Hawkwood shook his head and raised his voice to be heard above the moor winds. “Merlin himself would rest beside a fire when the cold begins to move across the hills. If I walked like an old man, I would soon feel like one.”
“I feel like one now,” William said. “It was no easy task to leave the young lord.”
“He does inspire affection,” Hawkwood agreed. “Katherine, too, does not want to believe he serves a different cause.”
“Katherine. She is well?” The knight could not keep sharp anxiety from his voice. “All that Gervaise could relay was that she had escaped the soldiers.”
Hawkwood nodded. “She suffered one blow, but the bandages softened the club’s impact, and she has rested well. It helped that I was able to run horses through the midst of them, and the exploding powder from Cathay accomplished the rest.”
William relaxed. “And now?”
“Now we have the luxury of time and privacy for her to be taught in our ways.”
“The luxury of time? You don’t fear the fate of Magnus?”
“Always,” Hawkwood said. The wind plucked at his hood, and he threw it back to expose his silver hair. “But I fear it will be unwise to force whatever happens next. It will serve us better to wait and watch. Gervaise, of course, is there, and I hope to continue to find ways to wander freely throughout Magnus when necessary. Over twenty years have passed. Another few months will not hurt.”
“No? If Thomas is not one of theirs, they will double their efforts. Who will protect him from an enemy he cannot see?”
Hawkwood leaned forward, both hands on the head of his cane. “If he is not one of theirs, they will assume he is ours and play the waiting game too. Besides, if they truly wanted him dead, there is naught we could do. As you well know, dealing death is too simple. Poison, an asp beneath his bed covers, a dart from one of the passageways.”
“Your task is to wait and watch,” the knight said heavily, “while I return to exile to rely on messages that take months to receive. I do not know which is the more difficult burden.”
Three days later at sunrise, two soldiers escorted Isabelle into the keep of the castle.
“Thomas,” she said with a bow.
“Isabelle,” Thomas replied softly. He did not rise from his large chair in the front hall despite his flood of joy.
She stood in front of him, looking around with admiration. Tapestries hung on the walls. The fireplace crackled, for even in the summer, early mornings were cool. Two soldiers guarded the entrance, stiffly unmoving. Soon enough, as William had warned, Thomas would have to deal with officialdom outside of the territory of Magnus, but for now, it seemed the castle was his.
Seeing Isabelle, he wanted to weep with joy. Instead, he dismissed the soldiers. Too much, he was conscious of the dignity required as the man who had bloodlessly conquered the army of Magnus.
When they were alone, he whispered her name again. “Isabelle.”
She lowered her head, looked upward, and said shyly, “Yes, Thomas.”
He wanted to throw himself into her arms. He knew, watching her, that she would embrace him gladly in return.
“Isabelle,” he started again. Although he could will himself to remain in his chair, he could not keep the hushed wonder from his tone. “Your return is a miracle. Yet I am flooded with questions. Where have you been? How is it you prospered while away?”
She straightened her shoulders and looked him directly in the eyes. “There is much to tell. Will you listen, lord?”
“Gladly.”
Her smile—a promise and a reward in one—drew from him a silent inward gasp. He managed to keep his face motionless. She is worth as much as a kingdom.
“I, like you, am an orphan, from a village far south of here. My parents perished in a fire when I was a baby. I am told the villagers did not think it worth their while to preserve me. But a lonely old woman, one who was truly mute and deaf, defeated them. She fought for me. The villagers, who suspected she was a witch, dared not disagree, and so she raised me. She died when I was ten. With her gone, the villagers were free to chase me away.”
Thomas nodded. His heart ached for her. She is an outcast too.
“Because the old lady could not hear, I learned early to speak with my hands. And when I was forced to travel from village to village, seeking food and shelter, I soon discovered the advantages of posing as mute and deaf. It earned pity. Also, I learned not to trust, and being mute and deaf put me behind walls that no person could break.” Isabelle faltered and looked down at her hands. “Not even you wanted me. You saved us all from death by hanging, but you only wanted the knight.”
“That is no longer true,” he said quickly and with some guilt.
“When you were arrested and before I returned to visit you in prison,” she began again, “I fled Magnus. After three days of travel, I reached the dales near the town of York. I had not eaten. I had barely slept. I threw myself at the mercy of the first passing carriage. The lady inside took pity. She fed and clothed me and arranged for me to work as a maid in her kitchen. When word reached me of the fall of Magnus I returned. My heart could not rest until it discovered the answer.”
“Answer?”
She moved forward to where he was sitting and grabbed his hands and tightened her grip. “Yes. Answer. Did I belong to you? Or had I been fooling myself about your glances?”
“I am the only fool,” Thomas said gallantly. “Not to have searched the world for you.”
She did not hesitate. She threw her arms around him. Thomas felt her warm skin on his neck and—pressed tight as she was—the cool circle of her medallion.
“Take them with you.” The old man’s words at the hanging. “It will guarantee you a safe journey to Magnus.”
Even as Thomas held her, his mind raced with thoughts and questions.
Slowly, ever so slowly, he released her.
“You must answer me these further questions,” Thomas said in a pained voice. “Who are you? And who placed you among us? Was it the old man at the gallows?”
“I—I do not understand.”
“Yes,” he said. “I believe you do.”
He waited for her to speak. The silence stretched. Still he waited and said nothing.
Her voice broke upon the words. “How is it you know?”
Thomas sighed. A tiny hope had flickered that he was wrong, that he could still trust her.
“Your medallion,” he said. “What a blunder to leave it around your neck upon your return.”
She clutched it automatically.
“Do not fear,” Thomas said heavily. “I have seen it already, the day Tiny John lifted it from you on the moors. The strange symbol upon it matches the symbol engraved that I’ve been told by elders among the village is a Druid symbol. There is more to you than what appears. I want to know what it is.”
Isabelle shivered and hugged herself.
“Moreover,” Thomas continued, “there was the soldiers’ attack outside the walls of Magnus the night I was delivered on ‘the wings of an angel.’ How did they know to venture outside the walls? I had not been followed. No sentry could have seen me or Katherine. You and the knight and Tiny John were the only ones who knew I had hidden my bundle outside the castle walls.”
Isabelle turned to face him.
“And our arrest,” Thomas said. “It could not have been a coincidence. Or the fact that a spy had already been planted in the dungeon ahead of us. The knowledge of our presence in Magnus could only have come from you, the person who disappeared our first morning here to return with a few bowls of porridge to explain your absence.”
Isabelle nodded.
The implications staggered Thomas. Isabelle’s nearness had been planned before the hanging and the rescue of William. Again, it circled back to the old man and his knowledge at the gallows!
“Why? How?” Thomas said, almost quiet with despair. “My plans to conquer Magnus were a dream, kept only to myself. How did the lord know—”
“Why?” she said calmly. “Duty. I am Lord Richard Mewburn’s daughter.”
“Daughter! You were one of the three figures to escape the night of my conquering!” Thomas stopped, puzzled. “No one recognized you when you arrived with us.”
“Do you think the lord of Magnus would dare let his daughter wander the streets among a people who hated him? No one recognized me because I spent so little time among them.”
Thomas shook his head. “And duty dictated you return and pretend love for me?”
She nodded.
“How were you to kill me?” Thomas asked with bitterness. “Poison as I drank to your health? A ladylike dagger thrust in my ribs during a long embrace?”
A half sob escaped Isabelle. “Those … those were my father’s commands. I don’t know if I could have fulfilled them.”
Thomas shrugged, although at her admission the last pieces of his heart fell into a cold black void. “No matter. I cared little for you.”
She blinked, stung.
“Go on,” Thomas said with the same lack of tone. “From the beginning. At the gallows.”
“It was arranged I would be on the gallows. My father feared a threat to his kingdom, and he did not believe the knight would die.”
That was the greatest mystery. “How did your father know? Did he instruct the old man to appear at the gallows? Or is it reversed—did the old man instruct your father of my intentions?”
“Old man?” Isabelle stared at Thomas for long moments. Then she threw her head back in laughter. When she finished and found her breath again, she said, almost with disbelief, “You truly do not know.”
Thomas gritted his teeth. “I truly do not know what?”
“I was not there because of you. You were not the threat my father feared. I was there because of the knight.” Isabelle kept her voice flat. “My father sometimes used cruel methods to maintain his power. I did not approve or disapprove. I am told that when my father first overthrew the lord of Magnus …”
Thomas gritted his teeth again. Sarah’s parents. His own grandparents.
“… he publicly branded each opposing soldier and knight and had them flogged to death. One escaped. The most loyal and most valiant fighter of them all.”
She let those words hang until Thomas grasped the truth.
“William!”
“Yes. William. When my father received word William had returned to this land, he paid a great sum of money to have the sacred chalices stolen and placed among William’s belongings.”
“You were sent to the hanging to be a spy should he be rescued. How did your father know it would happen?”
“He guessed it might. The hangman had instructions to release me if the knight died on the gallows.”
Thomas paced to the far side of the room. “Why? Why did he foresee a rescue?” Nothing could be more important than this.
“Thomas,” she began, “there is a great circle of conspiracy. Much larger than you and I. My father, too, acted upon the commands of another. And there is much at stake.”
“You are speaking in riddles.”
“Because I know only what I have guessed after a lifetime in Magnus. Haven’t you wondered why this castle is set so securely, so far away from the outer world? Why would anyone bother attacking a village here? Yet an impenetrable castle was founded. And by no less a wizard than Merlin.”
The door exploded open.
Time fragmented before Thomas’s eyes. Geoffrey the candle maker ran toward them with a short club extended, the guards on his heels. Thomas leapt forward, seeing Geoffrey’s obvious target. But he was too late. Geoffrey swung the club, smashing Isabelle across the head.
She collapsed.
With lifted swords, the guards were almost upon Geoffrey, who began to swing the club at Thomas.
“No! Don’t!” Thomas roared as he dodged Geoffrey’s first wild swing. “He must not be killed!”
Too late again. Geoffrey fell into a limp huddle. His arm and hand scraped the floor in a last feeble twitch.
Thomas could only stare at the ring Geoffrey wore.
He finally rose in the horrified silence shared by both guards.
“My lord, we did not know—”
Thomas waved a weary hand to stop the soldier’s voice.
Isabelle lay motionless, blood matting her hair. He bent and gently took the medallion from her neck. Then he matched it to the ring on Geoffrey’s hand.
The image was identical.
Each dawn found Thomas on the eastern ramparts of the castle walls. The guards knew to respect his need for privacy; each morning the sentry for that part of the wall would retreat at the sight of his approach.
The wind had yet to rise on the moors. The cry of birds carried from far across the lake surrounding Magnus. The first rays of sunlight edged over the top of the eastern slope and began to reflect off the calm water. Behind Thomas, the town lay silent.
It was the time of day that he searched his own emptiness. He’d fulfilled the beginning of the vow he’d made to his mother. But he still felt the grief as strongly as if he had buried her the day before.
“What now?” he said to the morning. “I thought this would be the end, but why does it seem like only the beginning? Who are the Immortals? Where are they? What must I do next?”
The morning did not answer.
He could keep a brave and resolute face as the new lord of Magnus. Yet in the quiet times, he still keenly felt alone. Journeying here, he had a family of sorts. Now he was an orphan again. An orphan king. With too many questions unanswered.
There is so little that I know, Thomas thought.
Who was the old man who cast the sun into darkness and directed me here from the gallows?
Why did William help me and then depart? Why did he keep secret his role in first defending Magnus?
What conspiracy was Isabelle about to reveal before her death? Why did she and the candle maker share the same strange symbol?
And what fate has fallen upon Katherine?
There is so much I must do, Thomas thought.
The book of priceless knowledge must be brought safely to the castle.
Magnus must be prepared for the arrival of the Earl of York.
And I must not cease in searching—without the villagers’ awareness—for the secrets of Magnus.
Thomas closed his eyes.
For a moment, Katherine’s voice echoed in his mind. He kept his eyes closed, desperate for any comfort. What had she once said? “You and I are threads, Thomas. We cannot see God’s plan for us.”
Thomas opened his eyes. The sun had broken over the top of the faraway hill, spilling rays across the dips and swells of the land. Thomas smiled. Oh, that there were a God with enough love and wisdom to watch over all our follies.
He speculated with wonder on that thought for many long minutes. He thought of Katherine’s braveness and conviction. He thought of his own confusion.
Suddenly, Thomas spun on his heels and marched from the ramparts.
He strode through the village streets and came to a small stone building near the center market square. There, he banged against the rough wooden door.
A strong voice answered, and the door opened to show an elderly man with gray hair combed straight back.
“My lord,” he said without fear. “Come inside, please. We are graced with your presence.”
They moved to the nave at the front of the church. Sunlight streamed through the eastern windows and cut sharp shadows across both their faces. In the man’s eyes, Thomas saw nothing of the greed he had witnessed those many years at the abbey. It was enough to encourage him to speak.
Thomas smiled tightly. He had spent much time considering Katherine’s strong faith. And he could not forget that during his worst moment in the air, he had cried out to the God he thought he did not believe in.
“Father,” Thomas said. “I have questions for you.”
FROM
FORTRESS OF MIS
T
Available February 2013
In the tent of his army camp, Thomas woke to the scent of a trace of perfume and the softness of hair falling across his face.
This was no soldier. How had she—
He drew breath to challenge the intruder, but he felt a light finger across his lips, and a gentle shushing stopped him from speaking.
“Dress quickly, Thomas. Follow without protest,” the voice then whispered.
Thomas saw only the darkness of silhouette in the dimness of the tent where she knelt beside him.
“Do not be afraid,” the voice continued. “An old man wishes to see you. He asks if you remember the gallows.”
Old man. Gallows. In a rush of memory as bright as daylight, Thomas felt himself at the gallows. The knight who might win Magnus with him was about to hang, and Thomas waited in front, intent on attempting a rescue through disguise and trickery. Then the arrival of an old man, one who identified Thomas behind the disguise and knew of his quest, one who commanded the sun into darkness, one who had never appeared again.
“As you wish,” Thomas whispered in return, with as much dignity as he could muster, despite the sudden trembling in his stomach. No mystery—not even the terror of the strange symbol of Magnus—was more important to him than discovering the old man’s identity.
The silhouette backed away slowly, beckoning Thomas with a single crooked finger. He rose quickly, wrapped his cloak around him, and shuffled into his shoes.
How had she avoided the sentries outside his tent?
Thomas pushed aside the tent of the flap and followed. Moonlight shown on both sentries sitting crookedly against the base of a nearby tree.
Asleep. It was within his rights as earl to have them executed.
“Forgive them,” the voice whispered as if reading his mind. “Their suppers contained potions.”
He strained to see the face of the silhouette in the light of the large pale moon. In response, she pulled the flaps of her hood across her face. The tall and slender figure led him slowly along a trail that avoided all tents and campsites.
The Orphan King (Merlin's Immortals) Page 16