Templar's Destiny (9780545415095) (8 page)

I could do nothing for Bertrand and although I wanted to stay and bury him with honor and dignity, there were things at stake now that demanded I keep my wits about me. The preceptory was no longer a place of safety. I had to get back to tell Aine what had happened. The ache in my chest grew wider when I thought about trying to speak the words to her. Bertrand was one of us. And now he was gone, and I had no reason why that should be so.

The animals of the forest stirred as I walked past, and the power of the land rippled beneath my feet. I drew a cloak of the glistening strands around me, cocooned in the warmth, comforted. My use of the power should have left me drained, but oddly enough I felt strong, renewed. Bertrand was gone. Another friend, another life taken. I didn't know him as well as I did the Templar, but his loss was keenly felt.

I was glad the road was empty, for I had not the heart for another confrontation, and my mind was much too occupied. The Templar trainees were up to something. They had killed Bertrand, I was certain of it, but I had little reason to believe it and less to prove it.

The inn was nearly deserted when I arrived. The woman who had given us our room stooped by the hearth, stacking new wood as an old man watched from a nearby bench. Neither spoke when I stepped inside, but a ripple in the web of power brought my steps to a halt.

My thoughts leapt to Aine. I reached for her quickly, sending my thoughts along a tendril of power, but there was no response. I hurried across the common room and into the one we had let. It was dark, and I moved to the shutter to let in some light.

“Did I no' tell ye to wait?”

I whipped about, my dagger in my hand and outstretched before I had even managed the thought. The words came from the shadow of a man seated in the corner. His cloak was drawn close, and his frame was smaller than my memory had painted it, but joy still rose in me. “Alexander?”

“Aye, lad.” He stood as I crossed the room.

I couldn't believe that after all this time he was finally here. I didn't know what to do or say. We'd been through so much, and I'd missed him badly. Once I would have thrown my arms around his waist and hugged him as I would have my da, but so much had happened. I was no longer that person, that bairn that I was at the very beginning of all of this.

He made it easy. He clapped my back strongly and grasped my forearms as one Brother of the Order would have another. I returned the embrace. “It's good, a' last, to see ye, my friend,” he said.

“Better to see ye, Alexander,” I replied. The feel of welcome and safety he projected made me breathe more comfortably. His gaze passed over me, as mine did him. I was surprised at what I found. I could scarce believe that his hair had as much silvery gray as it did. It had not been so long a time. I was shocked by his appearance. He seemed far older. His cheeks were sunken, and he was thin.

“How are ye?” I asked, deeply concerned.

“I am as well as I could be, an' far better than I might. I would no' be here a' all if it were no' for you.”

His words reminded me. “Bertrand …” I began, and was embarrassed to feel my eyes begin to tear.

He nodded, his face filled with sadness. “I foresaw what happened, but I had hoped an' prayed that it would be otherwise.”

“I arrived too late to discover what truly was going on or to do anything to stop it.” Guilt was thick within me.

“Ye did what ye could, lad. Bertrand went home in peace to the Lord.” He drew away and sat heavily on the stool by the table.

“But I was no' able to save him, to use my healing abilities.” I could barely meet his eyes.

“Tormod. The Lord asks many things o' us, but nothing we are unable to give. What ye gave Bertrand was more than any other would have been able. Every man does what he must. Ye do well with the gifts ye've been given.”

Just speaking to him made me feel better. “Ye came to me in my time o' need, called upon the Lord, an' were granted a miracle,” he said. “Yer heart full o' goodness brought me back when I thought that I never would see another sunlight.”

“But I used the power for myself to heal ye. I let all o' those men see it an' now 'tis known. I have failed. All the other carriers have kept it secret. I have let the knowledge o' the Holy Vessel's existence out into the world, where 'tis now in jeopardy. I saw a gathering o' the Order in a vision talking about it. They were angry with me.”

“Everything we do has its price,” he said.

Something in his words brought my thoughts back to Aine. Her pack was gone. “Was Aine here when ye arrived?” I asked.

“She was no',” he replied.

Though there was no censure in his tone, I bristled nonetheless. “Well, I could no' just sit here an' wait until she decided to come back from wherever she'd gone off to.” I looked away, uncomfortable having to defend myself to him this way.

“Ye made a choice, Tormod. I do no' fault ye in that. I told ye once that all we do has consequences attached. This is one. We must make our future decisions based upon it.”

A tankard of ale sat untouched on the table. “If ye would, fetch us something to eat. We have many things to discuss an' a tale to catch up on.”

I nodded and made for the door, though the questions were teeming within me. “D'ye think she's all right?” I asked. A cold lump filled my stomach. Already I missed the peace that came with her presence and touch.

“I have seen where she may eventually turn up.” He made a grimace, apparently displeased with the information. “But what might befall her before then I canno' say.”

For once his words did not make me feel better. “Food, Tormod?” he asked.

“Aye,” I mumbled.

I returned to the common room deep in thought. Aine was gone. Bertrand was as well. It was only the Templar and myself, as it was in the beginning, together again. But this time things were not the same.

“Tell me o' Torquil,” I asked. I'd fetched a meal of hot stew for the both of us, and we tucked into the pitcher of ale after the Templar had spoken the prayer of thanks. Now I could wait no more.

“He is alive an' that is something for which we must be thankful. I tracked them as far as the Scotia Coast, where they put him aboard a merchant ship bound for this coast. I was unable to board but followed in a Templar ship that left on the following tide.” His gaze on me was steady. “They arrived before me, but my sources cannot confirm where he was taken then.”

It was as if he had thrust a dagger into my guts. All that I had eaten surged to my throat. I saw Torquil again in the dark, pain stripping his mind bare. He cried out, so tortured that it was agony to hear. I grabbed my ears to keep it away.

The Templar was beside me then, his hands on my head. “Push it away, Tormod. Filter it out an' shift it into the earth.”

I had forgotten the most basic of my lessons, but at his urging performed the triple shielding with half a heart. Why should I be spared witnessing what my brother would endure in my name? Still it was a relief when the vision slid away.

“They will kill him,” I murmured. “Lash him until the pain destroys him. All without knowing that he is no' me.” I moved toward the door, more than ready to trade my life in exchange for his.

“No, lad. That will help no one,” he said. “We will go there an' do all we can to prevent this from happening. Though I know no' the specifics, I have a sense of the timing. All o' the indicators I have seen tell me that this has no' an' will no' happen for a while.”

I made to shrug him off, but he held my arms in an unyielding grip. “This is one o' the things that might never come to be, if we are able to ripple the waters of the future. We need to do this right, no' rush in unprepared.”

All that had happened. All I'd seen and felt seemed a weight on my soul that drew me down onto the pallet's edge. “I will no' let him die in my place,” I said flatly.

“We will do all that we can to keep that from happening,” he said. “Come, gather yer things. There are preparations to be made.”

When night fell, we left the inn. It was better to be cloaked in darkness than to venture out in daylight with a price on our heads. Together we made a larger target and yet we would not travel apart again. Our destination was a small house in the thick of Paris proper, found by way of a sequence of thin roads between tightly built dwellings.

“Where have ye been all o' this time?” I asked as we walked. “What happened after the caves?”

He was quiet a moment, seeming deep within himself. “I never expected that ye would return to the cave's entrance, once ye'd found what I had sent ye for. Ye took me much by surprise,” he said.

“Ye weren't happy that I did,” I replied, remembering the scene as if it had happened yesterday. I had found the beautiful wooden bowl and reunited it with the ancient carving that I had carried in his place. In return, I had been granted a series of visions — one that revealed that the Templar would fall beneath a blade in the very place I had left him. Desperate to keep that from happening, I had rushed to his side and leapt into the fray, only to cause the injury I had seen.

“Tormod, ye saved my life that day. Though I didn't want ye to return an' bring the Holy Vessel to a place where it might be taken from ye, if ye hadn't come I would have died.”

“Aye, but had I no' returned, ye would no' have been caught unaware. 'Tis a wicked circle that I have struggled with for long an' away.”

“I am here, an' 'tis thanks to ye.” His eyes bored into mine. “I owe ye my life.”

“I didn't know it had worked,” I said. “I would never have left ye there, otherwise.”

“Then let us be thankful that ye did no' know, for the Holy Vessel would surely be in the hands o' the King by now.”

“'Tis no' in much better hands with Gaylen,” I said.

“Don't blame yerself overmuch for that, Tormod. The carving called ye back to Her side. There is more that She intends for ye to do in Her service, an' She has, I think, plans o' Her own.”

He lapsed into silence as we walked. The road had more travelers than before. We'd moved into a more thickly settled part of the town. “Ye think that all o' this is happening because o' the carving?” I asked. “That this ancient vessel is somehow moving all o' us around an' setting whatever it needs to have done in order?” It was a difficult thought, but one I had been trying to come to grips with. What was this thing and what was it asking of me? Was it for good or bad? Many had already died because it had thrust itself back into the hands of men.

“I think that something very large is beneath Her call. 'Tis up to us to discover what that is.”

I drew my sack a little higher on my shoulder, jostled as we passed two men on the narrow road. “Where did ye go after the caves? Why did ye no' contact me?” I asked when once again we walked alone. The sting of hurt I could not conceal colored my words.

“Ahram an' his men took me to their lands. The great healer o' the sultan attended my wounds, but the cut was deep an' I'd lost a great deal o' blood. 'Twas no' an easy recovery.” Pain shadowed his eyes. “I searched for ye, Tormod, the moment I could, but I was always just a bit too far behind. Our link changed when ye used the power. I could sense ye, but I could only contact ye when ye were in great danger an' yer mind was unfocused.”

I remembered then the odd times I had heard his voice in my mind. I had thought it was my imagination. The Templar had been near all along, helping me through the worst of my trials. I shook my head in wonder.

“'Twas good that I was behind, instead o' alongside ye, in the end, for I would no' have been near enough to track the soldiers when they took Torquil.”

My thoughts were whirling. “Did ye know that Torquil was gifted?” I asked.

“Not a' the time, but I felt the ripple o' power when he whispered the men into believing that he was ye.”

“I think he learned that from me on the boat. I had wondered why his questions were so pointed. But to have been able to do it without yer training is astounding.” I wondered if the Templar had wished it had been Torquil who had been at the hut on that night long ago instead of me.

“Things go as they are meant to, Tormod.”

I smiled to myself. He had always seemed to have the ability to pluck the very thoughts from my mind, though he'd never use that ability unless it was absolutely necessary. The Templar was the most honest and upright person I had ever encountered.

“Have a care here,” he said as we approached a dark, squat dwelling with equally blackened huts on either side of it. Another time I might have bristled at the warning, but if I had learned nothing else in all of this, it was to trust in the judgment of those who knew a place or situation better than me.

We entered from the rear and moved inside with only the gray of night to light our way. The Templar advanced with confidence through an empty hallway down a set of stone stairs to a room beneath the ground. It was blacker here than anywhere I had ever been save the cave where I had found the sacred bowl of the Holy Vessel. There I had the carving to light my way. It was not so here. This place brought my fear of dark places back to the fore of my mind. I crowded closer to the Templar than I had intended and yet he did not back me off with word or gesture as he might have in the beginning. I forced myself to give him room to move ahead and for a moment felt the trickle of nervousness rise in my throat.

The scratch of a flint and glow of a flame illuminated the space as he lit the wick of a squat candle on an old table set against the wall. We were alone in a small room without windows. Two chairs flanked the table and both were covered with clothing items. On the table were two rolled parchments sealed in deep red wax.

The Templar broke the seal on the first and nodded as he read. “Good. All is in place. Dress yerself in the clothing there, but fasten yer dagger an' sheath against yer wrist before ye do.”

I eyed the pile dubiously. The clothing was like nothing I'd ever worn. On my pile were thin linen breeks, wool hose, one of blue and one of red, a shirt of pale linen, a fitted tunic of a blue, soft material I did not recognize, a dark blue hooded woolen cloak, and pointed, black leather shoes.

Quickly, I donned the shirt and tunic and swapped out my old, worn breeks with these new ones. The hose were not as simple. Though they were fitted snugly, they had to be tied to the breeks to keep them from slipping. The shoes were by far the oddest bit, tight to the sides of my feet and far longer than my toes reached, especially on the foot that was missing some. As I moved around the space, I tripped nearly every other step.

Occupied with dressing, I nearly missed seeing the Templar don the final bits of his wardrobe, but when I turned to him, I sucked in a breath in awe. Alexander looked like a King. His cloak was deep green wool on the outside and lined with the pelts of white-and-gray squirrel on the inside. The tunic beneath, barely a shade lighter and embroidered with fine threads of gold, was cut trim to his chest and fell to his feet, gathered at the waist with a gold chain belt studded with emeralds. “Ye're no' about to blend in with the commoners in that,” I exclaimed.

He smiled, spread his arms wide, and dropped low in a bow. “At court, this is the only way we will blend in. Ye, on the other hand, look the part, but we have a bit o' training to do.”

I almost groaned, but remembered that this was one of the very things I missed about him, his teaching. “What is my part?” I asked.

“I am a minor noble in from Scotland on my way to the northern reaches. Ye are my varlet,” he said.

“And what does a varlet do?” I asked.

“Ye attend me. Prepare my clothes, fetch food from the kitchens. All o' that is o' no account when we are alone, but out in public ye must play a role that ye, my friend, might no' sit easy in.”

I made to protest but he cut me off. “Ye must never raise yer eyes to any o' the aristocracy. Ye must no' speak in public, unless 'tis about the errand ye've been sent on or the meal ye are carrying.”

I lapsed into silence. This might be more difficult than it seemed. “All right. No speaking. What will we be doing there?”

“Listening an' learning,” he said, gathering up all of the material that was scattered across the table. I rolled our old clothes into a ball and stuffed them into my pack.

“What now?”

“We build our escort an' find a place a' court,” he replied.

I followed him out the door, a bit annoyed by the information I could not seem to draw from him and by the shoes that were much too long to allow more than a hobbled step. “Head down, Tormod,” Alexander said softly.

“What, why?” I asked, craning around, confused.

“Ye have to get used to the feeling before it matters.” Even though there were no people around, it would seem that the pretending had begun. I dropped my gaze to the road, squared my shoulders, and nodded.

We found two horses that had been left in a small stable out back, a great black stallion for Alexander and a slightly smaller, older-looking, gray horse for me. I was not put off by the selection as it had been a while since I'd sat a horse. To have one not quite ready to take my hand off was a comfort. But as everything else I had seen of the Templar, he was a master of the horse. With very few words spoken, the prancing animal was under command and sitting still and silent beneath him.

The road seemed less frightening dressed as I was, riding such a stalwart mount. I sat straighter, keeping to my role by riding a few paces behind Alexander. It gave me time to study him. The Templar was even thinner than I had thought when I first saw him. And though he sat tall, I could see the tremor of fatigue in his back and shoulders not long into the ride.

The evening air was cold and small flakes of snow drifted down on us. The houses we passed along the road were dark and shut up tight for the night. The soft fall of the horses' hooves crackled and rattled, nearly the only sound for leagues. I knew not our destination. But deep into the night, near on the press of morning, we rode past a wooden fence and down a lane painted white with snow to a great manor house nestled in the cup of a hillside. Beyond the shutters, candlelight flickered.

We dismounted and led our horses around the side of the house where an old man in a patched cloak met us and took them away. The Templar led the way to a door at the rear that swung open before he even had the chance to knock.

“Monsieur Alex, Gaston is gone. Please, you must find him. He's still a boy.”

My heart lurched. It was Fabienne. Here. But how?

“Fabienne, I am glad that ye received my message. What is wrong?” he asked. I could feel the swirl of her worry and marveled at the quiet, intent way he was drawing the power to soothe her.