EXILE'S RETURN

by Kate Jacoby

  He closed his eyes and concentrated solely on Robert. In his hands, the stone began to glow and grow warm. He sent out his mind along the river downstream from where he sat. He searched and searched but found ... nothing.

  Finnlay opened his eyes, but couldn’t see the dusk-lit river bank before him. All he could see was that moment when Robert had slipped and fallen down the cliff.

  “Don’t move!”

  He froze as the voice behind him warned again, “Stay right where you are! Did you see that, Florric? That thing in his hand?”

  “Aye, Raymon, I did.”

  The bracken around Finnlay rustled as the men moved closer. He started to turn around, but the first man shouted again, “I said keep still, sorcerer! I have my bow on ye. But I’d rather not kill ye myself.”

  “No,” said Florric with a grim laugh, “We’ll leave that to the judges. They’ll love this! A real live sorcerer. Come on.”

  A hand landed on Finnlay’s shoulder. “Look,” he began in his friendliest tones, “I don’t know what you saw but I can easily explain...”

  “I said don’t move!”

  Finnlay felt a breath of air brush past his ear then a crashing pain in his head. He fell forward on to the rocks and everything went black.

  Robert floated on a sea of gentle blue, gazing up at a sky of deep azure. The water was warm, and so very soft. Like down, it caressed his skin, sank deep into his weary muscles, into his very soul. Calm. He’d never felt so calm. Was this real peace? Was this what it felt like? With the gentle motion of the sea rocking his body in time with his heart, he had no desire to move. The water lapped into his mouth but it was sweet, like honey. He drank mouthfuls of it, the flavour exploding on his tongue in a thousand tiny spirals. Where was this place? Was this death?

  A cry reached his ears and something dark moved across the sky. He followed the black dart as it hovered and dived, climbed and soared. An eagle. A black eagle. His eagle. It swooped over him again and again, but it never threatened, only accompanied, like some faithful guide in this beautiful dreamworld. Peace, it seemed to say. Peace and calm. Trust. All will be well.

  Robert opened his eyes. The sky was gone. Now there was a vaulted ceiling, darkened, candlelit. The shadows from a fire flickered across the arches, vanished into the corners. He was in a bed, somewhere. Warm, comfortable, quiet. But where?

  The smell of herbs to his left and he turned his head. A table, bowls, jars, bandages. Was he injured? Further on now, there, the fireplace, a portrait above it, hanging from the golden sandstone wall, the face unfamiliar. Beside the fire another small table, a chair, with a woman seated, reading...

  Jenn?

  She was turned towards him, but her eyes were intent on her book. A candle stood on the table beside her, leaving one side of her face in soft shadow. She was frowning, her fine brows drawn together in puzzlement. Her lips were parted, her tongue caught on her upper teeth. Deep concentration. But oh, how she had changed!

  She wore a simple red gown, no jewellery. Her thick dark hair was plaited and fell over one shoulder, past her waist. Candlelight danced across her skin, making her eyes sparkle. She looked older and taller and different and quite, quite beautiful.

  Mesmerized, Robert watched her, noting every tiny movement she made. Soon though, her eyes darted to him and back to her book—then she paused. She glanced at him again and seeing he was awake, she sprang out of her chair, dropping the book to the floor.

  “You’re awake!” she cried, her smile pure sunshine. “How do you feel?”

  Robert struggled to form some words. His mouth felt like lead. “What happened?”

  “What happened?” she laughed. “You mean you don’t remember? I was hoping you could tell me.”

  “Have I been ill?”

  “You had some kind of accident. You hit your head and almost drowned. You’ve been lying there unconscious for the last twelve hours. It will be dawn soon. Don’t you remember what happened?”

  Robert shook his head, still unable to look away from her. “No. How did I get here?”

  “I found you. Lawrence helped me bring you back. Are you hungry? I have some bread and cheese here, and wine.”

  She leapt up and brought a tray back to him. He pushed himself up a bit and immediately felt sharp stabbing pains in his shoulder and hip, bruises on his legs and a searing ache in his left wrist. He raised his hand to find it heavily bandaged.

  “Where’s my ayarn,”

  “Don’t worry.” Jenn laid the tray on his lap. “I removed it when no one was looking. I put it under your right sleeve.”

  She pulled off a piece of bread and put it in his mouth. She tore off another lump but he took it from her. “I’m not an invalid.”

  She said nothing but sat on the side of the bed and watched him. Between mouthfuls he said, “How did you find me?”

  “I don’t really know how it happened. We were coming back, riding past the forest, and suddenly I had the feeling that something had happened to you. When I tried Seeking you, I found you lying in a river, unconscious and injured. Lawrence helped me bring you back.”

  Robert paused with a piece of cheese halfway to his mouth. “You found me? While I was unconscious?”

  “Yes. Why?”

  “Well, strictly speaking, that’s not supposed to be possible.”

  “Well nobody told me I couldn’t do it, so I tried. Why, can you?”

  “There’s been the odd occasion, yes.”

  She shook her head. “One of these days, Robert Douglas, you and I are going to have to sit down and have a very long talk.”

  Robert had to smile, though it hurt. “What did you tell Lawrence?”

  “Nothing. I just persuaded him to help me.”

  “By logic alone?”

  Her eyes darted away. “Not entirely, no.”

  “That was an awful risk to take.”

  “I didn’t have a choice.” With a shrug, she poured him some wine, held the cup out. “Are you sure you don’t remember anything?”

  He tried, but there was nothing there. Nothing that could account for him being in a forest this close to Elita. But he did remember something. “I shouldn’t be here. Your father will want me gone.”

  “Yes,” Jenn replied gently, “when you’re better. Tell me, do you feel all right? I mean apart from your injuries?”

  There was an intensity in her gaze that hadn’t been there a moment ago. To please her, he searched within, but again came up with nothing. Everything seemed to be wiped clean, fresh, like his own personal Dawn of Ages.

  “I feel fine, Jenn. Why do you ask?”

  The intensity disappeared and she smiled again. “It doesn’t matter.”

  She stood and took the tray away. “I think you should try and get some more sleep. Perhaps in the morning you’ll remember what happened to you.”

  “But I’m not really tired,” Robert protested. He didn’t want her to leave yet.

  “Well, would you like some more wine?”

  “Thank you.”

  She sat on the edge of the bed again and refilled his cup. What was it about her that was so different? This was not the poor homeless waif he’d brought to Elita almost six months ago.

  “Tell me,” he began quietly, “do you miss your wandering?”

  “Honestly? Yes, I do.” Jenn folded her hands on her lap and gazed down at her fingers. “There are days when I wish I could just take a horse and go. Sometimes I even believe I’ll do it. I lost my freedom, Robert, and that was always very precious to me. I know that’s not what you intended, bringing me here, and I guess I didn’t think much about it either, but I lost it all the same.”

  “But how much freedom did you have before, living in Shan Moss?”

  “At the inn? A great deal.” A warm smile lit her eyes as she glanced up at him. “My father was a good man. He never beat me—even though I deserved it sometimes. I used to slip out at night, when the inn was busy and I should have been working. I’d go i
nto the forest and climb a particular tree. I tried to see as far down the trade road as I could. I kept wondering what the world was like away from the forest. What did the ocean look like, mountains, fields of wheat and corn. I longed to see more, but I never wanted to leave home, my father. When he died ...”

  “What happened?”

  She looked away, frowning. “His nephew came and took over the inn. He said I was too young to stay there. He sent me to a cousin’s farm on the other side of the forest. She took me in but she had a dozen children of her own and didn’t really want me. Life was ... hard, for a while. That summer the crops failed and her husband got very drunk. In the morning, he threw me out with nothing more than a few coppers and a loaf of bread. I didn’t go back.”

  Robert kept silent, entranced by her story. No wonder she’d not wanted to come to Elita. She must have been so afraid they wouldn’t want her—or would reject her because of her past.

  “I didn’t really know what to do, where to go. I wandered for a few days, then came upon a village. I asked at the inn if they had work and they gave it to me. For months I stayed there. It almost felt like home, with all the people coming and going. Then one day, a storyteller came. He held the whole inn in raptures as he told his stories. At the end, they gave him money and he moved on. I thought, that’s what I can do. Travel and tell stories, collect stories. So free. I never dreamed I would meet one of those legends, become part of a story myself.”

  Very carefully, Robert asked, “And are you sorry you did? Sorry you came here?”

  At this she gazed at him with sparkling eyes, “No, Robert. I’m not sorry. There are other things besides freedom, aren’t there? You can hardly disagree with me.”

  “No,” he said, “I can’t.”

  “And he doesn’t remember anything about what happened?”

  “Not so far, but he will, I’m sure.” Jenn came around the table and poured Jacob some more ale. She tried not to frown at the glaring light which swept through the study windows, but it was hard. That’s what you get for sitting up all night. At least Robert had slept again and should be feeling much better this afternoon.

  Jacob ignored the ale in front of him and instead caught her hand, forcing her to meet his eyes. “He can’t stay here long.”

  “I know, Father.” What did he want from her? Did he want her to prove to him that she felt no loyalty to Robert? Did he want her to turn Robert out, regardless of his injuries? “Please don’t worry. He won’t stay a moment longer than he has to. He’s quite aware of how you feel about him.”

  Jacob released her hand and glowered down the table. “It has nothing to do with how I feel about him. After your abrupt departure from court, I’m more concerned about how this will appear to the King! He must be watching both our Houses very closely. What is he going to say when he finds out Dunlorn’s been here? You must learn to appreciate the finer points of your actions, Jennifer. You endanger not only yourself, but others.”

  “But it’s all very innocent, Father. Robert had an accident and we helped. Surely even the King cannot take exception to that.”

  “How do you know?” Jacob said. “What makes you so sure it is innocent? You don’t know what Dunlorn was doing in that forest, and he claims he cannot remember. I’ve not survived this long in a dangerous world to be such a fool, even where you’re concerned. I realize you feel you owe him something but I must look to your safety, child. If Dunlorn has any honour left, he will agree with me.”

  Jenn wanted to protest. She wanted to tell her father the depths to which Robert’s honour went, but she couldn’t. After all these years, he was never going to change his mind. What Jacob really wanted was to know was that he could trust her.

  “Of course, Father,” she murmured, hating herself even as she deliberately lied. “I’m sorry. I’ll make sure he leaves the moment he can climb on to a horse. He won’t come back, I promise.”

  Finnlay had no idea what time it was, or how long he’d been in the cell. It never looked any different: dark, damp, with an overpowering stench of rats and rotting mould. A tiny sliver of light came from under the door, stretched across the hay-strewn floor. Smoky light came through a window high above on his right, little more than a foot wide, but it led only to the corridor and not outside.

  All this time they’d left him alone, afraid of him, afraid even to interrogate him. What terror his mistake had engendered—by the gods—what had he done?

  He crouched on the floor, wrapped his arms around his body and tried to stop shaking with the cold. At least, he wanted it to be the cold. He couldn’t afford fear. Not now.

  His hands were like ice; the chains around his wrists and ankles cut into flesh and bone. The pain in his head was sharp and when he moved he could feel dried blood flake away from his skin. He was thirsty, but in this damp cell, the thought of drinking only made his stomach churn.

  They had taken his ayarn and without it, his senses were blind.

  Not the best way to end a life.

  Finnlay forced out a laugh, tried to see all this in the same ironic way Robert would ... But it was useless. Robert was dead, and Finnlay had killed him.

  A clank of metal against wood and the door swung wide, flooding the cell with light. Finnlay screwed up his eyes as two men entered, their swords drawn and pointed at his chest. A third man followed and put a bowl of water by Finnlay’s feet.

  “So, how do you feel now, sorcerer?” the man grunted. Cold, black eyes stared out of a face pitted with scars from some childhood disease. There was contempt and hatred in that gaze, and some fear, too. “Want to confess your crimes?”

  Finnlay remained crouched in his corner. There was no need to provoke these people further. Their ingrained fear was already enough to make them want an excuse to kill him on the spot. “I have nothing to confess. As I tried to tell those men in the woods, I’m not a sorcerer.”

  “Tell that to the judges!” the man spat. “They’ll be here in two days to try you. You have until then to repent. We have a priest standing by when you want him.”

  “But I have nothing to confess . ..”

  “Then perhaps you need a little encouragement,” the sergeant waved his hand and one of the guards moved forward, his sword aimed at Finnlay’s face. With the smallest flick, the sword point slashed Finnlay’s right cheek, down to his chin. The pain burned like fire, but Finnlay refused to cry out.

  “I think it’s time you told us who you are. What were you doing in that forest? Where do you come from?”

  Finnlay scrambled to his feet, his heart pounding loud enough to hear. They must not find out his name—ever!

  “Come, sorcerer! Your name! Who are you?” Suddenly the sergeant lashed out and hit Finnlay across the face. Finnlay stumbled against his chains and fell back to the wall. Before he could even get his breath, the sergeant hit him again, this time in the stomach. As Finnlay doubled over, fighting for air, the sergeant came close, his breath foul in the dank cell. “Not so powerful after all, are you?”

  “I ... tell you,” Finnlay gasped, trying to stand up straight again, “I’m not a sorcerer.”

  The sergeant grabbed Finnlay’s hair, pulled his head back until his neck was stretched tight. “Say that once more, sorcerer, and I’ll cut your throat here and now! I don’t really care about waiting for the judges. I know how those Guilde fanatics feel about you people—but me? I’d rather rid the world of you personally. We don’t want your lying, evil ways here. Do you understand? Dark Angel you may be, but I’m not going to let you out of here unless you’re either already dead or going to the stake.”

  With a jerk, the sergeant shoved Finnlay’s head back against the wall and moved away. “Chain him to the wall. We don’t want him to get any ideas about escaping, do we?”

  The guards grabbed him then, pushing him back against the wall. He could feel the blood trickling down his throat, making his muddy shirt wet. As they pulled up his right hand however, the sergeant lunged forward. “What’s th
at?” he said as he grabbed the ring from Finnlay’s finger.

  “Where did you get this? A black eagle on a silver mount. I’m sure I’ve seen that before somewhere.”

  “I found it,” Finnlay replied quickly.

  “Oh, really,” the sergeant sneered, “then you won’t mind if I take it and find out who it really belongs to. It’s a valuable ring, like your clothes. Rich. Perhaps you didn’t find it. Perhaps you stole it—from a dead man.”

  The sergeant laughed then, and together with the guards, moved back out of the cell. The door clanged shut, but it was only as the echo died away that Finnlay noticed the other feeling, the one that crept up on his senses like a shadow in the night. Blind without his ayarn he might be, but this sensation required no special talent. Not since he and Robert had worked on it a few weeks ago. There was a Malachi nearby, no doubt about it.

  His chains clanging around him, Finnlay settled back down to the floor. His hands began to shake again—and this time it was with fear.

  It was almost sunset by the time Jenn took the doctor up. Robert was still asleep when they went in, but woke immediately. Jenn helped him sit up and for a moment ignored the nagging doubt in her heart. There would be time to explore that later.

  “This is Doctor Wishart,” she began. “He’s come up from the hospice to see you.”

  Robert glanced at her, then nodded to the old man. “We’ve met before, Doctor, have we not?”

  “Your Grace is kind to remember,” Wishart murmured, his rheumy eyes giving away nothing. “And how does Your Grace feel this evening?”

  “Evening already? Well, I feel a little stiff, but I think I could get up.”

  Wishart nodded, reaching out to touch the bruise on Robert’s forehead. “I think perhaps Your Grace’s wounds are a little more serious than they seem at the moment. You will have trouble walking, and that knock to your head will make you dizzy if you try. I recommend two weeks’ bed rest, Your Grace. No less. Do you remember how it happened?”