A Templar's Apprentice (20 page)

For the remainder of the descent out of the mountains and into France, I didn't speak. I mourned the loss of my mount, a good, spirited horse whose only mistake was to be assigned to me.

“Y
e've been quiet o' late, Tormod. I would share yer thoughts, if ye'd have it.” I had moved away from the group after our midday repast. I sat on a deep rock sharpening the blade he had given me. No others were within hearing. He had made sure.

“I can feel the change,” I said. “Something is building. There is tightness within me. My stomach, my bones. I know not what this feeling means. Best I can describe it
is when Torquil an' I are readying for a brawl. There are no solid reasons, but I know that something will spark the flame an' by the day's end I will be on my back with his fists planted in my stomach.”

He nodded, a slight smile lifting the corners of his mouth at my comparison. “I feel it as well. A discord is vibrating along the channels o' our power.”

“The visions are coming more often,” I said. “The carving is glowing dimly. 'Tis been this way since we came over the mountain. This land is dangerous. I feel the warning.”

“We must travel day an' night for a while. Just to put some distance between them an' us. I feel the presence o' our seekers more clearly than before.”

We didn't delay getting back on the road. The fire was stamped out and the ashes distributed so that none would see we had been in this place. The enemy was close.

How close we didn't realize until almost too late.

The sun had not yet risen. We had been traveling for much of the night and had crossed into France many marks of the candle before. Our destination was a deserted wayfarer's hut deep in the hills beyond Tarbes. We pushed our mounts and ourselves to make it, and I was very nearly asleep in the saddle. Fakih and Bakir
were sharing a mount today. I had Fakih's mount and rode behind Ahram when suddenly a strange ripple of awareness shot along my spine.

Before I could alert anyone, the Templar's warning broke the stillness of the night. “Arm yerselves and make for the trees. Protect the lad a' all cost.”

“Look to yerselves,” I cried, drawing my dagger and kneeing my mount with fervor. I was no hero, but I refused to add yet another life in trade for my own. I raced for the darkness of the trees ahead.

I heard the clash of steel behind me. Close by my side I felt and heard the thunder of horses. A scream of pain split the air, and I wheeled the horse, terrified. The earth seemed to rumble beneath me as the overburdened mount of Fakih and Bakir went to ground. I pulled hard and circled wide, determined to help the men who were now on foot in combat.

“Ride for the trees, Tormod,” the Templar commanded. “Now!”

He had never used that tone with me before, and every instinct in me wanted to obey. I started forward.

Ahead, I saw the darkness of the trees, their trunks spaced far enough apart that I would be able to enter at my rapid pace, but beyond its edges lay an eerie dark. I slowed the horse, chancing a glance behind. There were none following. I pulled up on the reins and wheeled my mount in a close circle. Ahram and his men were heavily
engaged with a group of fighters. None wore French colors, and yet these men
felt
familiar. These were the same men who had been at Marta's.

An unholy anger came over me then, as I saw in my mind's eye what they had done to her. I kneed my mount back the way I'd come with only my dagger as a weapon. The Templar was before me, fighting his way toward Fakih and Bakir who fought valiantly on the ground. His broadsword cleft the air — the ring of its metal just one clang in the din of the skirmish going on all around. Ahram was engaged with two others.

The men on foot were helpless against mounted soldiers. They would be run down. As I watched, a man came at Bakir from behind. I threw my dagger, just as the Templar had taught me.

W
ith absolute accuracy my dagger caught the soldier moments before his swing came down on the unprotected back of Bakir. My blade landed square in the attacker's chest. I was shocked at the blood that spurted and could not force myself to retrieve my weapon. As the
man reeled in the saddle, the Templar drove his horse at him and plucked my dagger free.

Wheeling in my direction, shouting with a fury that I could not ignore, he commanded, “Ride!”

I circled my mount once again and sprang for the trees, but not before I saw that Ahram had gotten himself between the soldiers and his men.

I entered at full speed.
Feel the trees,
the Templar commanded. His voice nearly shouted impressions inside me. In my mind I saw the aura of the trees.

I understood. Reaching, I felt for the lifeblood of the trees and fed the information directly into the legs of my mount. We flew then, unencumbered by lack of sight, with no one following our charge.

But no one could keep up the pace my mount had set. I rode for a good mark of the candle before I began to slow. The horse was frothing and my heart was beating furiously. The only sound in the forest was the birds, chirping as if nothing in the world could disturb their happiness.

I had left all of the men behind — the Templar, Ahram, Fakih, Bakir. I wanted to turn back, to help, to find out what had happened, but I knew that I needed to obey him, especially this once. I had the carving. If no one else survived, I must find a way to follow the map to discover what lay at its end.

As the sun began its quiet ascent and the darkness of the wood lifted, I found that I didn't have to focus my attention on directing the horse through the trees. I could see, as could my mount. It was then, when my attention was free, that the reality of what I had done crashed down on me.

I had killed a man. A stranger. I took a life.

I stopped the horse and stumbled toward a tree and was sick at its roots. I saw again the dagger as it flew from my hand. I saw the blood spurt and heard the man's scream. My breath rasped and I felt faint.

The Templar's horse pounded through the trees with dead accuracy. When he neared me, he vaulted from the mount, apparently not caring that the horse might run. He was in a rare fury. I found myself backing up against the tree.

“Tormod MacLeod, what in the seven hells did ye think ye were doing back there!”

I flinched from his roar. “I didn't mean —”

“O' course ye didn't mean! Ye never mean!” He was pacing and shouting. “I told ye to ride! Ride, an' no' turn an' throw the only weapon ye had on yer body. Now, I know well why yer da beat ye! Ye drove him to it!”

I could not take one moment more. “I did my best! I could no' leave a friend behind, just to save my own skin. I'm sorry, ye asked too much o' me!”

I could not believe what I had just done. Shocked by my own action, and afraid that he might tan the skin right off of me, I turned and ran like the devil himself was on my tail.

He took off right after. I should have been able to outrun him, but I had just vomited and he had anger on his side. He caught the back of my robe and yanked, and I flew off my feet. His impetus took us both to the ground where we lay heaving and crumpled.

“Tormod.”

I tried to squirm to get away.

“Hold,” he commanded. I shook, sure now that he would beat me. “I'm sorry.”

I could not believe my ears. “What?” I gasped.

“I'm sorry ye had to go through that. 'Tis more than ye should bear.”

I was horrified that he thought he needed to apologize to me. “No, I'm sorry. I knew that I had the carving. The most important thing was that I take it far from the conflict. It just happened so fast, an' I saw that man going for Bakir. An' I just could no' ride away.” I buried my head beneath my arms, ashamed as tears filmed my eyes. “I killed a man. I can scarce believe it.”

He rolled to his back in the brush. “To kill is never an easy task,” he said. “Ye saved his life. Ye did what was right for a friend, and what's more, ye did what was
right for a Templar. A Templar never runs from a confrontation, and he never leaves a man behind.”

I should have felt pride in his words, but instead I felt hollow.

“Is it always this hard to bear?” I asked, tears choking my throat.

He nodded. “Each life taken is a toll on our own. I wish that I could tell ye otherwise or give ye a way to somehow make it acceptable. But that is something that must come from within. Ask for His forgiveness, for all life has come from the Maker.”

I was silent a moment as we got to our feet and made our way back to the horses. They were peacefully grazing as if nothing had happened. “How are the others?” I asked. “Why are they not with ye?”

“They fare well, considering how many we took on. Fakih was cut. They are taking him to the closest village for tending. Ahram knows our path. If he can come, he will.” We remounted and once again we were off on our own.

Near the height of midday we came across an abandoned wayfarer's hut tucked away in the midst of a deep wood. I was nearly overcome with heat and swaying in the saddle. My robe was stuck to me and my back was burning from the sun. We hobbled the horses in the shade by the hut and entered.

It was a small place, no more than a box of stone, with a mound of old straw, the remnants of a crude shelf that was used as a table, and several low benches. Inside was dim, and only slightly less hot.

“'Tis too hot to hunt and there's no stream about, so let's just rest. Chew some o' these.” He offered a small pouch filled with oats and a skin of water. It tasted terrible, but filled the hole in my stomach.

“Where next?” I asked, working to mush the oats with a sip of the brackish water.

“We make for Montségur. 'Tis a castle preceptory o' the Knights Hospitaller,” he said.

“I've heard the name Hospitaller, but I don't know much about them. Why do we go there?” I asked, tossing off the hat and robe, fishing out my plaid, and dropping down on it.

“They are a sect like ours,” he said over a mouthful of oats. “But where our knights are pledged to fight for the pilgrim's safety in the Holy Land, these are pledged to help find cures for the ill, an' provide refuge an' shelter for the sick an' injured. They're no' much in the way o' fighters, though they've been named as such. We go there for time — to rest an' recover without fear. We travel by night from here on out.”

It did not take long for sleep to take me.

The hut was black as pitch and frightening. My dreams were near — red flames danced before my eyes. Though I'd not slept long, I was afraid to get back to it. Nearby, the Templar's soft and even breath hissed. I was glad that he could find rest.

Focus. Ground. Shield.
Though I was not in the grip of a vision, the exercise helped push away my sudden fear. Beyond the hut I heard the whisper of the trees and the sound of the insects that chirped in the night. Still, I knew I'd feel better if I could but have a bit of light.