A Templar's Apprentice (14 page)

“We make for Santiago de Compostela,” said the Templar. He drew his cloak up over his head and pulled
it low over his eyes. I did the same with my plaid. “'Tis the shrine of the Holy Way. I dare not take the main road. Stay close an' keep yer wits. We may have to move quickly. 'Tis a bit of a walk. Tell me if ye have trouble with yer foot.”

I nodded.

Our pace was moderate. Though the Templar's legs were longer, and I was able to keep up, my foot throbbed beneath the wrapping. It was difficult not to limp, but I forced myself to do it, to stand straight and endure. I could feel the Templar's tension and I didn't want to distract him. We walked for at least two marks of the candle, across great swaths of land filled with hills and valleys. Brush and bramble covered much of the ground, catching my legs and tripping me as we walked. Without the sun I had no way to accurately gauge time, but when my stomach set to grumbling, I judged it past our evening meal. We were deep in a strangely fragranced forest by then.

I was hard put to keep the quiet he had set. I needed the reassurance of his voice. “What is that smell? 'Tis not like any o' the forest a' home,” I said. The Templar grunted, as if he had not quite heard what I asked.

“I said, the scent here. Do ye know what it is?”

I thought he was going to ignore the question. His
back was as tight as a strung bow, and his eyes peered intently ahead as he walked.

“'Tis the leaf o' the myrtle,” he said quietly. “'Tis said to have soothing properties. The scent calms the mind an' refreshes the soul.”

I went quiet again, hoping against hope that what he had said was true. If there was one thing I craved at that moment, it was peace of mind. I was sick with the thought of the men hunting us.

Traveling a rough path through the forest, we avoided the main road for a time. When there was no other choice, we chanced walking where we could be seen; but as people came within hearing, we darted to the side until they passed. Many of those on the road were in far worse shape than I with my bandaged foot. Their clothes were ragged, and their bodies were gaunt. Their smell, though, was by far the worst thing about them. It was so strong at times, even from our place of concealment, that I covered my nose and mouth with the edge of my plaid and still I felt the constant need to gag.

The Templar spoke when we were once again alone. Perhaps he noticed that I needed a distraction. I jumped at the crackle of leaves and, more than once while I was looking behind, trod on his heels.

“Santiago de Compostela is the final destination o'
a holy pilgrimage an' one o' the greatest sites o' adoration in the world.”

“Aye?”

“The story goes that James, one o' Jesus's first four Apostles, was beheaded by the king Herodes, who forbade the Apostle a proper burial. The Disciples smuggled the body out o' Jerusalem, loaded it into a skin boat, an' launched it on the sea.

“Wind an' the guiding hands o' the angels, they say, carried the boat safely here to Compostela. An' the people brought the body to the local queen, Lupa, who 'tis said had a vision that instructed her to give the Apostle a proper burial. She had him laid out in a great marble sarcophagus in the crypt where we head.”

I nearly trampled him when he stooped and picked up something small and white from the path. He grunted and recovered his balance quickly. “A little room, Tormod.”

“I'm sorry,” I mumbled, moving away.

“Scallop shells,” he said, looking at the bit he had picked up, “became the symbol o' the skin boat wherein the Apostles laid the body an' now represent this Pilgrimage.”

I looked around. Shells littered the path we had just come upon. “They carry them with them?”

“Aye, pinned to their hats or carried in their goods.”

Up ahead, the noise of a group of people alarmed me. We had not seen any for quite some time and it was loud to my ears. “Here,” he said. “Come this way.”

A queue of pilgrims lined up before the doors of the kirk. The Templar led me to the side, and we followed a rough trail to the back stone wall. The land was uneven. Rocks and briars blocked our path and caught our clothes as we made our way.

“Where are we go —”

He swept his arm wide, flattening me against the wall of the kirk. My breath was halting as we listened and waited. I kept my peace but wanted to shriek. Slowly, carefully, he inched the door open and silently moved inside. I followed.

We were in a room, separate from the main kirk. The chamber was completely black and as silent as a tomb. We stood in absolute stillness as the moments ticked by, one by one, until at last I could bear it no longer. “Shall I light a taper?”

My whisper was like a shout in the darkness. His hand shot out and clamped over my mouth. A quick scratch was followed by a burst of light. I shielded my eyes.

Illuminated by the flame, not three hand spans from my face, was a sight that chilled me to the marrow. We were not alone. The Templar had known it all along.
Dark eyes met mine, and they seemed to glow with an inhuman shine.

T
he man was a terrifying sight. He was swathed in many dark and flowing robes, from his veiled head to his sandaled feet. The skin of his face was a deep brown, as if the sun had shone on him for years and toasted him crisply. His fingers were long and thin, and flowed gracefully as he touched his forehead, then chest in greeting. “Salaam, my brother. It is good to see you yet alive.”

The Templar breathed out heavily, and I felt the release of tension from his body. He took his hand from my mouth with barely leashed violence. “Tormod, there are times when ye tempt my sword an' my peace o' mind mightily.”

I was shaken. I'd done it again. I'd done something stupid, something dangerous, and made him angry.

“Ahram,” said the Templar, grasping forearms with the man. “Ye don't know how glad I am to find
ye
here an' no' another.” His glance passed over me, and I ducked my head and moved away from them both.

“We have had a watch set for many a night in hopes of your arrival,” said the other. His voice had a melodic ring.

“What news have ye?” asked the Templar.

“Mercenaries scout the bays seeking a Knight Templar traveling from the north. They are most persistent in their inquiry. You cannot linger here.”

My head snapped up at his words.
Mercenaries? Hired killers?

“Tell me all,” he said quietly.

“They landed two days past, and small parties have been going out at regular intervals. They've men positioned all along the road, and one contingent has moved on inland.” His hand found and rested on the haft of his sword, perhaps out of habit. I stepped back a pace in case there was another reason, but he paid me no heed. “I sent men to follow the ones who went on and have not heard back from them yet.”

“What direction did they take?”

“East.”

The Templar's mouth was tight and furrows stood on either side. He moved to a table near the back wall and lit several tapers. I stood beyond the edge of the light, watching the stranger and wondering at the easy relationship between the two. I had always thought that Arab and Christian hated one another. Clearly these two didn't.

The Templar drew a rolled parchment from beneath his vestments and placed it on the table.

“Tormod, come here.” I crossed the space slowly, looking down on what he held. It was the map I'd drawn, but set in a much larger tract of land.

The Templar spread the parchment and bade me hold two corners. He held the others and began tracing a path with his finger. “We must travel here,” he said.

The dark man moved closer into the light to look, and I sucked in a breath. A series of strange runes were inscribed in the skin of his cheek. He felt my stare and turned to me. I was startled by the near total blackness of his eyes.

A white mantle stirred. The sound of battling swords cut the air. Black eyes flashed as blood splashed dark runes.

Focus. Ground. Shield.
I barely remembered the commands, so strong was the vision. As it winked out, I wavered, backing away from the man, my eyes still locked with his. He said nothing, turning to the map.

“Tormod, the map,” reminded the Templar. My eyes beseeched him, but either he didn't notice or chose not to act on it. I reached out once again and held the edges, carefully avoiding contact with the Arab. I needed to tell the Templar he could not trust the man at our side, but I could say nothing.

“We have reasoned that these markings here are stars that are set in the sky as it appears over this land. They will appear clearly during the July moon. Using those calculations, I place the map's destination here — beyond the mountains, deep in the Languedoc. Have you been in this region?” he asked.

“I have not. It is not a place that would welcome our kind,” said the Arab.

“Ye should be welcome in all lands,” said the Templar.

The Arab dipped his head in acknowledgment. “The ports are patrolled,” he said. “You will best be served moving across the land.”

The Templar stared, thinking. “Aye, perhaps,” he replied. “We must move quickly, an' those seeking us must be diverted. I'll send my men on ahead by sea. If chased, they should be safe enough without my presence. The enemy seeks a Knight Templar an' entourage. Seamus does not wear the white as yet. I would ask that ye take yer men to the ship an' tell Seamus the plan. We will move on as pilgrims. Keep watch for us at Ponferrada. We travel the Holy Road.”

“May Allah watch over you, Alexander. You seem to have more enemies than friends these days.”

“I'll be pleased to have His protection.”

The Arab left, with a cursory glance that passed over me. I was glad of it. We stayed only long enough to
reroll the map and douse the candles. A storm was building. The air fairly crackled with energy.

“We go on alone, Tormod. How fares yer foot?” he asked, climbing the bank of dirt behind the kirk.

It ached, but I was too caught up in my worries to dwell on it. “I'm well,” I said. At the top of the slope, we quickly angled east over a meadow of tall grass. Night had fallen while we were inside. The damp from the rain seeped into my boots and in moments it was fair uncomfortable, but I said nothing.

“Ye're excessively quiet,” he said after a while. “Let it go. Ye need not obsess about it every time I snap at ye, Tormod.” His voice was peevish.

“No, I'm not. Speaking out when I did was a stupid thing to do, an' I will try not to do it again, but that's not it.” I suddenly felt unsure about telling him what really bothered me.

“Ye had another vision, while we were inside,” he guessed.

He had recognized the signs. “Aye. An' I feel that I must tell ye, though I know ye don't want me to.”

He said nothing.

“Beware the man with the runes,” I said. “Danger an' pain surround him.”

“In this ye're mistaken. Ahram is like my brother. I would trust him with my life.”

“Then ye throw yer life away!”

I cringed expecting another reprimand, but instead he said, “Good to see ye returning to yerself, Tormod. I thought ye had lost yer spark with yer toes. But that is enough.”

It was said with a quiet authority. I shut my mouth then. We walked for a moment in awkward silence. I asked, as much out of curiosity as out of the need to get back on a solid keel with him, “Will they find us?”

“I'll do my best to protect ye, Tormod. I pledge that on my life.”

It was not a guarantee, but I felt all the better for it.

W
e worked our way across the land in near silence and constant watchfulness. Keeping far from the main paths, we skirted the villages when we came on them. The Templar's pace was quick, and I struggled to stay abreast, or at the very least, right behind him. My foot burned with the unaccustomed exertion, but I didn't complain. I had no idea where we were headed, but it was clear that we needed to arrive, wherever it was, in great haste. It took all the willpower in me, but I didn't
initiate conversation. He was troubled, and though I would have liked to think I could help, I knew that I could not.

It was late when he broke the silence. “The Order has safe houses scattered throughout the Continent. We will make for one I know. 'Tis just beyond a league from here. Can ye bear it? We dare not stop. They are close. The carving is glowing in the depth o' my sporran. I can feel the heat. There is danger.”

I craned my neck around, sure that they must be waiting behind the next bush. The constant ache of my foot until then was not so tremendous that I could not put it out of my mind, yet the moment he mentioned it, the pain seemed to come on doubly. “I am well enough,” I said, gritting my teeth as I stumbled over a snarl of roots at my feet.

He looked on my pinched face with doubt. We had been traveling through a thinly forested area. Around us now were many stripling trees. He took his sword from its hilt and hacked at one of the dry limbs. “We will clean it properly later, but for now use this to support some o' yer weight. 'Tis not much, but the best I can offer at the moment.”

It was awkward and no help at first, but after a while I was better at making the stick and leg move in unison. It didn't, however, take away the pain. I felt more
tired and weak as the night progressed. The moon remained behind a dark scud of cloud, and I stumbled often.

“Rest is not long away.” His voice was harsh, and I felt ashamed for my weakness, as if I had failed the faith he entrusted in me.

“Ye mistake my mood. Ye're recently arisen from the sickbed and ye cannot be expected to travel this way. Yet ye must.”

I wanted to keep on, to live up to his expectations, but I was having trouble keeping the ground before my eyes steady. We moved deeper into the forest. The trees grew dense, and in the darkness my eyes and legs were uncertain.