Trial of Fire (65 page)

‘They should not have come,’ Robert whispered, his voice still full of awe. ‘They fight their own countrymen. I never wanted this.’

‘You may lead us, Father,’ Andrew smiled, ‘but this is
their
rebellion.’

‘Aye, that it is,’ Robert said, coming to himself. ‘So be it. Finn, get back to that training with Andrew. I have a few other arrangements to make and then I’ll take him down.’ He looked at each of them then, a smile growing on his face. ‘They’ve come to put my boy on the throne; the least we can do is show them what he looks like.’

‘Except that they don’t know that he is your boy.’

‘No – but they do think he’s the son of a goddess. I think that will do them for the moment. Come, let’s get moving.’

*

Aiden listened carefully to each instruction Robert laid out, taking notes
now, just in case they would be needed later. As usual, Robert held his council of war in the heart of his small captive army, listening to every thought and idea before addressing each one. Then he would continue on, incorporating changes, strengthening his strategy, charming them all with his confidence and his courage. Piece by piece the battle plan came together and, not for the first time, Aiden was amazed at Robert’s brilliance – and by the look of it, he wasn’t the only one.

Andrew did his best not to sit there wide-eyed in wonderment, but every now and then, Robert would point out some other forgotten point, and the boy would half-smile to himself, then look up again with rapt attention.

Micah had told the Bishop: he’d heard all the awful details, along with the good news, not long after he’d risen. It was a lot to absorb, but he left most of his questions for another time. Today they would fight a battle, regardless of the hour. Today, Lusara’s history would change for ever, one way or the other.

So he took his notes, writing down the names of those present, men who had been there last time, at Shan Moss – like Bergan Dunn, and Daniel Courtenay, Payne and Owen, and those for whom this battle was their first, and hopefully, their last – like Andrew. And in the end, Robert gave no great speech as he usually did, but instead, asked Aiden to say a prayer. He did, his voice abruptly thick, and he felt more than heard the rumbled Amen at the end of it.

Then they were all moving, each man to his task, each life to its goal. By the time he closed his notebook, Robert was already moving away.

‘Robert, wait.’

He hurried to catch up and found Robert waiting, wariness in his eyes. ‘Is this about Jenn? Are you going to berate me as well?’

‘I don’t know, should I?’

For a moment, Robert searched his face, then said, more calmly, ‘She’s safe. That’s all I care about.’

‘Then I’ll save my berating for later. In the meantime, I beg of you, please set Vaughn free. He remembers nothing of his previous self, of the things you accuse him of. He takes your censure because he is a peaceful man and bears you no ill will. Can you condemn a man for crimes he doesn’t remember committing?’

‘Can I, in all justice, set him free? He would compound his errors by moving amongst my army, giving them hopes of divine intervention. What will they do when Jenn doesn’t appear, ready to split the ground asunder, as she did last time? Will they then find that cause to lose hope?’

Aiden replied, ‘You assume he is mistaken about her.’

‘Oh, please, Aiden, let’s not get into that again. You know how I feel.’

‘Better than you know. It scares you to think that she might be the incarnation, doesn’t it? That she might be so far beyond even your control?’

‘Trust me, Aiden, she’s never been under my control.’ Robert sighed heavily and ran his hands over his face, bracing himself against the tiredness he could not afford. How many hours had he slept last night? If he’d slept at all …

‘Vaughn can do no harm. An army that believes it can win has a greater chance of winning than otherwise.’

‘Fine,’ Robert threw up his hands. ‘Release him, take off his gag – but keep him out of my way. I might forget that
he
’s forgotten and put my sword through him anyway. But whatever happens, you take responsibility for him. Understood?’

‘Thank you.’

‘Don’t thank me. I just don’t want anyone around here wasting time by feeding him when they’ll have wounded men to deal with. Now, do you have any other last requests, or do you think you might trouble yourself to come with me and my— me and Andrew down to see this ragged army of farmers and Guildesmen? You might enjoy seeing the look on Osbert’s face when I tell him his future King will be a sorcerer as well.’

Aiden chuckled at Robert’s dry humour, glad to see it still present. ‘As long as we don’t tell them Andrew takes after his father, I don’t see they’ll have a problem.’

‘Why? What’s wrong with his—’ Robert came to a sudden halt, things ticking over in his head. ‘You heard.’

‘From Micah.’

‘And?’

‘And I’ll berate you about Jenn later.’

‘That’s it?’

‘And congratulations.’

‘That’s what Micah said.’

‘Are we going?’

‘Damned pushy priests.’

‘That’s what Osbert said.’

‘Nobody’s original any more.’

*

Osbert didn’t need to give out too many orders after the first shocking few. His Guildesmen had taken his defection almost without comment, changing sides as though they’d believed this was a tactic they’d all been planning for months. It was a sentiment that irked him without measure.

How could they know what he’d planned when he hadn’t known
himself? Or perhaps they hadn’t known until he’d made the decision for them. What had Godfrey said?
They cannot go unless you do lead them.

No matter what they’d thought – he’d led and they’d followed him here, to this god-forsaken moor, where his yellow-clad Guildesmen calmly handed out provisions meant for the royal army, fed peasants and farmers, blacksmiths and fishermen alike. His only concern now was Godfrey. He’d tried, but there was no way he’d been able to get the Bishop away safely without anybody noticing. Still, knowing Godfrey, he would rather be left behind and have Osbert’s men join the rebels. Either way, when Osbert saw him again, he would be able to look at those dark, all-seeing eyes and do so without shame.

He didn’t want to think about never seeing Godfrey again, but as he looked up and saw Robert Douglas riding towards him, he knew there would be questions he couldn’t answer. But for the moment, he simply stood his ground, alone before his small tent, the spread of the peasant army arranged before him.

Robert did not come alone. Behind him were other faces, most of which he recognised, but it was Robert’s gaze which held him as the Duke brought his horse to a halt, and he swung down to the ground. For a moment, he glanced around, pulling his gloves off, ignoring the stares of all those who recognised him and instead, seeing and appraising, before turning back to Osbert.

‘You had to leave Godfrey behind.’

Startled, Osbert nodded. ‘I’m sorry, Robert, I had no—’

‘Choice? No, I don’t suppose you did. But …
this
choice, this was a good one. You do know that, don’t you?’

He did – but it wouldn’t feel like it until the battle was done, until it was all over, until Kenrick and Nash were dead. Until he had the chance to look at Godfrey without shame.

It seemed Robert wasn’t waiting for an answer. Instead, he gestured, and one of his companions rode forward. Osbert paid attention this time, and he was unsurprised to find young Andrew watching him steadily. Without a word, the boy slipped to the ground and moved to stand before Osbert.

‘My lord Proctor,’ Robert began evenly, ‘will you accept Andrew, Duke of Ayr as my candidate for the throne of Lusara? Will you support him and swear him your fealty, giving your loyalty to him alone?’

And that was the question, wasn’t it, for deep inside, Osbert knew this boy was most likely a sorcerer – how could he not be with that mother? So it would be one sorcerer King over another.

‘You cannot swear, can you?’ Andrew asked quietly, obviously reading Osbert’s dilemma. ‘But you know that it isn’t a question of sorcery, but a
question of good and evil. It always was. A long time ago, you pledged yourself to a cause, not questioning if it was evil or not. You’re right to wish to avoid making the same mistake again. So I will give you this promise: if you do swear to me, and you find I am evil, then I will not hold you to your vow. For you, the Guilde, have no right to serve anyone other than the people. And
that
cause cannot be evil.’

‘Your Grace,’ Osbert began, then paused, taking in a breath and lacing his fingers together. ‘I am here. My men are here. We will fight.’

Andrew simply shook his head, and Osbert could see all too clearly why this boy had been chosen. ‘We
must
be united, my lord. We, Lusara, sorcerers and all others must be as one to fight this enemy. You must choose, Osbert, and you must choose
me
.’

The simple, open authority in that voice, the same in the blue eyes was somehow exactly what Osbert needed to hear. Without a word, he eased down to one knee and bowed his head. ‘I swear, Your Grace. The Guilde is yours.’

*

Andrew tried to keep his head up, tried to see with his own eyes as many of these men who had travelled so far, mostly on foot, to join this army, tried to imagine what it had been like for them, tried to ride along each of their rows so that they could all see him pass by – but it was impossible. After the first few minutes, he pulled up and jumped down to the ground. Immediately, the four men entrusted with the role as his personal guard surrounded him – but he waved them off. He simply couldn’t lead this army onto the battlefield without having spoken with any of them at all.

So he did. One here, one there, asking where they were from, their names, how long it had taken to travel, why they had come – only he stopped asking that one after the first few times. The answer was always the same.

He felt his father’s eyes on him as he walked, but Robert said nothing to him, simply rode along behind, with Micah on one side, and Finnlay on the other. The Bishop rode behind, with Osbert at his side.

But these men here weren’t so impressed with titles and positions. They had one single passion in common: freedom, a luxury Andrew had always enjoyed – or at least, up until the last few weeks when he’d turned himself into a rebel.

There were so many of them, untrained, but willing to give up their lives. At least there, he did have something in common with them.

‘Your Grace?’

Andrew stopped and turned around. Hearing those words from Robert
seemed wholly unreal – and yet, he
had
uttered them, changing for ever the roles they would play.

But it wasn’t just the words. There, in the eyes of Robert Douglas, the legend, was honest respect. The sight shocked him a little.

‘It’s time to march.’

Andrew took the reins of his horse and climbed up into the saddle. As they turned back towards the head of the army, a cheer began to rise among those he’d seen, and it filtered out across the mass, thrumming the air with its energy. Andrew wanted to laugh, to gallop forward, to shout with the wonder of it all – but he didn’t. Now he had no trouble riding with his head held high, taking in the sight of all these men who had joined this rebel’s army; he felt as if he were one of them.

The rest of his council were waiting at the top of a small rise, mounted and ready to march. As the cheers died down, Robert turned his horse to face them and Andrew drew alongside.

‘Robert, will you give the order to march?’ asked the Bishop, finally wearing the robes of a priest; he looked like a man who had at last found home.

‘No,’ Andrew replied without looking at his father. ‘I will.’ With that, he raised his arm, held it aloft for a preternaturally long second. Then he dropped it. With a ceremonious thud, drums began to beat and the head of the army began to move forward, leading out of the plain and into the valley where Kenrick was awaiting them.

Awaiting
him.

Robert remained at his side as they turned to parallel the march, with the others falling in behind. Andrew, his voice lowered, asked, ‘Is it always like this?’

‘Always?’ Robert replied. ‘I couldn’t tell you. But don’t let yourself get carried away with it. The thrill only lasts until the moment you step onto the battlefield.’

‘And after that?’

‘You live in hell until it’s over, or until you die. There are worse ways to die, believe me. On the other hand, there are also better ways to die. I’ve always preferred the ideal of old age, but it appears I might not be allowed that.’

For a moment, Andrew frowned, but then he remembered the Key’s work on both his parents. ‘You’re expecting the volunteers to break lines?’

‘They’ve had little or no training, and it’s certainly possible a large number of them fought at Shan Moss – though their training there was minimal too. Still, they were fairly disciplined on the field. That’s why I
want to keep the Guilde in amongst them. Besides, it’s time the Guilde remembered who they are supposed to be serving.’

‘I can’t believe they’re here at all.’

Robert laughed a little. ‘If that’s Godfrey’s work, then I’ll personally nominate him for sainthood.’

They fell silent for a while and Andrew watched his army marching diligently towards the battlefield. Within an hour, perhaps two, first blood would be shed, and the very thought sent a shiver down his spine.

Was he ready to do this – did he even want to?

‘What are your planned tactics with Kenrick?’

The question hit straight to the heart of his fear and he almost flinched.

‘Come, son,’ Robert said, encouragingly, ‘Always know where you are. Once you do, you’ll know where Kenrick is.’

‘Do you think I can beat him?’ Andrew whispered, too scared to really voice his fear.

‘Do you think I can beat Nash?’

Andrew started. In the flurry to get himself ready, he’d forgotten all about that – and Robert had had so little rest, yet he was ready to fight for more than just his life.

‘Promise me something?’ Andrew returned to a whisper. He looked behind, but only the Bishop was close enough to hear, and he was deliberately holding back, knowing Andrew and Robert would need to talk. ‘I don’t know why my mother did what she did. And I can’t say I’m not angry that she never said anything to me, because I am. She knew how I— It mattered to me that I knew, and she said nothing. So I understand being angry. But the only time I’ve ever seen her happy has been …’