Trial of Fire (30 page)

It made no sense – unless Micah hated him so much that he had betrayed him to the Malachi; there was a thought Robert didn’t dare touch. Micah had spent the last nine years protecting Andrew, it appeared at the cost of his marriage to Sairead. Such a man would not then betray Robert …

The moon came out as they descended the hill, washing the slope in grey light. Sairead looked tired, and rode holding herself rigidly, as though she was in pain and didn’t dare admit it.

‘Do you want to stop for a few minutes? To rest?’

She looked at him with that same ice-cold gaze, but she made no answer. Instead, she led him to a wood at the end of a lane, her mouth pinching as they wound their way around ancient trees.

‘Come, Sairead, a few minutes’ rest will help your baby.’

As though it was the last thing she wanted to do, she pulled on her reins, bringing the horse to a stop. Robert jumped down and stood beside her, offering her his hand so her dismount would be easier. She paused almost too long, then took his hand, easing herself down to the ground with a barely concealed gasp.

‘Here,’ Robert drew his cloak from his shoulders, ‘lie down for a moment. I’ll make us a brew.’ Gradually, he got his reluctant patient lying on her side, her eyes closed and her lips in a thin line. She must be in some pain for her to give in so easily, especially to one she hated so much.

Robert grabbed enough wood to start a fire, and with a brief gesture, got it going. He pulled out a pot from his saddle-bag, filled it with water and a pinch from his pouch of dried leaves. He turned back to find her watching him without expression.

‘How do you feel now? Any specific pain, or is it just fatigue?’

‘Just fatigue. I’ll be fine in a few minutes.’

‘Good.’

‘Good? Why are you helping me?’

‘You think I’m the kind of monster who would enjoy your pain? That I would think nothing of endangering the life of your child?’

‘I’m Malachi. My child will also be Malachi. We’re your enemies.’

‘Yes, and if you fight me, I’ll fight back.’ Robert turned back to the brew and poured it into a cup. He handed it to Sairead and helped her sit up so she could drink. ‘If our positions were reversed, would you not help me?’

‘No,’ she said as she emptied the cup. ‘I don’t think I would.’

Robert got to his feet, stretching his back. What did he hope to achieve by talking to her? If she forgave him his crimes, would he be able to forgive himself?

Would Micah?

‘What are you doing? You’re not supposed to—’ Sairead’s voice had a thread of fear to it, making Robert turn quickly – but not quickly enough. The first blow hit him on the side of his head so hard he stumbled forward into his horse. Dizzy, nauseated, he struggled upright, glimpsing some men, Sairead pushing her way through them, and then something large and hard
swinging towards him again. He tried to duck, but not in time. The second blow sent him into oblivion.

*

Andrew lost track of time: he galloped when Finnlay did, trotted and walked when he was told. His horse was swift and obedient and every footstep was sure. They didn’t talk, and Andrew knew why: if they did, then they’d have to talk about Robert and Andrew would just start feeling sick again. But clouds swallowed the sky and he lost track of the stars and even, after a while, the moon. When they entered a heavy forest, where the ground was rocky and treacherous, he prayed that somehow Finnlay was able to navigate.

It rained a little at some point, but not for long, just enough to put a chill into him, to refresh the horses and to give some texture to the night. Nothing else changed the unending vista until the faintest of glows filtered through the treetops, warning of a welcome dawn approaching.

At the next stream they found, Finnlay called a halt, ordering him to dismount and stretch his legs. He nearly fell off his horse, but Finnlay was there to catch him. ‘Careful. We don’t want you to break anything.’

Andrew asked bleakly, ‘Where are we?’

‘About a league from the border. We’ll be across it within the hour.’

‘The border?’ That woke him up, but Finnlay was already leading their horses to the water.

As they drank, he continued, ‘I asked directions the last time we changed horses. If the man was right, we can cut a whole day off the trip by going this way. We just need to be careful crossing the border. It’s sometimes patrolled by Kenrick’s men.’

Andrew started to feel sick again, as though the ground under his feet was shifting and rolling like the waves on a beach. ‘I don’t think I want to leave Lusara.’

‘You think I do?’ Finnlay looked up at him, then reached out a hand to squeeze his shoulder. ‘It will be an adventure for both of us. Come, let’s get moving. I want to be in Flan’har before dawn.’

*

Micah tried not to flinch at every noise that sounded out of place. He tried not to get up every few minutes and look outside, he tried to trust that Gilbert’s Seeking would warn them in time – but trying got him nowhere. Some time in the middle of the night, the older man had given up telling him to go to sleep. Micah took to pacing, going out of the old mill to walk along the river, his ears pricked for some sign.

It was taking too long: Sairead should have been back a week ago. He
should have found some other way to do this that wouldn’t involve her – especially now.

He got to his feet again, going to the table to pour some ale into an earthenware mug. He drank a few swallows before putting the mug down and heading outside, where the air was clearer.

Gilbert had insisted they wait here, that Micah not be at the cottage, so that Robert’s access to him would require distance, ensuring Robert came alone. They had to ensure that Robert could not Seek the Malachi until it was too late. All very reasonable, all very sensible and still unbearable. Gilbert was asleep upstairs, where some old hay gave him a comfortable mattress and where he wouldn’t be disturbed by Micah’s growing worry. His calm annoyed Micah – after all, Sairead was Gilbert’s niece.

Of course, he also knew that Gilbert was right – there was little they could do but wait—

‘Micah?’

The night was just on the edge of dawn, with just a frail edge of light in the sky. It was enough. ‘Sairead?’ He took off at a run, heading down the mill track as fast as he could, yelling out for Gilbert to come. He found her almost falling off her horse. Without a word, he gathered her into his arms carefully and turned back for the mill. Gilbert was there now, pulling his jacket on, running to grab the horse and bring it in.

Micah carefully took Sairead inside and laid her down on his own bed. Without asking, Gilbert brought a cup of wine and knelt down beside him. Sairead looked tired and ill and Micah knew he would never forgive himself for doing this to her. If she were to lose the baby …

‘Drink a little,’ he murmured, lifting the cup to her lips. She met his gaze, smiling enough to reassure him, then drank. She closed her eyes for a long moment, then tried to sit up. ‘No, stay there. Just rest,’ he told her tenderly.

‘I can’t rest. I—’

‘What happened?’ Gilbert asked levelly.

‘Can’t you see she’s ill?’ Micah frowned. ‘Let her rest and then—’

‘No, Micah, he’s right. We don’t have any time. Uncle, I was bringing him, but I lost him.’

‘How could you lose him?’

‘We’d stopped to rest a moment and they came out of the darkness. They knocked him out and took him.’

‘Who?’ Gilbert demanded. ‘Don’t tell me it was—’

‘Felenor, yes. He wasn’t there, but I know his men. Two of them stayed with me for an hour or more, and then left, telling me to go home. By the time they were gone, I couldn’t follow the others.’

‘Who?’ Micah demanded equally strongly. First he’d endangered Sairead
and their baby, and now Robert had fallen into the wrong hands. ‘Who are we talking about?’

Gilbert laid a blanket over his niece and got to his feet. He went to the door and stood there, staring out into the growing dawn. ‘Felenor Calenderi. We grew up together.’

‘So you’re friends?’

‘I wouldn’t say that.’

‘Then what would you say?’

Gilbert turned to look at him. ‘I’d say we have to hope that Douglas can get himself free.’

‘Can’t you Seek him? Surely we can find him, find some way to get Robert back.’

Gilbert shook his head. ‘I doubt there’s anything I can do.’

Micah got to his feet, surprised by the anger which coursed through him. ‘Your grandfather is the Chabanar! How can Felenor disobey you?’

‘He works for Kenrick.’

A cold shiver ran down Micah’s back, dissolving his anger in one breath. Even so, he turned back to Sairead, determined at least to tend to her. ‘So do you. We have to do something.’

‘Felenor is a vicious killer.’

‘I don’t care. We still have to do something.’

*

It was dark: too dark to be night. Robert could open only one eye; the other felt glued shut. Gingerly he rolled onto his side, but it was awkward. His hands were bound behind him, his feet tied also, and there was a gag in his mouth that no amount of twisting would remove.

His head throbbed and his thirst was a desert waiting for rain. But he’d been here before and he knew his only hope of survival was small movements, careful and considered; that he needed to listen and learn so that when the time came, he would be ready.

Just to make sure, he tried extending his Senses, but he found nothing. The blow to his head had killed his powers, leaving him as blind and impotent as any human – which was, of course, why they’d taken him that way. He couldn’t even see if Micah was in here with him.

Keeping his movements small, he shifted a little, swinging his legs forward, hoping to discover Micah in the darkness. All he found, however, was a wall, solid and uncompromising.

In the silence, he swore, the noise emerging as a grunt.

The door opened and before he could be blinded by light, Robert squeezed his eyes shut, giving them the chance to adjust. Two sets of footsteps drew closer and stopped before him. Carefully, he opened his eyes
to find boots in front of him, an open doorway behind and bright sunshine streaming in.

He was indeed the only captive.

‘So, you’re awake. Do you know where you are? No? You should be able to recognise hell without too much trouble.’

Robert rolled onto his back until he could see the faces of the men standing over him. The one speaking was about his own age, tall and thin, with black hair and an eagle nose. Even the eyebrows gave him a hawkish look. The man beside him was harder to see, but had longer hair, curly and an expression of pure hatred on his face.

‘Now,’ said the first man. ‘Are you going to tell me where you have hidden the Key?’

The Malachi and their obsession with finding the Key. Robert would have opened his mouth to voice a refusal, but he didn’t get the opportunity. The second man simply swung his foot and kicked Robert in the side. Instantly, he doubled up, scrambling away from further attack, but both men pursued him.

‘I didn’t think you’d give in, so we need to make you understand that you won’t get out of here alive unless you tell us.’ They continued to kick him then, and the pain rattled through him, making him gasp and curl up into a ball. They didn’t want any information out of him. They just wanted to hurt him.

He knew he was yelling at them to stop, but the gag drowned out any noise he made. They stopped only when he lost the strength to fight them, then he drifted down into the darkness again and felt nothing more.

Finnlay slept fitfully, waking every few minutes to sit up and look around, barely extending his Senses, checking Andrew – but there was never anything there. They had ridden through the night and all the next day; now they needed proper rest, so Finnlay had taken the risk and hired a room in a tavern for the two of them. The beds were hard, but the door had a lock on it, and there would be fresh horses ready for them in the morning.

The moment the first threads of sunlight hit his face, Finnlay sat up once more and ran his fingers through his hair. ‘Andrew?’ he called firmly, ‘time to wake. We’ll take breakfast before we go.’

The boy groaned before rolling over and opening his eyes. ‘But we just went to sleep.’

‘Come on. Get your boots on. I want to be on the road in half an hour.’ Finnlay got out of bed, drew on his jacket, and splashed some water on his face. He gathered his things back into his saddle-bag and pulled his boots on. He could have given Andrew a few more minutes in bed, but a roiling urgency in his belly wouldn’t let him be still. He headed for the door, calling, ‘Downstairs in five minutes, Andrew, or you miss breakfast.’

He tried not to think about Robert, but there’d been so many images of him in Finnlay’s dreams it was hard to forget. More times than he could count he’d considered mindspeaking Jenn to tell her what had happened, but since she could do no more than he, all he’d succeed in doing would be to make her worry more, as if she didn’t have enough of that as it was.

Finnlay made it downstairs, dropped his bags on one of the empty tavern tables and headed out the back to the stable. He found a boy putting their saddles on two fresh horses and threw him a copper for his efforts. By the time he got back inside, Andrew was waiting for him, already tucking into a bowl of porridge thick with honey and cream. Finnlay’s own mouth watered.

There was fresh sourdough bread, sizzling bacon and figs to eat as well. Finnlay was hungry, but he couldn’t put away anything like the amount of food the boy consumed. Andrew ate as though he’d been starving for a month. By the time Finnlay was getting him on his feet to go, Andrew was still reaching for a last fig and the remaining crust of bread.

They headed south, without deviation. Finnlay had asked for directions, not to Bleakstone – for that would have attracted attention – but instead to the sea. So they rode into the morning, stopping again only to water the horses and to stretch their legs. As the afternoon wore on, the horses began to tire and Finnlay chose the next town to make a change.

They ate again, filling up on roast goose and sweet potatoes – a real treat. Finnlay bought some extra bread and gave it to Andrew before they mounted up again. He couldn’t ignore the shadows under his nephew’s eyes, nor the exhaustion in his movements, but he didn’t dare stop unless they were ready to fall over.