin, who stood close by. All around him were men lying wounded and dying, being tended to by priests, Guilde Healers and Owen. Not too much further down the valley the battle filled the view, and the bleak, pewter clouds in the distance spattered lightning across an almost-black sky. ‘That’s not what I mean. I mean, we can’t let this battle continue. This is wrong. Robert knew it all along. That’s why he spent so many years avoiding doing exactly this, why he didn’t want the volunteers.’

‘We’re fighting ourselves,’ McCauly whispered, obviously echoing words he’d heard from Robert.

‘Yes,’ Andrew agreed, weariness flooding through his whole body. But he had no time for exhaustion. This was his responsibility. ‘It doesn’t matter that Kenrick is driving them to it, those are still Lusarans out on that battlefield. If we don’t stop the killing, even if we do win, there’ll be so many enemies made out there today, there’ll still be no peace afterwards. These men should all be fighting for the same cause.’

‘They probably think they are.’

Andrew looked at Finnlay. ‘They’ve been told I’m the upstart cousin of the King, who has nothing more than a few greedy, malcontented rebels at his back to push his claim to the throne?’

Finnlay gave him a grim smile. ‘Aye, exactly. Damn it, Micah! Where’s Gilbert and his Malachi? He said he’d be here. We could use his help.’

‘I don’t know where he is. Kenrick or even Nash could have stopped him somehow. I can only promise you that if he can, he
will
be here.’

‘It doesn’t matter.’ Andrew turned back to the battle. ‘I need to get to Kenrick. Can you see him?’

‘What are you going to do?’ McCauly was immediately at his side.

‘I’m going to finish this.’ And he felt like such a
child:
he still couldn’t say it, not even now, when there was only one way he
could
finish it. ‘I need half a dozen Salti, Finn.’

‘I’ll go with you,’ Micah protested.

‘No, not this time,’ Andrew shook his head. ‘Finn?’

‘I’ll be back in a minute. Micah, Deverin, get us some horses, the freshest you can find, and if they have any armour, all the better.’

While he waited, Andrew moved amongst the wounded, sharing a few words with them, doing what he could, no matter how little that felt, or how futile. All he knew was that he hated seeing them like this, hated that they’d been given no choice.

That’s what Robert had told him: that he would have no choice when it came to Kenrick, that he would do what needed to be done, that Robert wouldn’t need to force him. And Robert, as always, was exactly right: here he was, doing it because he had no choice.

He reached out to a soldier lying on the ground before him, bleeding from a bad leg wound too quickly bandaged. The man grimaced in pain, then tried to produce a smile for him. As Andrew grasped his hand however, he found his was shaking.

‘Son of the goddess,’ the man whispered, ‘give me your blessing.’

Andrew’s stomach flipped over then, but he didn’t hesitate. Instead, he let his hand move, signing the trium from the man’s shoulder to his forehead, then to his other shoulder. At the last touch, the man smiled a little and closed his eyes, his breathing easing. Speechless, Andrew got to his feet to find Finnlay waiting for him, five bloodied and grim Salti standing behind him, each with their own horse. Micah had another for Andrew.

Andrew clenched his fists against the shaking and strode over to his uncle. ‘Classic arrow shape formation. I just want to get to Kenrick and live long enough to bring this corruption to an end. We don’t stop for anything – but there’re Malachi surrounding Kenrick, and I’ll need you to keep them away from me.’

Finnlay’s expression was grim, but his eyes were shining. ‘Let’s go,’ he said.

*

The green light from the pool softened the shape of the cavern walls which reached up into the darkness beyond and were lost somewhere in the distance. Nash followed them with his eyes until he could see no more, then traced them down again, before turning his attention once more upon the Ally.

She wore a simple white shirt, a boy’s trousers and boots, similar to the last time he’d seen her. But now she was rested, and her hair, shining and
loose, cascaded down her back in long thick waves. He’d never seen it displayed like this before, and his hands itched to bury themselves in that rich softness.

She waited for him as though he had taken an eon to arrive. Oddly enough, he had.

‘As always, it is delightful to see you. I had thought you would be waiting for me at the entrance, but now I see why you waited here. The colour from the pool enhances the beauty of your eyes.’ And here he lied – because it didn’t enhance them at all; in fact, the green drowned out her natural bright blue and instead, served only to remind him of the Enemy’s eyes, which was not something he wanted to think about now, at his moment of triumph. ‘You said you were ready to give me the Key?’

Her eyes were empty of everything but sadness. ‘You agree to my terms?’ she asked quietly.

‘Terms?’ Nash raised his eyebrows and smiled. ‘Your friend said you wanted your son spared. And your country.’

‘And Robert.’

‘Ah, well, there I’m afraid I can’t help you. For the other two, I don’t care one way or the other. One King is the same to me as the next. Kenrick is already outliving his usefulness. I had planned to kill him myself and put your boy on the throne, so we can be in complete agreement on that score. But as to the Enemy?’ He shrugged, and continued, ‘Alas, he and I may not exist without fighting. We are drawn to each other, as are you and I. If I spare him, then he will never rest until he kills me – which of course, I couldn’t allow. No, I’m afraid the only way your beloved country will have any peace is if the Enemy dies.’

She stared at him, then started blinking rapidly, as though her eyes had suddenly begun to sting. Then she lifted her chin. ‘Come.’

*

The battlefield parted before them; Andrew’s hands still hadn’t stopped shaking. He was crazy to try this, when his powers were only days old, and with so little training, but he could not let all these men die just because Kenrick was too stubborn, too much the coward.

He felt the resistance even before he got close enough to see it. Kenrick’s Malachi, seeing his approach, had formed a circle around their patron. They outnumbered Andrew’s Salti three to one; Andrew didn’t have a hope, and he’d been foolish and immature to think that anything he could do would make a difference. So what if he was Robert’s son – or even the son of the damned goddess – that didn’t make him a King, and even if it did, what did he know about any of this? Four months ago, he’d never even met Robert; he was still at court, believing he was Kenrick’s cousin, that—

A sword glowing with orange fire swung towards his head, threatening to decapitate him. Without a thought, he raised his hand, pushing hard, punching his anguish into the air. The sword was wrenched out of the Malachi’s hand and flew into the air, landing where he couldn’t see. Another Malachi took his place, but Finnlay blocked that blow, the rest of his Salti fighting around him, staying close. Andrew turned his horse to break through the circle, but he met more resistance. He swung and cut, one eye on the figure in the centre of the circle, waiting for him, but no sooner had he dealt with the next Malachi than another took his place. They were outnumbered. Already he had lost two of his Salti. They were going to lose: the Malachi would overcome him and he would die, leaving his country with no hope for a future free from tyranny.

Another glowing blade stabbed towards him, and he parried, gathering his powers the way his father had taught him, pushing back, giving his sword arm more strength. He just needed to get to Kenrick, that’s all, and if he could do that, then he could end all this—