by Kate Jacoby
Robert glanced at Micah and waved him around to the other side where the horses stood. However, while men might be fooled by a mask, the animals were oblivious to it. They heard the approaching men and stamped their feet in response. With jingling bridles and rattling bits, they produced enough noise to bring the sentry to his feet, before Robert could reach him.
“Alarm!” he cried—then gasped as Robert’s dagger hit him in the chest. He fell to the ground with a thud, but the damage was done.
“Next time, we hit the horses first!” Robert grunted, then put his fingers to his lips and sent out a mighty whistle. He released the mask and instantly his men charged down the hill, yelling their battle cry. The pounding of horses on the moorland roused the rest of the camp and suddenly there were men flying everywhere, swords raised.
Robert darted through the trees swinging his sword left and right. He had to find that Malachi, and fast. The clash of swords echoed through the copse as men and horses screamed in the night. Half the camp fires were kicked out by men trying to hide, while the other half were burning brighter than ever. The wind stepped up, gusting with fervour through the tree tops above and sending a haze of dust through the camp.
Robert ran between the trees, searching for the Malachi. He reached the edge of the copse where the valley dropped away below. He was about to turn when a movement on his left stopped him. A sharp prod against his senses supplied the answer. A man, racing down the slope towards some scattered horses—the Malachi!
In a flash, Robert was after him, scrambling down the slope in a shower of rocks and stone. He came to the bottom in a neat roll but the man was already mounted and off. Without stopping, Robert jumped on the nearest horse and tore off after him.
Keeping his body low, Robert spurred his horse on, gradually gaining on his quarry. He drew level, then ducked as a sword came flying towards his face. The hit was wild, missing by inches, but Robert retaliated with a quickly aimed swing of his own. He heard a cry of pain and the horse stumbled but managed to keep going.
Side by side they galloped across the moor and through another wood. Robert ducked below branches as he sped along while hanging leaves slapped his face at every turn. Still he pursued, swinging out with his sword at every opportunity. They left the wood and sped across flat land, their horses slowing with exhaustion.
Suddenly the ground dropped below them and his quarry fell from his horse, tumbling down the slope into the darkness. Instantly, Robert jumped down and clambered after him, but by the time he got there, the man had his sword drawn and was ready.
“Who are you?” Robert demanded, parrying the first blow. Almost instinctively, his powers awoke and he swung his sword again with twice the force.
His opponent staggered back, his face creased in surprise. “You? Dunlorn?” The shock lasted only a second and the Malachi lunged again, only this time he brought his own powers to bear. In a flash his sword glowed bright, blinding in the night. He swung with bitter determination, but Robert was ready. As their swords clashed, Robert’s blade caught its own fire, drowning out his opponent.
Furious, the Malachi spun around. Robert took the opportunity and lunged forward, embedding his sword in the man’s side. Slowly the Malachi crumpled to the ground. As the sword fell from his fingers, Robert thudded to his knees.
“Who are you?” he demanded of the dying man. “Tell me, dammit! Who are you?”
A gurgle of air and a brief sigh were his only answers. Deflated in his victory, Robert sat back on his heels and caught his breath. Then, wearily, he climbed to his feet. With a last glance at the dead man, he shook his head and made his way up the slope to the horses. He mounted up and turned back to Wenlay Copse.
All was quiet when he returned. The fires had been rekindled, making the area almost as bright as day. Deverin had already begun the task of assembling the dead raiders while Micah was seeing to the wounded.
“Any survivors?” Robert asked, sliding down from his horse.
“I’m afraid not, my lord. They all fought to the death—like demons.” He finished tying the bandage around Alard Bain’s arm then got up from his seat. From the look on his face, Robert knew that something was wrong. “There’s something you should see.”
Micah led him to the other side of the copse. There, close by a dwindling fire, lay the body of a raider. A huge gash in his arm and belly had spelled the end of his young life. Micah crouched down beside the youth and, with a glance back at the other men, murmured, “I didn’t think you would want the others to know about this, my lord. The gods know I wish I didn’t.”
He reached down and drew back the cloth covering the young man’s shoulder. Robert dropped to his knees to see the Mark clearly lit by the dying embers so close by.
“By the gods! This is not the work of Malachi—this is ...” Robert ran out of words. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to blot out the reality of it all. Then he nodded slowly and looked down again at the dead boy.
“You do recognize him?”
“Aye, by the mass, I do. He’s Peter McGlashen—the House Mark is very clear.”
“But what was he doing .. .”
“He was one of the first taken during the Troubles, Micah, and I have no idea what he’s doing with this lot. Did you examine the others?”
“Yes. I found him first, then checked the rest when I realized.”
Robert nodded. “You did well to keep him apart from the others. I’ll have Deverin get him back to Dunlorn somehow, in secret. I want to give him a proper burial in my chapel. He doesn’t belong with these bandits, no matter what happened to him!”
He stood and began walking back, but Micah called after him, “Are you going to tell the Duke?”
“No!” Robert bellowed and continued towards the firelight.
Robert balanced the tray on one hand, tucked the scrolls under his arm and with the other hand reached out and opened the door to Finnlay’s room. His brother, lying flat on the bed and covered in a jumble of rugs and papers, turned his head and sighed.
“Oh, not more food. I swear that doctor thinks my illness is born of starvation!”
Robert grinned and placed the tray down. “Well, don’t blame me. I’m only following orders.”
“And brought by the very hand of the lord himself! I am honoured.” Finnlay elbowed himself up until his back rested against the pillows. “Or rather, I should be.”
“I see your temper hasn’t improved,” Robert murmured equably. He pushed aside some of the papers and perched on the end of the bed. “Still, you look a lot better today. How do you feel?”
“After a week stuck in here? You really want an answer to that?”
“Then you’re definitely getting better. Good. Here, I thought I’d bring these in as well. No use you sitting here getting too idle.”
“Why didn’t you tell me earlier that you’d brought all these books back from your travels? There’s a few here that people at the Enclave would kill to get a look at. Then again, I suppose that’s why you didn’t tell me.”
“Believe it or not, there was no deliberate intention on my part. You were never around long enough to show you. It’s your own fault.”
Finnlay shook his head and turned away from the manuscripts. “I don’t know, Robert. None of this other business makes any sense. Why would the Malachi abduct all those children and then leave Jenn in Shan Moss? I agree that despite that fellow you killed, none of this is anything like the Malachi activity we’re used to. They’ve never resorted to raids like this on ordinary folk. They’ve always concentrated on us—on trying to find the Key!”
“Unless they’ve suddenly changed tactics.” Robert shrugged. After a week, he’d come no closer to an answer himself. It was more worrying to think of Valena operating so close to the King.
Finnlay was silent for a moment, then he sighed, “Look, I’ve been thinking...”
“Oh, dear.”
Finnlay raised his hand, “What I said to you, back at the Enclav
e—I had no right. I just want to say I’m sorry.”
Robert sat back a little and raised his eyebrows. “What’s brought this on?”
“Nothing in particular. I don’t understand why you kept the Key’s words to you a secret, but I can accept it. I won’t mention it again.”
Robert turned away, unable to meet that steady gaze. He stood slowly and poured them both a cup of ale from the tray. Handing one to Finnlay, Robert took his and wandered over to the window. This was unexpected. That Finn should now, after all these years, virtually set him free was a welcome but nonetheless unsettling surprise. That it should concern the Key was even more unsettling. Perhaps it was time for the truth after all, or at least the part of the truth he could get away with revealing. Yes, Finnlay deserved that much, if nothing else.
He took a deep breath, but kept his eyes on the purple fields of heather high on the moor. “I appreciate how difficult it was to say that. I also appreciate how you felt at the time. It must have been very hard to find out that I’d been lying to you all these years when I told you that the Key’s words to me had nothing to do with the Enclave. It must have been quite a shock. It was to me.”
The fever had slowed Finnlay’s reactions, but not so much that he could miss the hesitation in Robert’s voice. Robert could hear the breath of suspicion in Finnlay’s single question. “What do you mean?”
Robert dropped his head and shook it slightly. After almost twenty years, he found it very difficult to even think the thoughts, let alone speak them aloud. “I mean I was shocked that the Key had told you a lie.”
Silence.
After a moment, Robert finally turned his head to find his brother staring at him with incredulity ... and something that looked a little bit like pride. Robert shrugged. “It’s true. I couldn’t answer you that day because I couldn’t grasp what you’d said. I found it impossible to believe that the Key would deliberately tell you something which I knew was untrue. I still can’t work out why it did. It doesn’t make any sense.”
An ironic smile drifted across Finnlay’s pale face and even made it up to his eyes. “Sense? Hah! But just go back a little. Am I still fevered or are you actually trying to tell me that when the Key spoke to you all those years ago it didn’t forbid you to Stand the Circle?”
Robert nodded.
Finnlay took in a breath and held it for a few seconds, then abruptly let it out noisily. “Well! If I hadn’t heard it myself I wouldn’t have believed it. You don’t know how much...”
“Oh, believe me, I do,” Robert interrupted, moving to the end of the bed again.
“But why did the Key lie to me in the first place? Up till now we’d always assumed it could only tell the truth—that it was merely a receptacle of information, or a guide at the very least. Now it seems it has the ability to think for itself. Except . . . Except that you’ve known about that all along.” He knitted his brows together. “Forgive me, Robert, but what did it tell you?”
Robert smiled faintly. This was definitely the hard part. He drained his cup of ale and balanced it on a flat part of the bed. Resuming his perch once more he laced his hands together in a patient gesture. “Actually, to be brutally honest, I can’t tell you.”
As Finnlay began to protest, Robert held up his hands. “No. I mean that literally—I can’t actually tell you. I can’t speak the words out loud, I can’t hint as to their meaning, I can’t even tell you the general subject. I physically cannot tell you. And, forgive me, but even if I could, I wouldn’t.”
“Why?”
“Because,” Robert paused, choosing the only part of the truth he dared speak, “because there’s a very good reason why the Key won’t let me. I know that’s difficult to understand, but if you look at it from my perspective it does make sense. The Key told me something very ... dangerous. I don’t know why it told me, of all people, but nonetheless, knowing what it is, I would rather no one else knew it.”
A slow smile lit Finnlay’s face. “By the gods, Robert, you really are one of a kind. But tell me, if I asked you a direct question, would you be able to answer it?”
“I might.”
“Take pity on me, Robert. I’ve nothing else to do and I’m bored stupid. Indulge me.”
Robert chuckled. “Very well.”
Finnlay began, pursing his lips in thought. “I shall assume you will refrain from hitting me as I’m sick in bed—but tell me, this secret the Key imparted to you—did it tell you where the Calyx is hidden?”
“By the gods, no!” Robert laughed.
“All right then, I accept your explanation. Out of respect for your wishes, I will enquire no further.”
“Heaven save us!” Robert laughed again, “you’re suffering a relapse. You’ve finally developed a sense of humour!”
“Don’t pick on me, Robert, I’m sick.”
“Oh, and you think that makes a difference? You know the saying, Finn: the best time to kick a dog is when it’s down.”
“Yes, yes, all right,” Finnlay grumbled, but he couldn’t disguise the smile on his face. “By the way, did you read that passage about Bonding? Where is it?”
He rifled through the papers until he came up with the right manuscript. He spread it out and ran a finger down the script until he reached the point he was looking for. “Yes, that’s it. You know how we’d always assumed the Budlandi lost the meaning of Bonding centuries before the formation of the Enclave? Well, it turns out we were the ones who lost it, back in the first days of the Enclave. Remember they had a fire which destroyed most of the library they brought from Bu? Well, the whole thing was listed down in there. The reasons, pairings—everything. Only a few of them still exist.”
“But Bonding was just their way of arranging marriages, Finn. What has it to do with us?”
“Where’s your curiosity? I thought you were a historian. Listen. I’ll have to translate as I go, but ... um ... Yes, To the blessed god of thunder and rain be given the right to Bond together these two, whose mutual tenets will remain undivided to the end of their days. Theirs will be a .. . er ... happy and fulfilled union—or something like that—and once joined as such will be indivisible by any mortal. Those whom the gods have chosen are Bonded from birth and must by all faiths and determinations, fulfil their destiny together. For those who are Bonded will be no other.”
Finnlay glanced up. “Sorry about the translation. I’ll do a proper one once that doctor lets me out of this bed. By the sound of it, Bonding was meant to continue even if we knew nothing about it. Perhaps you and Berenice were Bonded...” Robert couldn’t sit there any longer. He got up without a word and strode to the door.
“Robert? Wait!” Finnlay climbed out of bed and stumbled across the room. “What did I say?”
How could Robert explain? How could he even broach the subject? Keeping his thoughts reined in tight, he shook his head sharply.
“Please, Robert,” Finnlay put his hand on the door, blocking Robert’s exit. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
Slowly, painfully slowly, Robert turned his head until he met Finnlay’s gaze. “There’s nothing wrong, Finn. Go back to bed.”
But Finnlay wouldn’t let him go. “There’s something you’re not telling me. What is it? Is it about Berenice? About Bonding? What...” His voice trailed off, and abruptly, Finnlay took in a sharp breath. Silently, Robert willed him to forget it but didn’t dare reach out and push the thought away. Finnlay would sense the interference. But he could not—must not—put the pieces together!
This day, the gods were not with Robert.
“You were Bonded to Berenice!” Finnlay breathed, his eyes widening in shock. “That’s what the Key told you, isn’t it? But how can that be dangerous?”
That was enough. Robert snatched Finnlay’s hand away from the door and spun him around. Without pausing, he propelled him back to the bed. “You’re still delirious, Finn. I’m sorry but I can’t discuss this further with you.”
But Finnlay struggled, “Stop it, Robert!
All right, I know you can’t tell me—but why? Why don’t you ever speak about Berenice? Ever? You refuse to marry again, even to get an heir. Why? Is it because you were Bonded? Is it because she died? Is this the dangerous thing? Was there something else the Key told you? Please, Robert, tell me what happened!”
“No!”
Finnlay’s eyes flared with anger and he did something entirely foolish. He grabbed Robert’s arm and focused all his meagre powers to hold Robert still. Like swatting a fly, Robert unleashed his own powers and slapped Finnlay backwards on to the bed. Instantly he regretted it. Where had his control gone? All those years schooling himself and now, just like that, he’d come so close to losing control of the demon!
Robert clenched his fists and took in a harsh breath. “You want to know, do you? You think if I tell you, if I talk about it, then it will all go away. Well it won’t, Finn. Not ever.”
Now there was no anger in Finnlay’s voice, in his eyes. There was nothing but calm, and perhaps even pity. “Did the Key name Berenice?”
“Of course not!” Robert snapped back, then paused. That was the closest he’d ever got to speaking about any part of the Key’s message.
“Then how do you know it meant Berenice?” Finnlay crept forward, pressing his advantage. “Why won’t you tell me what happened?”
Robert closed his eyes and straightened up. He was drained, of energy, of will, even of desire to keep the truth from Finnlay. This had gone too far and now there was only one way to stop it. For ever.
He opened his eyes to find Finnlay watching him carefully. Slowly and with painful precision, Robert began to speak. “When I got back here, she was already ill with a fever. She was drenched in sweat and crying out with the pain. The doctors could do nothing for her so, believing I could help, I sent them away for a few minutes. We were alone but she didn’t know me. She didn’t recognize me. She just held her belly and cried out for the child she carried. I wanted so much to help her, to comfort her, so I took her hand, brought out my ayarn and reached forward to ease her pain. I sent my senses out, touched her and the child. For a moment it worked. Then something seemed to take hold of the power and twist it around. I couldn’t control it and before I knew it, Berenice screamed and died in my arms.”