EXILE'S RETURN

by Kate Jacoby

  Rather than stretch and warm up a little with the usual easy parries, today Robert had launched an all-out attack, sending Deverin skittering across the cobblestones and up against the feedshed wall. Robert had taken a step back to allow Deverin more room to move, then immediately reopened the assault. Deverin was obviously trying his best, but as steel rang out against steel it was already very clear who the victor would be.

  Finnlay heard a soft footfall on the doorstep behind him.

  “Good morning, Micah,” he murmured, not taking his eyes from the action.

  Micah plumped himself down beside Finnlay. “He’s no better, then?”

  “No.”

  “I’d hoped that with your lady mother’s return to Dunlorn he would begin to come out of it. It seems I was overly hopeful.”

  “We all were, Micah. Any other suggestions?”

  Micah only shook his head. Then he said, “What do you think he’ll do now?”

  “You mean about claiming his inheritance? Nothing. By now I’m sure Selar will have confiscated all of Oliver’s lands. The only thing left is the title, which even the King can’t take. But if you asked him, I’m sure Robert would say he’d rather have his uncle back than be addressed as the Duke of Haddon.”

  “He can’t decline it, can he?” Micah said.

  “Nor would he, if only out of respect for Oliver. No, in that matter at least, he has no say.”

  “Like everything else, you mean.”

  Finnlay glanced aside at him. “You’re worried about him. Me too. I’ve never seen him like this, not even after father died, or Berenice. He’s closed in completely, hardly says a word to anyone, and when he does it’s obviously forced. Hell, I just don’t know what to do.”

  There was another sound behind them and Finnlay turned to see a familiar friendly face beaming down on him. “Why, Daniel! Whatever are you doing here?”

  “Just passing. Thought I’d drop in and pay my respects.” With a rustle of garments, Daniel squatted down on the other side of Finnlay, balancing himself with a hand against the pillar. He was silent a moment, watching the swordplay, then he grimaced as Robert pushed Deverin back from a clinch. “Robert’s fighting like a demon. What’s got into him?”

  Finnlay couldn’t find an answer and just shrugged. Daniel continued, “Your letter said he was depressed, but this? This isn’t depression, Finn, this is fury. He looks every inch a man who is preparing for war.”

  Finnlay turned his head slowly and gazed at his brother’s old friend. “Is that your considered opinion?”

  “Most certainly it is. Look at him. He’s anticipating every move his opponent makes and is there before. He makes no outward attempt to end the match, but gives Deverin every opportunity to find a break. Robert’s testing himself, making sure there are no flaws in either his offence or defence. Yes, that’s exactly what he’s doing.” Daniel glanced across at Finnlay, then Micah. “What’s wrong? What did I say?”

  Finnlay looked at him. “Nothing, Daniel, nothing. Have you any suggestions as to how to break him out of it? You’ve known him a long time.”

  “And you’re his brother, Finnlay. Have you tried talking to him? Trying to get him to talk? You can’t work out how to fix it if you don’t know what the problem is.”

  “Isn’t it obvious what the problem is? He’s been like this ever since word reached us about Oliver. Robert came back here, shouted some orders about the nightly patrols, then shut himself in his study for two days. Not even Micah could get in. It takes no prizes to guess what he’s thinking.”

  “Oh?” Daniel twisted around, “and what would that be?”

  Finnlay almost smiled. There was such a rich choice—from Oliver to McCauly. Not to mention the revelation about Berenice. That bothered him more than anything.

  But Finnlay said nothing of this and instead replied, “Come on, you know what Robert is like about blaming himself. He saw Oliver days after he arrived back in Lusara. Robert’s bound to be thinking that if he’d just done something at the time, then Oliver would be alive today.”

  “Possibly. Then again, you don’t know for certain. I mean, I think there’s more to this mood than pure self-recrimination. This goes way down deep. Like I said, you really have to talk to him.”

  With a sigh, Finnlay climbed to his feet. The others also stood. “Talking to my big brother about anything serious has always been difficult,” Finnlay said. “Right now it’s impossible. He won’t talk to me, Micah or even mother. If you don’t believe me, try for yourself. Go ahead, try. Maybe you can get some sense out of him.”

  Finnlay gestured towards Robert who, with fine beads of sweat glistening on his forehead, had finally stopped the match and was even now handing his sword to a waiting boy and towelling his face dry. Daniel smoothed down his jerkin and trotted down the steps to the stableyard. He waited until Robert had finished with the towel, then took a couple of steps forward. Finnlay remained above with Micah, watching everything.

  Robert glanced at Daniel, then looked quickly away.

  “How are you, Robert?” Daniel asked tentatively.

  “Fine,” Robert grunted, “you?”

  “Fine, fine.” Daniel hesitated and glanced up at Finnlay. Turning back to Robert, he dropped his voice a little. “I was truly sorry to hear about your uncle. He was a good and brave man.”

  “Thank you.” Robert nodded and began walking away, but Daniel took a few steps after him.

  “Robert?”

  Pausing in his stride, Robert turned slowly, seemingly unaware of Finnlay and Micah on the steps above.

  “Robert, do you want to talk?”

  For a split second, Robert’s eyes flashed brilliant green, but all he said was, “No.” Moments later he had disappeared around the corner of the feedshed, leaving Daniel standing alone in the stableyard.

  Finnlay and Micah came down the steps to join him.

  “I warned you,” Finnlay said without triumph.

  “Do you really think he would?” Daniel asked in a voice full of awe. “Do you think he would actually go to war against Selar?”

  “You were the one suggesting it, Daniel, not me.”

  Daniel turned and faced Finnlay square-on. In his eyes was something very much akin to fear. “Yes, but you know him better than I do. Do you think he would?”

  Finnlay didn’t reply immediately, but turned a steady gaze on Micah. Slowly, the younger man shook his head, a silent message in his eyes. Almost imperceptibly, Finnlay nodded, then gave Daniel a half-smile of comfort the way he had seen his brother do on many tense occasions. “Sure he would! That’s why I was so pleased to see you, Daniel—you can be a great help. Come, let me tell you how.”

  Placing his arm around the laughing Daniel, Finnlay took him indoors.

  Margaret touched the wick of one candle to that of another and as the flickering flame grew strong, she placed it carefully on the tray before the altar. As an afterthought, she picked up a third candle, mouthed a silent prayer and stood it beside the others. Then with a final glance at the trium above, she knelt on the chapel floor and bowed her head. Despite the memories it engendered, it was comforting to once again kneel before the altar of Dunlorn’s tiny chapel. If only she were here for another reason.

  A scrape of leather on stone behind her made her lift her head. She turned slowly, but she already knew who it was.

  “Robert?”

  He was in darkness, standing the shadows. He didn’t reply.

  “Please, Robert. Come closer. You mustn’t allow this to beat you.”

  He turned to go.

  “Robert, I beg you. I’ve lost both husband and brother to that man. Do you think I don’t know how you feel?” She stood, but did not walk towards him.

  He paused. She waited. Finally he spoke, his dead voice barely echoing through the stone chamber.

  “I’m glad you’ve come home, mother.”

  She blinked and he was gone.

  Finnlay read as he climbed the stairs to
Robert’s study. The manuscript was one his brother had brought back, but Finnlay had found it only that morning, lying among the forgotten papers on Robert’s table. The script was difficult to decipher and contained sentences made up of both letters and numbers, which he couldn’t begin to understand. Nevertheless, he couldn’t put it down and tried instead to find where it fitted into the growing bank of information on sorcery they had collected. At this rate Finnlay would have to schedule a visit to the Enclave to try and match up this new material with what was held in the library there. Somehow, something here must have a bearing on where the Calyx lay hidden. Although he’d said little about it, finding the Calyx was still in the forefront of his thoughts, and these days it was good to have something to distract him. Perhaps finding the Calyx could even help Robert. After all, if it could free the Enclave, then surely it could also free him?

  Without looking up, he entered the study and made his way directly to the table where Robert kept his notes. He placed the manuscript on a clear space to one side, then cast around for the other related stuff, but as he looked up he realized he was not alone as he had supposed. Robert sat in the window embrasure opposite him, gazing out, unaware, it seemed, of Finnlay’s presence.

  With a frown, Finnlay tried to measure this countenance with the fury Daniel saw, but it was impossible. Robert was neither angry nor sad. He was ... nothing. His face was a blank, and Finnlay was tempted for a moment to shout at Robert just to get a response. However, he opted for a different tack and sent his senses out to try and register Robert’s presence. But even there he failed. Either Robert was shielding himself, or Finnlay’s meagre powers were fading. He knew which was more likely.

  He turned back to his notes. He was about to pick up a heavy, leather-bound book from Semsay when Robert spoke—the first time without prompting since Oliver had died.

  “I was about to commend you on your restraint. It seems I was hasty.”

  “Pardon?”

  “No shouting, no pleading, no tantrums. I’m impressed.” Robert’s voice was a monotone, his face barely moving.

  Finnlay didn’t know how to respond to this, but he knew he must. “Thank you.”

  “But you couldn’t stay away from my books, could you?” Robert turned his head slowly and looked at Finnlay with empty eyes.

  “No. Why should I? I don’t understand what’s wrong with you, Robert, but I refuse to go down with you. I for one intend to keep working.”

  “Life goes on?” There was not even the hint of a smile in Robert’s sardonic tone. “Fine. Go ahead. Don’t let me stop you.”

  Finnlay pulled in his bottom lip, then without another word picked up the papers he needed and headed for the door. However, before he could leave, Robert flung a final message after him, his voice low with an almost feral warning.

  “And if you go writing letters about me to my friends—or enemies—again, I’ll make you very sorry.”

  Finnlay fled, running down the stairs till he got to the bottom. For a moment he stood there, gulping in air. How long was this to go on? What did he have to do? And he did have to do something. Robert was his brother. No matter their past differences, Finnlay just could not leave Robert to drown alone. The consequences were too awful to contemplate.

  Micah paused outside the door to his master’s study, a tray balanced on one hand. Had a warning been placed on the door or was it safe to enter? Having no powers of his own, Micah could only guess. He cursed inwardly that the gods had placed him in the service of such a man as Dunlorn, without giving him the power to help him when he most needed it. And he could do nothing but wait for Robert to emerge from this on his own. Until then, Micah would not give up. He would serve Robert, regardless of whether Robert thought he wanted serving or not.

  Reaching out with his free hand, Micah pushed down the latch. The door opened without any trouble and he entered the room, looking for Robert amidst the jumble of furniture, books and papers which littered the room. Even by normal standards the room was a mess. And there was Robert by the fire. Dressed in his customary black, his body stretched out on one chair with his feet resting on the arm of another. He appeared to be asleep.

  Micah studied him for a moment, placed the tray down on a table close by. With a glance at the fire to make sure it would not die out, he headed for the door.

  “Micah?”

  “Yes, my lord?” Micah spun around, trying not to sound over-eager.

  Robert opened his eyes and regarded him across the room. He was silent for a long minute, then he said, “They’re all worried, aren’t they?”

  Micah nodded.

  “Tell them not to, will you?”

  “Of course, but if I may ask, why should we not worry?”

  “Because I’m not worth the trouble. Trust me.”

  Micah measured the tone of his master’s voice, then took a step forward. “I do,” he replied simply. “I always have.”

  Robert’s eyes latched on to him. Micah was unable to move under that penetrating gaze, but after only a few moments his master looked away. “Well, perhaps that was your first mistake.”

  Micah wanted to retort, but kept his head. “I think perhaps you need to go away for a while. I think you need to go and visit...”

  “No.”

  “But she ...”

  “No,” Robert turned back to Micah with dull eyes. “I can’t and that’s all there is to it.”

  Micah’s heart sank once more. He turned to go, but as he approached the door, Finnlay came sailing through, his arms full of tightly rolled manuscripts.

  “Ah, Micah, there you are! I’ve been looking for you!” Finnlay smiled breezily. “I found something that might interest you.”

  As though Robert were not even in the room, Finnlay began clearing a space on the big table and dumped his armload of scrolls. He rustled through them then picked a single one out, unrolled it and weighted it down with the nearest things to hand, an ink stand and a compass.

  “Now,” he continued glancing up to make sure Micah was standing close by, “remember how you were asking about the palace of Bu? And whether it had really been built by sorcerers a thousand years ago? Well, look at this. It’s a detailed drawing done of the palace by a historian some seven hundred years ago. I knew I had it somewhere, but it took me till this morning to find it. Here on the west face, see that marking there? It’s a hieroglyph depicting an underground tunnel. The tunnel goes from the desert here right under the palace to the central domed area. The really interesting thing is that this tunnel was carved out of solid rock.”

  Micah stared down at the drawing on the table, then shot a glance back to his master. Robert had returned to his reclined position, his eyes closed once again. Turning back to Finnlay, he saw that the younger lord was, despite his casual manner, extremely aware of what his brother was doing. Finnlay’s eyes appealed for help; it seemed he had a plan.

  “Solid rock? What’s so amazing about that?” Micah asked, hoping that it was the right question. From the brief glint in Finnlay’s eye, it was.

  “Nothing really—except that the tunnel is over five hundred feet long and according to this drawing, its walls are as smooth as ice.”

  Despite the main purpose behind this discussion, Micah found he was genuinely intrigued. His eyes dropped to the drawing again. “What does this mean, here? I can’t read this language.”

  “I’m not exactly fluent in it myself. That says ”door to the inner soul“—I assume some kind of royal inner chamber.”

  “Who was the historian? Did any text accompany the drawing?”

  “If there was, it’s long lost. I got this from a monk in Sethlien about five years ago.”

  Robert’s quiet voice filled the silence. “Cordor.”

  Finnlay paused, glanced over his shoulder and, with a nod, acknowledged the correction. “Cordor it was. Anyway, the monk had been going through his library and was about to throw all this stuff out—fortunately I was able to help him get rid of it. He h
ad no idea what it all was, again, fortunately. Tell me, when you visited the palace ruins, did you see any sign of this tunnel? If this drawing is accurate, it just about proves that there had to be some kind of arcane work done on the building at its inception. It could confirm that Bu was indeed a home of sorcerers—and possibly the place where the Key was created!”

  A scuffle of feet and furniture behind them warned them of Robert’s approach. They parted as he came between them. He reached forward and with a swift movement which almost dislodged the ink well, he turned the drawing around until it was upside down. He planted his finger on the place where the tunnel seemed to end. “This is an above-ground causeway, not a tunnel, and it goes across the east face, not the west. Its walls are covered in faded hand paintings of ochre on bare rock which show no signs of fading. You bought the drawing from the monk who was glad to get rid of it because he feared it was blasphemous and would condemn him to an eternity of flames. And,” Robert paused for effect, “he knew exactly what it was.”

  There had been no anger in Robert’s monologue, merely a purposeful crispness. Micah glanced at Finnlay, hoping he knew what to do next. So far it seemed the plan was working.

  Finnlay did know. “Oh, really? Well, if you’re such an expert, brother, what does this mean?” He reached across the table and brought forward another, smaller sheet of vellum, illuminated down one side with gold, reds and blues. “As far as I can make out, it clearly mentions the Calyx, and the fact that it was kept in a building on the other side of what we now know as Marsay.”