Blaze of Silver (22 page)

Will dropped Hosanna's reins and ran forward, taking hold of Hersende's sleeve. Though thin and unkempt,
he would not be resisted. Some of the other nuns clucked. Petronilla intervened. “Now, young man, there's no need for that. We did see a person such as you describe as we went into our prayers. He's gone now. That is the answer.”

Will let go and at once hauled himself back onto Hosanna. Ellie stumbled over. “I'll have to go on by myself, Ellie,” Will croaked at her. He was doing no more than state the obvious. “Sacramenta can't go any farther. If Amal has only just left, I can still get to Richard first.”

“And if you don't?”

Blindly, Will gathered his reins. “I will,” he said, trying to shake some last drops of energy into his folding legs. “I will if I waste no time. At least Shihab must be tired, too.” Deep lines etched themselves around his mouth. He knew he should have stayed and bargained for a fresh horse, but where, at this time, would he get one? And he did not feel he could manage without Hosanna. “Stay with the nuns,” he ordered Ellie. “Don't go anywhere. Promise me that. When Richard is safe, I'll be back for you.” He needed to believe it.

And so did she. She pulled herself up. “I won't say good-bye, then,” was all she could manage as she brushed her fingers over Hosanna's star and his crusading wounds. Will met her eyes and because of what he saw there, bent down and touched her cheek. Then he was gone and Ellie could hold herself upright no longer.

The last part of the journey, so cruelly unexpected, was the worst. “It's only fifty miles at most to Mainz, Hosanna,” Will kept repeating. “We can easily make it
by nightfall.” The red horse responded to his master's voice by stretching out a little more. Fifty miles! It would have been so easy had they not been in almost ceaseless motion for so long already. But after five miles or so, Will, to whom Hosanna's motion was as familiar as his own, sensed his horse's breathing grow jagged and could feel the great heartbeat occasionally stall and flutter. “But we've got to go on, Hosanna!” Will cried softly, and knew the agony of being understood. Leaning forward, he tried to make himself as small and still as possible, lifting his weight up onto his creaking knees to ease the pressure on the saddle. He knew that Hosanna appreciated the gesture but knew too that it did not help.

There were no mountains and the terrain, though hard and unyielding, was not difficult to transverse. Yet the horizon never seemed to get any nearer. Will set his sights on markers in the scenery—a tree, a small shrine, a few peasants trying to light a fire, or even just a corner in the track. He shut his eyes, hoping that when he opened them again, the marker would, miraculously, be behind them. It never was. Sometimes they looked barely to have moved forward at all. He missed Ellie's presence behind him. His loneliness was acute.

Then he saw Amal and the dregs of adrenaline were like a kick in his chest. The man was standing by the side of the road, his clothes so filthy he could have been wearing a mantle of dust. Shihab stood beside him, one leg raised. There was no defiance about her now. She looked as deadbeat as her rider, who had finally stopped to have her fitted with new shoes since the hard winter roads had worn the mare's foot down to nothing
and her pace had been reduced to a hobble. Will never took his eyes off them. Amal was trying to bargain for a new horse, but in light of Shihab's condition, nobody seemed keen to sell. Will clenched his fists. He would kill Amal there and then. He would just clench that scrawny neck between his hands and break it as he might break a chicken's. But as he drew nearer, he knew this would be the action of a fool. First, he could not be sure he had the strength. A man, even a man as desiccated as Amal, always fought for his life harder than you imagined. Then, the small crowd would seize on him as a murderer. If he was in a dungeon, how would that help anybody? No. He turned Hosanna off the main road and picked out a new track behind a group of straggling thorn bushes. They would offer enough cover until he was well passed. If he never saw Will, Amal might imagine he could finish his journey at a more leisurely pace.

Shihab, however, had a different idea. Smelling Hosanna's scent on the wind, she threw up her head. Suffering and miserable, she whinnied loudly and persistently. Will quickly put his hand on Hosanna's neck, warning him to be silent, but Amal was already roused from his torpor. He glanced about, not even needing to see Will to know he was near, and exhorted the farrier to hurry. Will swore to himself. But at least he was now in front. He had only to make sure he stayed there.

For more than an hour Will rode more easily, the knowledge of his advantage boosting him along, but by midafternoon his body was once again flagging and, though he did not want to acknowledge it, he felt another change in Hosanna. Although the horse's pace
did not alter, he was gulping and the veins in his neck stood right out in a thick, tangled tracery. He was no longer sweating for while he drank whenever he could, dehydration had set in so severely that his blood was sluggish and poisonous. No matter what Will did to help, the red horse's head sank farther and farther toward the ground and his burgundy mane swept through the mud. More than occasionally, he almost lost his footing entirely.

“I should slow down, I
must
slow down,” Will told himself. But every time he tried, he thought he could hear Shihab behind him. He would turn and she was never there, but as his own body began to break down, his mind grew ever more fanciful and saw the silver horse everywhere. Sometimes she was flying. Other times she was swimming in the river. Still Will pushed on. The cold, clear logical part of his brain told him that this punishing pace was going to kill Hosanna yet he could not slow down because, through the clatter of hooves, he could hear Richard's death rattle.

When the early evening bells rang out, Will was moaning aloud. “Will we never be there?” He felt as if he had been flayed and the dagger mark on his face pricked and cracked. Underneath him, Hosanna's heart was now missing every other beat but still the great horse plugged on, his hooves scraping ground over which they would once have eagerly sprung. Though his crusading wounds were dripping blood, Hosanna had ceased to be conscious of pain. Indeed, he was hardly aware of anything except the need to move in a straight line. But though neither wanted it, their pace was finally slowing.

In the gloaming, with Mainz almost within sight, the road grew busier. Blinking away the glazed shadow that was spreading over his eyes, Will helped Hosanna to plow his way around wagons and groups of men bearing the imperial coat of arms. Neither horse nor rider was aware that people fell silent when they saw them staggering and weaving. Nobody offered assistance. Both horse and knight looked beyond anybody's reach. Even the large group of nuns who passed him just crossed themselves.

It was strange, when he had been longing for the moment for so long, but Will did not notice when Hosanna eventually passed into the city. He could think of only one thing now and that was Richard's face. It had become imperative for him to see it. If Richard would just turn toward him, all would be well, for everything would be explained and everything understood. Will tilted forward, almost falling as a new terror assailed him. What if Richard had moved on again? How could Will follow him then? Even if God himself asked, Hosanna could go no farther. Will picked up his reins and choked out his horse's name. He got no response.

The streets leading to the cathedral were brightly lit, with torches flaring over the thousands of men-at-arms jostling for space. Will's way was constantly blocked and in the general melee, Hosanna was pushed and hustled, kicked and scratched as he blundered through. In the square, the crowd was so thick that the horse was almost carried. He objected to nothing. All he knew was that he must keep moving until his beloved master told him to stop.

Will could hardly breathe now. The builders' scaffolding turned the unfinished cathedral walls into the corpse of some enormous, half-eaten animal. Every moment he expected to see Amal spurring Shihab on, still smiling in that half-apologetic way he had. But though no silver horse appeared, even when Will reached the steps of the cathedral he did not dare to pause, just pushed Hosanna straight up and through the open doors. He never knew why nobody challenged them for he could not see himself as he appeared to others, a sight of almost mythical pathos.

Once inside, it took Will's eyes a while to adjust, but through the arching dark he at last made out globes of light at the far end. He strained and strained to see what he was looking for, and then, finally, he found it. At the top of the nave, a throne and a chair had been specially illuminated. On the throne sat the emperor and on the chair, with his head uncovered and his back ramrod straight, sat Richard. He was undoubtedly alive because he was talking to somebody.

When Will saw the familiar figure, his cry of relief galvanized Hosanna into his last and greatest effort. People fell back as the red horse picked up his head and struggled down the length of the church, the crowd opening up like the Red Sea before Moses. When Hosanna reached the chair, he stopped at last and those closest to him heard the smallest of sighs. Will slid off. “My king,” he said. His parched throat was almost closed and he wondered if he had even made any sound, for nobody moved. He tried again, grinding out the words as if sawing them from wood. “I am your loyal servant, sire,” he wheezed, “and I have come a thousand miles to tell you
that. You must beware. The Assassins—” Will spluttered, and Richard got up. This was not how Will had imagined it. Almost drunkenly, he knelt down, dizzy and disoriented. Richard did not seem to be listening. Will could say no more. In despair and confusion he crawled back to Hosanna and pressed his forehead against the once proud neck. He looked at the king's feet. “Sire,” he entreated, but could not go on. Beneath his fingers he could feel Hosanna's pulse winding down. Slower and slower came the beats as Hosanna lowered himself onto the flagstones. When he reached the floor, Will slid down and took his head in his arms. He did not cry out. There was nothing more to say.

Then, “Will, Will, Will,” he heard. He frowned before his brain, now sluggish as porridge, recognized the voice. Hal. He sighed. He was obviously dead. Hal was greeting him in Heaven. There was no need to answer. But then another voice, higher and more piercing, broke through. “I knew it! I knew it! Didn't I just know it, Hal? I told you we should have faith in Mistress Ellie's necklace!” Elric pitched himself forward, so overwhelmed with relief that unwanted tears poured down his cheeks. Holding on to his hopes had been so hard, especially when, having rushed as quickly as possible to the king's side, they had not been greeted as heroes but as unwelcome messengers bearing awkward news. For the worst week of Elric's life, he and Hal had been imprisoned in a cell, before Richard asked for them to be released. On pain of death, they were forbidden to leave the court. Worse, when they told their story, the king had appeared unmoved! Now Elric refused to be shushed. “We couldn't find you,” he cried, “and then
nobody would listen!” With unusual roughness, Hal pushed him aside. “For God's sake, Elric! Look at Hosanna! Just look at Hosanna!”

Will roused himself, “Yes, Hosanna …” But Hal was already pulling off the saddle and shouting for water. Carefully taking the red horse's head from Will's arms, he was fierce. “We'll not let him down, sir. But be careful—” At once he and Elric were pushed away and now Will found himself staring straight into the royal eyes. He tried to get up, but then, in a moment of dreadful clarity, he also saw somebody else bearing down on him. He shook his head. It could not be. He had been so sure. He searched again for Richard and found the king's eyes as chilly as marble. Will looked again at the man by the king's side. Now there could be no mistake. Standing in front of Will, shaved and dressed like a senior imperial servant, his skin no longer gray, but pale, easily disguising his eastern origins, was Amal. He had taken a risk, abandoned the road for the river, and was now so close to Richard that he could have stabbed him with a needle.

Will opened his mouth. He formed words, so many words, all the words he had dreamed for so long of saying. He tried to force them out. Clutching Richard's legs, he would not let go, not after everything he and Hosanna had been through. He could not fail now. Surely he could not. But Richard did not help him and before anything more than a crackle could emerge, Will passed out.

In Speyer, Ellie was carried straight off to bed by the nuns. Now that she was completely in their charge, they were happy to fuss over her. Even Hersende, after she had consumed a belated breakfast, joined in. At first Ellie was too shattered to sleep and tossed and turned, filled with terrible fears. Petronilla did not leave her until she dozed off and then she slept the sleep of the dead for half a day. After that, she half woke several times, momentarily confused as to where she was. She tried to pull herself up, but her body would not respond and once again she found herself sinking down, this time falling into waking sleeps, in which Will's voice was calling her, and then Kamil's, but when she answered they could not hear her. At last, hours later, Ellie woke properly and found that she had thrashed about so much she had pulled down the old hangings surrounding her bed and her face was speckled with gold leaf.

She got out of bed and saw Petronilla sitting by the fire. When Ellie refused to get back under the covers, Petronilla did not argue but summoned a laundress
who brought Ellie's clothes, newly washed and aired. “Now that you are awake,” Petronilla said, full of practical authority, “you must eat.”

But Ellie was not listening. “I must get to Mainz,” she said, pulling on her clothes as fast as she could. “I have already delayed too long.”

“The man you were with said you were to remain here. And besides, even if you are not in bed, you need to rest.”