A Templar's Apprentice (19 page)

The Templar resumed putting forth questions about the patterns in the sky. Ahram, I noticed, paid close attention to our conversations, asked his own questions,
and provided some of the answers I could not. I found, during these travels, that it was becoming increasingly difficult to reckon the man, who the Templar had obvious fondness for, with the killer I had seen in my vision. He seemed to accept me readily enough, though his quiet intensity unnerved me. Of the men tracking us, we had no indication, until we entered a village on the outskirts of Bembibre.

It was the smell that warned us.

T
he waft of charred thatch and the strange smell of something roasting met us halfway up the lane. We saw the farmhouse, or what was left of it.

Partial walls of stone were all that remained standing, and a small blackened tuft of thatch hung at a sharp angle near the hut's entrance. I felt the old man's grief pulse in the wind before the others noticed. He stood so still and silent that he was hard to make out in the growing dark of evening. The Templar noticed my look and turned. The closer we came, the more I could see. Before him lay a freshly mounded grave. An old sword had been thrust in the ground beside.

I slid from my horse, grasping the reins as my legs nearly buckled. The Templar had no such problem and approached ahead of the rest.

“Go away,” the man murmured as we came closer. “Leave a man to his grief.”

“We have no argument with ye, sir, nor wish to disturb yer mourning,” said the Templar. He approached with his hands wide, showing no weapon or threat.

“Like the others,” he said. “I thank you, no.”

“What others?” asked the Templar. “Truly, we mean ye no harm.”

The man looked at us with lost, frightened, but very angry eyes. “My son is gone. Gone! Do you hear me! My home is in ashes. There is nothing here for you.” He rose and drew the sword from the ground beside him. I took a step back, out of the way, and my head began to buzz.

Large blue eyes stared with fright. The tines of a pitchfork gleamed in the blaze of a torch. The crackle of fire played in my ears. Smoke filled my nose.

Focus. Ground. Shield.
I blinked, trembling.

“Be at peace, old man,” said the Templar. “I can see yer pain. I know yer loss. We will trouble ye no further.”

I could feel a strange ripple in the air as he spoke, as if the life beat of the land had become the gentle lap of the sea. The man's eyes seemed to dim and lose the fire of his anger. The sword dipped toward the ground.

I felt the Templar's power, and I reached as he had described to me. I added to his sway, keeping the man quiet and docile.

“How many, and how long ago?” the Templar asked. I watched and listened to the way he used the power. The old man's eyes filled with tears and he sat heavily back down. “Fifteen or more soldiers rode in two days past. They wore the colors of France.”

“What business does the French king have on Spanish soil?” asked the Templar, though we knew well already.

“They seek travelers.” His red-rimmed eyes narrowed and turned my way. “A Knight Templar and a young boy.”

I sucked in my breath, helpless to the quiver that gripped my spine. They knew of me.

“What happened?” The Templar approached the man and knelt at the end of the grave.

“He was my son,” the man said quietly. “No man should bury his son.” His grief was overwhelming. It made me want to drop down beside him and beg his forgiveness. I was stunned suddenly by a thought that robbed my chest of breath.
How would my da feel if this adventure should turn out in like? It was a mistake,
I thought,
to come here — a horrible, terrible mistake.
I must have made a noise or my face gave me away for the Templar looked up. There was sadness in his eyes as
he turned away and began to pray. I knew what to do without even thinking on it, and I embraced it as I hadn't before. The ground was hard beneath my knees as I dropped beside the two men and joined the prayers for the soul of the boy who had died in my stead.

Finally, it was done. We stood, lost in the quiet of the moment as crickets and cicadas filled the night air with their song.

“Come away with us,” the Templar said quietly. “There is nothing for ye here.”

“My home is here,” the man replied. And nothing we could say would sway him from his course.

In the end we moved on, but it was with the promise that we would send men to help him rebuild when we reached the next contact house along the way. I looked back over my shoulder twice as we left. The old man stood where we had left him, with a trail of tears flowing down his weathered cheeks.

We ate beneath the stars that night. The men seemed much as they had been of late. Perhaps they were used to seeing people burned out and mourning, but I was not. When I took my rest, safely beside the Templar, I could not stem the series of images that played again and again in my mind. It was worse when finally I closed my eyes. The images were freed to grow, and fear surrounded me.

I saw them in order, as if they were slowed. First, Douglas, as the arrow pierced his throat, falling forever beyond my reach; then Marta, in terror, being flung from one soldier to another, her dress in tatters, her body cut and bleeding. I saw the old man then, and then the son we had been too late to help. I saw the fear in the son's eyes.

And then came the worst. Flames surrounded the wood, licking the pitch. Smoke spiraled up past a white robe, singeing the red of the cross. I saw the face of the Grand Master, white and filmed with a layer of sweat and dust. I saw the movement of his lips. I felt the cadence of his prayer.

The image of the carving came to me in a bright white light. A woman smiled. Her eyes of deep amber held mine. The vision faded before I even had time to focus, ground, and shield. I woke with the woman fresh in my mind — her image, not as a carving, but as flesh and bone.

I must have stirred or made some sound to alert him, for his eyes were on mine a short distance away in the dark. “What did ye see?” The Templar's voice was a quiet question that didn't travel beyond my hearing.

“I saw a woman, the model for the carving.”

He said no more and just closed his eyes. I rolled to my back and stayed awake for a long while, staring at the stars.

W
e rose early and wasted no time in clearing the camp of signs that we had been there. A renewed vigilance had once more taken hold. The soldiers were two days from us. It was vital that we move on and do it quickly. Our best hope lay in the belief that they were ahead of us, not behind.

The Templar was quiet, more watchful and rested than I had seen him in many days. As we made our way across the gradually changing landscape and up into the mountains, all of the men were in a state of alertness. Swords were palmed at the slightest sound, and no one initiated conversation beyond what was necessary.

The hills were rocky and travel difficult. What began as a gentle climb, a slope that crept forever upward toward the clouds, eventually became a steep grade. We led the horses and walked, sometimes singly, sometimes abreast. Footing was precarious.

The higher we climbed, the more excited by the view
I became. As we crested the rise, I sucked in a deep breath. Down below, a deep green valley lay on either side of the path. Up ahead, a thin track skirted the mountaintop.

“If we take the safer path down below, we are sure to run into the soldiers,” the Templar said. “Ahram, ye've come this way before, how dangerous is it?”

“The winds are high at this time of the year. If there were another way, I'd not risk it,” he said.

But we all knew we would risk it, for just this morning we had come across the evidence of a fire pit still warm from the night before. It could have been any traveler, but it had the feel of those hunting us.

“With care, and Allah on our side, we can only hope,” said Ahram.

God, Allah, Jesus, or whatever Yer faithful name Ye,
I thought,
if Ye would, please help us.
It was strange, but I didn't feel it was blasphemy to speak to the Lord in that manner. I knew now that there were many ways to worship the one God, and that there were many people doing it happily in all those ways.

We took nearly the whole of the night to make our way up the first steep grade, then down across the floor of the valley, and back again up the next monumental hill. And as if Mother Nature had planned it for me alone, we reached the pinnacle as the sun rose with coral fingers of light that banished the dark of an evening sky.

One by one we stepped out onto a path no wider than two men stretched lengthwise. The drop on either side seemed to careen down hundreds of rock-strewn ledges. The view was amazing. I felt as if I were on top of the world, looking down. Below me the land once again resembled the map I had seen.

“Have a care, Tormod. I dare not walk beside ye. Hold the reins tightly, and keep her head down.”

We had tied a strip of linen across the eyes of our mounts, so that they would not spook and bolt. Even still, the horses twitched nervously, sensing the danger of the road before them. Ahram went first, tethered and followed closely by Fakih. I stepped out next with the Templar behind me. Bakir trailed.

Slowly we walked, leading the horses one behind the next as if it were any other narrow road at any other time. But as we neared the center, something suddenly began to change. The wind that had barely stirred the dust of the path rose in intensity. At first it was welcome for we were hot and sweat-filmed from our ascent; but when it began to blow in earnest, it stirred the birds that were below us.

I know now that I should have been holding the reins tightly, but a movement down below caught my attention and my mind wandered in its direction. It was a hawk winging slowly upward. As I watched, it caught the breeze and shot up, sweeping low over my head. I
heard the flap of its wings and the scree of its cry and flinched.

My horse, already nervy, bumped against me and knocked her blind askew. I tightened my grip on the reins as the terrified creature began to back away from the edge it could see, crowding me toward the ledge it could not see. I tried to turn her, but the horse was too frightened and was heaving and shying.

“Tormod!” It happened so fast that I could not even formulate a plan. I heard the Templar's cry but could not make my mind grasp his meaning. He could not possibly want me to let go. I held the reins as the horse began to rear up and shifted my body to her side. The wind tore across the ridge. I felt the press of it against my body, pushing me. My balance was not what it should have been, and when the back legs of my mount slid off the road, the only thing I thought about was saving her, and so it was a complete shock when we both went over the side.

T
he bite of the rope seared like a brand, and in shock I let go of the reins. I hit the side of the cliff with such
force that the breath was knocked out of me. Horror filled my mind as I watched a slide of rock follow the screaming animal down the side of the mountain. Huddled against the cliff, I tried to push it out of my mind.

I heard the men above shouting and trying to calm the rest of the horses. My rope jerked, and I dropped a bit lower. “Brace yer feet, Tormod,” the Templar cried.

But I could only stare at the rock face, holding the rope that was tightening more and more while I hung. All around the life beat of the land and air swirled furiously in my mind.

“Tormod, ye need to help us!” The fear in his voice cut through, jerking me from my own terror. I would not cause him more grief. I could not. I brought my legs up and scrabbled for a foothold, using my hands to ease the slack on the ever-tightening rope. Slowly as they pulled, I clawed my way upward. But my thoughts kept drifting far below with the animal that had been entrusted me.

Tormod, feel the rock.
He spoke directly into my mind, distancing me from my sorrow and pain. I focused on the shape beneath my boots, reaching with my mind to find the niches my feet could not. But rock was different. Its life beat was slower, more difficult to decipher. The carving in my sporran burned at my middle as tears dropped from my cheeks and chin, falling to the earth far below. The task seemed impossible, but suddenly I
felt the beat and I understood the shape and feel of the ledge. My feet found purchase that I could almost swear was not there before. Slowly I began to climb. It seemed like forever that I made my way upward, and even longer before I was hauled back onto the cliff. The Templar was the first to draw me to my feet. I felt him shaking as we grasped arms. “I thought we'd lost ye, Tormod.” His eyes were dark and worried. “I've got things to do, an' I don't intend to do them without ye!”