A Templar's Apprentice (2 page)

He motioned me on. “No one, lad,” he repeated sternly.

A duty that is secret.
Excitement rippled through me.
Someone else will run for the box of tinder. Probably Torquil.
With a grin I ran back into the hut and tossed the tin box onto the coverlet.

I
t was nearly dark. The wind had risen. I felt the strength of it — the last press of winter. It whipped through my tunic and breeks as I hurried. I was glad of my plaid, an enormous bolt of tartan cloth I had wrapped tight around me and pulled up over my head like a cloak.

I took the path behind our hut, up over the hills. It was rough country. The rocks were sharp. They dug into the thin soles of my boots, but I paid them no heed. I was my da's runner. I carried messages from one end of the village to the other, about the catch or the crew's arrival back on land. We were fishers. We had two boats and many nets.

The wood sat at the top of the hills. Its inky silhouette towered above me as I climbed, driving out the little bit of confidence I felt when the Templar had asked me to go. My backbone trembled. At the forest's edge I hesitated, but with little choice but to get on with it, I took a deep breath and plunged from bare light to none at all.

Inside the ring of trees, the wind stopped as if it had been snuffed out like the flame of a candle. I would
have been glad of it, but the cold that remained was worse. The dark lay heavily on me like a shroud. The spot behind my knees trembled.

Cautiously I moved, focusing on the feel of my feet as they landed. Rocks and twigs, dirt and jutting roots clutched at my mind and soles. I paid great heed. The path through the wood was short, but I had never done the trek by night. It was unnerving. My heart leapt and started every few paces, and thoughts of the evil tales Torquil told of this place haunted me.

At nearly the half point, something rustled behind me. I turned and stared hard in the direction I had come. I could see nothing, but I
felt
it. Life stalked in that darkness.

My breath was loud in my ears. I tried to quiet it, to listen for what was there, moving fast to put distance between it and me. Suddenly my foot came down on a bit of unsteadiness. My body pitched forward with no way to stop, and the scroll fell free.

Sticks and rocks bit into me as I cast around, frantic. I had to find it.

A hazy danger lurked at the edges of my thoughts. Dry leaves crackled. I groped about wildly, searching until at last my fingers closed on the soft edge of the scroll.

Eyes tracked my movements. It was nearing. The tension in its limbs was coiled.

Starting up into a crouch, I peered through the endless darkness, fingers now seeking something I could use to defend myself.

But what I encountered in the last sweep was not what I had expected. Atop a cold mound of leaves, I felt the edge of another parchment.

Two scrolls! Two?
I thought in shock. My breath rushed out in a burst.

A rustle sounded closer on my left.

My heart was near moving my ribs in its haste to beat. I rummaged through the leaves ready to bolt if I could do nothing else. Just then, my fingers closed over a palm-sized rock with sharp edges. I hefted it, as a small, glowing set of amber eyes met mine.

It was a boar, a female, a new mother. I was near her litter.

Go easy, Mother.
I stared, willing her to feel that I was of no harm. Moments trickled by as we faced off. Then with a soft grunt, she turned and waddled away.

I was lucky. If she had chosen to charge, I might not have been able to outrace her. Though her tusks were not long, they were a danger.

I rose, legs trembling, now thinking on the two parchments tucked reverently against my chest. What might have happened had I not, by chance, come upon both? I was nearly faint to think on it.

My sense of direction was twisted. I let my mind drift, feeling the life of the wood flow through me.
Water behind. Mountain ahead.
I blinked then shivered.
Ahead.

With great care I made my way through what was left of the forest. It seemed a lifetime before I came on a break in the trees, where faint light brightened the gloom. I stopped, finally able to breathe and examine the damage.

I brushed away most of the earth that clung to the outside of the sealed scroll. It seemed fine, just barely dented. The loose parchment was a bit worse. A smudge of dirt nearly obscured the first line, and the edge was crimped where my hand had closed on it.

I could not read, as I'd told the Templar, but looked on it nonetheless. Rough edges of land and waving lines of water were inked there, along with hills and a sketch that resembled trees. Placed over it all was a series of dots I guessed must be towns.

Off to the side a box was drawn, a close-up of a place from the land. Inside the box was a waterfall flowing down from a mountain surrounded by a forest. Lower, down in the corner was a small, strange silhouette. It was hard to make out in the dark, but I got the impression that it was a figure, shown from the back, with arms stretched up to the skies.

The map itself was old, the parchment thin and the edges crumbling. As I stared, a brisk wind set upon me and nearly lifted the fragile document from my fingers.

Carefully I rerolled the page and slid it back where it belonged. From the outside it looked no different. Praying the Abbot would be none the wiser, I took off at a jog. I'd lost time in the woods. I had to hurry.

The run was not the longest I'd ever done, but by far my fastest. The terrain flew by, as did the candle marks. I came on the preceptory during the night.

Balantrodoch was the largest and most important preceptory encampment of the Knights Templar in Scotia. I had seen it once. Torquil had hiked with me when I had begged him to come, but that was before he decided to hate me. It was painful to think on it. Torquil abandoned me, chose his friends, and left me with nothing but the dream of getting away.

I moved to the edge of the last rise. A long swath of dark stretched before me.
Balantrodoch.
It sat tucked into the sloping landscape as if it had been there forever. My breath came in gasps as I gazed in wonder at the many buildings I saw beyond its outer wall.

The greatest of these, and what stood out most, was the kirk — a grand church, fourfold bigger than the one in our village. It rose from the surrounding hillside, as if it had been chiseled by the hammer of God Himself. It
stretched as high as four of our huts, one stacked on top of the other, its spire like a finger that pointed straight to the heavens.

Smaller buildings sat clustered around the kirk. These were built of stone and thatch, like our homes, but they were enormous in comparison. And surrounding the whole of the property stood a great barricade of oak. With sharpened tips jutting skyward, it kept out any who thought to trespass. Staring toward the preceptory, I was hit with a longing to step inside the walls and disappear forever, to be one of them, to fight and have respect.

My palm was moist where it gripped the scroll. I took a breath and plunged on. The path was long and winding. It gave the watchers up on the barricade time to see any who might dare approach. My skin crept with the thought.

I was in a hurry and yet, in those last steps that led me to the place I had always wished to be, I hesitated. The gates were forbidding. They towered above me like mountains.

“What business have ye at this late hour?” A guard scowled down at me. His voice was like sand scraping my ears raw, and I ducked my head.

“I've come with a message for the Abbot. A Knight Templar bade me bring it.” I twitched beneath the weight of his stare.

“Leave it in the hollow o' the stump over there by the rocks.” He gestured to my left. “A runner will fetch it shortly.” His voice dismissed me, and I heard him call out the order to someone within.

“No!” I shouted, panicked at the thought I'd come all this way only to be turned back at the gates. “I canno'.” The protest started out strong, but my voice cracked piteously. I ducked my face to cover my embarrassment. “My instructions from the knight were very clear. I must deliver it personally.”
Not the truth, o' course, but better.
I looked up, and he stepped closer to the wall's edge. His expression made me step back a pace.

A man must never slouch or flinch from the scrutiny o' another. This gives proof that ye're upright and speak the truth.
It was as if my da were standing beside me, the thought came so clearly to my mind. I stood straighter and met the guard's eyes, feeling a bit of guilt for using my da's trick when I was lying. “Ye're wasting time,” I said. Inwardly I cringed, willing the man to believe my ruse.

He left me to wait. I trembled as the wind skittered across my skin, wrapping my arms tight around me. The parchments crinkled beneath my fingers.
What am I doing? I should be in the village, warm by the fire.

The silence of the night was broken suddenly by the squeal and clank of gears and winch. Slowly the gigantic gate began to rise and all of my misgivings fled.

My legs quaked and my eyes grew dry, but I refused to blink and miss a single moment. Templar preceptories were closed to the outside world. They were secret and silent. What went on beyond their walls was a mystery.

T
he gate rose by agonizing degrees. Sound crept toward me long before I could see inside. I strained to hear, moving slowly toward the growing opening. The scrape of metal on metal was loud.

Unfolding before me was a scene I had only ever prayed to behold. Knights! Knights by the dozen were sparring. The hard-packed dirt clouded beneath their feet. I could taste the earth on my tongue and smell the sweat from their bodies.

They were training in groups of two or three. All wore mail from foot to helm. Some wore the brilliant white tunic with the red cross of the Templar Order. Others wore black with the same cross of red. In one hand they held large leather shields, and in the other enormous Scottish broadswords. I watched, dumfounded, as they beat each other mercilessly. The clash of blades filled the night air, each strike pounding so strongly I
felt the resonance in my chest. I moved close, desperate to see.

“Follow me.”

I jumped. The rasping command of the guard, who until recently was above the gate, was now so close to my ear that I nearly cried out.

“The Abbot will see ye.”

His words were slow to enter my crowded head.

“Move, lad, or orders or no ye'll feel the flat o' my blade.”

I followed him readily. I'd been on the receiving end of a belt and that was bad enough. His sword would leave marks for a sennight.

The guard led me along an old and well-used dirt path. We passed a host of buildings. The shutters of one were wide to the night air. Inside a blacksmith pounded a slab of hot metal before a brightly glowing forge. The guard prodded me forward.

A weaver's shed was next. As the smell of the dyes leached out into the night, my nose and eyes burned and I hurried past. Men were grinding wheat for flour in the next hut. We only had flour near on once a year.
What Mam could do with that …

We crossed an open courtyard and came at last to the doors of the great kirk I had spied from my earlier vantage. The guard motioned that I should go first and
herded me up a dark stone stairwell. It twisted several times before ending at a small wooden door.

The guard reached over me and knocked heavily. He was large — strong and close in the dark space. I thought again of the flat of his blade and tried to edge away, but there was no room on the small landing. From inside I heard the voices of men.

“As ye can see, the man's no' here. I have heard naught from him in more than a fortnight. Feel free to search the premises, but I can assure ye, yer efforts will be for naught.” The deep voice was calm but forceful.

There was a slight pause and I leaned closer. “I'll take you at your word, Frère Abbot.”

Danger seemed to hang in the air. I shifted back knowing that it would not do to be caught listening.

“Come,” said the Abbot.

I could not see a latch or handle in the space before me, and while I grappled, the guard pushed from behind. The weight of my body forced the door to swing inward on hinges that squealed. I darted a sharp look behind me for the rough treatment. The guard neither met my eye nor acknowledged anything amiss. I inched forward, as much to put space between us as to see who was inside.

There were two large men in dark riding cloaks. They looked to have traveled hard and fast. A layer of
road dust coated their legs and boots. A monk clad in brown homespun linen sat at a desk across from them. His hair was cut in the tonsure, an odd-looking thing where the sides were trimmed short and the very top circle of his head was shaved bald. His beard was full-faced but cut close to the chin. He was small, I noticed, barely inches over me, and I was only five hands high. He was as thin as a reed as well.

Throughout my inspection they all ignored me. The two soldiers — if I was not mistaken that that's what they were — stood, one by the Abbot's desk, the other by the high window.

The Abbot inclined his head. “Excuse me for a moment, gentlemen. Aye, lad?”

I stepped forward. “A Knight Templar gave this to me.”

His eyes flashed with surprise, and before I could give over the scroll, one of the soldiers whipped it out of my hand. And though the Abbot protested, he broke the wax.

“Here, ye have no business —”

The soldier ignored him completely. “So you've heard nothing from him, Abbot,” the man said scathingly as he looked over the document. “We'll just take this as evidence of his duplicity.”

The Abbot fumed. “Ye have no right to intercept a Templar missive.”

“Where it concerns a Templar wanted by the crown, we have every right.” He turned to me. “Where did you get this, boy?”