Exile's Return (Book 1) (53 page)

‘By the gods, woman, you were at Dunlorn for three days! How in hell could you miss it? You’re a trained Malachi! You were taught at an early age to sense the aura of a strange sorcerer. You should have noticed him. Why didn’t you?’

‘Well, perhaps there was nothing to notice,’ Valena snapped back. ‘You’re assuming these charges are founded on truth. For all we know it could be some big misunderstanding.
The witnesses could have been drunk – or just lying! Why do you assume that I was wrong?’

‘Because, my dear,’ Nash dropped his voice and moved closer, ‘the prisoner escaped without leaving any trace. He got past two dozen guards and a cell locked from the outside. How could he be anything but a sorcerer?’

Valena sank back on to her seat, her hands gripping the book so hard her knuckles went white. ‘He escaped? Have they caught him?’

‘No.’

Her voice was a pale whisper. ‘But he couldn’t be. I would have known. I would have sensed something.’

‘Not if he already knew you were Malachi. He could have shielded himself once he discovered you. His aura would have appeared entirely normal to you.’

‘Then why didn’t he kill me?’ Valena looked at him, her eyes dark and angry. ‘Why did he let me leave if he knew what I was? You’re taking this too far, Nash. You’re trying to see around corners. Finnlay couldn’t have known.’

Nash shook his head and snatched a flask of wine from the table. His throat was parched after his long ride. He drained the flask and thumped it back on the table. ‘Perhaps he knew and perhaps he didn’t. The point is, you didn’t sense him.’

‘But Sam,’ Valena began, but he cut her off.

‘That’s not the worst of it. This village where they were holding him, Kilphedir, is no more than three hours’ ride from Elita.’

‘By the gods,’ Valena breathed. ‘Then that could mean …’

‘That I was wrong all along. Finnlay Douglas could be the Enemy. What else would he be doing so close to her home? How else could he be strong enough to shield himself from you, such a powerful Malachi? How strong is he to escape from a prison in that manner?’ Nash fought to control his desire to panic. If he had been wrong all this time and the Enemy was still out there, so powerful, so acquainted with Elita, then all his efforts of fourteen years ago had been for nothing. The danger was still there. Alive and uncontrolled!
If he couldn’t contain this problem, then everything was once again thrown into doubt, as it had been for centuries.

He took a deep breath and slowed his racing heart. All might not yet be lost. From Valena’s description, Finnlay Douglas didn’t appear to be any real threat to anyone. And if he had no idea of the history he was fighting, then that would play to Nash’s advantage. Very well, then. Back to the game.

He turned back to Valena to find her exquisite face had regained its colour. ‘We must find him,’ she announced without preamble.

‘Yes,’ Nash nodded, heading for the door.

‘Where are you going?’

‘I have to see the King – and Vaughn. I have to convince them to send me south to investigate this matter. Apparently the last civilian seen near the prison was a young boy. I have to find him. In the meantime, you gather our men together. Send Lisson down to Elita to ask a few questions in the village. Have the others out looking for Douglas. We have to find him – and kill him.’

*

Vaughn wavered unsteadily on his feet and reached out a hand to the chair Selar was seated in. As he slowly regained his composure, he opened his mouth, capable only of voicing a whisper. ‘Finnlay Douglas? Are you sure, Nash?’

The young Alderman held up the letter from the judges in Kilphedir. ‘I can only go by the description of the ring, my lord. A black eagle on a silver background.’

‘That’s Finnlay,’ Selar grunted. ‘Robert’s ring is gold, as the heir. I saw both rings together, that summer when the brothers were here at the same time.’

‘But,’ Vaughn stammered, hardly able to believe what Nash was saying, ‘are you sure it isn’t … Dunlorn?’

‘That’s enough, Proctor,’ Selar snapped. He stood and turned away to the fireplace. Vaughn watched him, saw the lines on his face deepen, the sudden shadow around his eyes.

‘Sorcery,’ Selar murmured. ‘Again. Why? Why now?’

The question was obviously directed at Nash and for a
moment Vaughn fumed. It had taken the young man so little time to gain the King’s trust, become his closest confidant. It was impossible to believe Nash still gave Vaughn his full loyalty. With the favour of a King behind you, what might you not aspire to?

He would have to do something about Nash one day. But not yet. There was still a lot of use in him.

Nash folded the paper into three and put his hands behind his back. Patiently, he tried to address Selar’s question. ‘We cannot be sure it is sorcery, Sire. At the moment, all we have is a garbled report from the judges Governor Osbert sent. There are two witnesses to the original offence, but whether they will swear under oath is another matter.’

‘And what of the boy caught near the prison? Has he been found?’

‘I don’t know, Sire. Perhaps.’

Selar turned around. ‘And perhaps he helped this sorcerer to escape! Have you thought of that? Was he alone – or was there an old man with him?’

Vaughn took a step back at Selar’s unbridled anger. This was unlike him. Did he feel the same way about sorcery that Vaughn did? He hoped so.

‘Sire, if you will permit me?’ Vaughn began carefully. ‘I will send Osbert down to this village as soon as he returns to Marsay tomorrow. This matter is obviously too weighty for the judges. Osbert can investigate the matter fully, ask your questions, find out the real truth.’

Selar was nodding, but Nash looked like he wanted to say something. Vaughn decided this once to exercise the upper hand. ‘I will also send Nash down now, if you have no immediate need of him, Sire. I’m sure he will be most diligent in his efforts, won’t you, Nash?’

Stiffening, Nash bowed obedience. ‘Yes, my lord. As you wish.’

There, that will teach him who rules the Guilde! Perhaps a few days in the saddle will bring him to heel. And with any luck, he might just be able to prove that Finnlay was a sorcerer.

By the gods! Two of them! In the same family! And no one had known. All these years and no one ever suspected the evil buried within their ranks. Well, perhaps Finnlay was lost to him but there was a way to catch the brother yet!

*

It rained all the way from Marsay. Steady, solid, depressing rain. The road was bogged with mud, the bridge at Merrin washed away. It was insolent, determined and perverse, the kind of rain that falls towards the end of summer when people have begun to believe the good weather will last all year, the kind that destroys crops only weeks before harvest.

Nash loved it.

The roads were empty, fresh horses available and riding with his hood up meant no one saw his face as he travelled south. No one would remember him, or the questions he asked. Nobody would glance out and see the stranger passing through. Perfect anonymity.

But it didn’t last. By the time he met Lisson in Fenlock village, the downpour was little more than a light mist, floating up from the valley lake. They met in the tavern on the corner of the market square, the Boar and Oak. Nash took a seat by the fire, facing the door. There was no reason to suspect she might come in here, but why take the chance?

He took off his cloak and ordered ale for them both. Then, feeling every league of the last three days, he put his elbows on the table and waited for Lisson. The young man spoke quietly and easily, as though they were having a polite conversation about nothing of particular importance. Just as he’d been trained to do.

‘There’s already been a lot of talk, master. They think this fellow might even be that Angel of Darkness the hermit spoke about last year. There is some fear and a lot of curiosity. None of them have ever experienced sorcery and find it more interesting than terrifying.’

‘I’ll remember that,’ Nash murmured as two large jugs of ale landed on the table. He paid for them and glanced around casually, making sure no one would hear or pay them any attention. ‘Go on.’

‘I believe there was some activity up at the castle on the day the man was captured. An injured lord was brought in. They nursed him, the doctor here saw him. It was His Grace of Haddon.’

‘Robert Douglas?’ Nash murmured, amazed.

‘Yes, master.’

‘Is he still there?’

‘No, master. He left the following night.’

‘Alone?’

‘Yes, master.’

This was most strange. Had the brothers been together? If so, what had they been doing? Why had Haddon left so suddenly if he was injured? Very strange indeed.

Nash took a deep swallow of his ale then stood. ‘Stay here for a few more days and see what else you can find out. I’m going to take a room and clean myself up. I have a lady to see.’

*

It was impossible to miss the guarded looks he got riding into the forecourt of Elita. People stopped in their work and stared at him, at his Guilde robes. In their eyes, Nash could see the loyalty to their rebel Earl, the last dregs of a forgotten era. They didn’t want the Guilde here, on his land – they didn’t want Nash.

All the same, the bailey, Neil Hogarth, treated him with deference, showing him into the hall, providing him with wine as he waited. What were they all thinking, these silent watchful people? Did they wonder if he came to herald a new era? One they would loathe and despise? The rule of the Guilde?

He could have laughed. If only they knew. What would they say of the war Selar planned? Would they remain loyal to the House of Ross if Selar convinced them his brother in Mayenne was a real, imminent threat? Would they desert their lord to go and fight alongside Selar, the man they hated?

Yes, they would. All of them – and that was the beauty of it. In one swift stroke, Selar would finally unite all the old
Houses with the new, combined together against a common enemy. History had proven the axiom. And Selar would never know that he’d helped to destroy all he’d worked to achieve. Not until it was too late.

‘My lord will see you now,’ Neil announced from the other end of the hall. Nash placed his cup on the long table and followed him through a door and down a short passage. A door at the end was opened for him and he entered a room rich in furnishings and colour – and something else.

She was there, standing behind her father’s chair. Long dark hair, shining and free. A black gown enhanced her colouring, made her eyes glow such a deep blue. Her hands were folded together in patience, or perhaps to prevent them twisting as he’d seen her do at court. By the gods, she was lovely!

‘You will forgive me, my lord,’ Nash began with a bow towards Elita’s Earl. ‘I apologize for arriving unannounced, but I have been sent by the King.’

‘To what purpose?’ Jacob replied, waving him to a seat.

Nash smiled thanks, noting the rug which covered the old lord’s crippled legs. No more fighting for this ancient soldier. ‘I have been instructed to investigate the events at the village of Kilphedir.’

‘So why come here?’

He knew she was watching him, felt every flicker of her eyes, but he kept his attention on Jacob. ‘You know the events in question?’

‘I have heard rumours.’

‘Then you will know that the man arrested is believed to be Lord Finnlay Douglas.’

Jacob said nothing to this. He just sat there and waited for Nash to continue. Very well. ‘I believe his brother, the Duke of Haddon was here at Elita the same night?’

‘What of it?’

‘Are the two events not connected?’

‘How can they be?’

Nash frowned. Was he missing something? Jacob didn’t appear to be lying, or even trying to hide something. What
was going on? ‘Surely it cannot be a coincidence that the younger brother is arrested on charges of sorcery while at the same time, the elder is here nearby, recovering from injuries.’

‘Your information is impressive, Alderman, but incomplete. Finnlay Douglas is dead.’

Nash scrambled to find the flaw, the slip of a lie, but Jacob was telling the truth. ‘Have you seen the body?’

At this, Jacob shook his head. ‘No. My daughter did.’

Now Nash did turn his gaze on her. She was watching him steadily, with only a suggestion of wariness. He needed to be very careful here. He couldn’t risk alienating her, but still he needed some answers. ‘How did you see it, my lady?’

She looked to her father before answering. ‘I nursed His Grace through the worst of his injuries. It was only the evening of the second day before he regained his memory. He’d had a blow to the head, you see. Both he and his brother had been exploring the cliffs the day before. Finnlay slipped and fell before his eyes. His Grace went in search of him and fell too.’

‘How did he get here?’

‘I was returning from Marsay and passing through the forest. I heard a cry and rushed to help. His Grace was injured and dazed. He quickly became unconscious, so I was unable to find out what had happened. I brought him back here and treated his wounds.’

‘And when he remembered his brother’s fall, he left? Alone?’

There was silence. Jacob darted a glance to his daughter and gave a sharp shake of his head. ‘No, my daughter left with him.’

‘I was concerned about him travelling so far with his injuries barely healed. We took a spare horse, hoping Finnlay would be well enough to ride. We … found him at the bottom of the cliff, his body broken and bloody. He was tangled amongst some rocks in the river, face down. Dead.’

Oh, it was a good lie. So good he could almost believe it.
So convincing was her storytelling that he was tempted for a moment to wonder if it was true. But she hadn’t finished.

‘I helped His Grace take the body from the water and put it on the spare horse. We rode back towards Elita but I left him at the edge of the woods. He returned home to bury his brother.’ She turned away, bent to the small fire. Her father reached out and brushed the hair away from her face, a touching gesture. Jacob believed her.

Nash stood and wandered over to the window, taking the time to sort out his thoughts. Was she lying? He just couldn’t tell. But if it was the truth, then that meant that Finnlay Douglas was not the Enemy. So who was the man who’d escaped so skilfully?