Ailéas awoke with a start, her forehead covered in sweat. For some time, the nightmares had been less frequent, as if the demons of her past had finally decided to slow their chase. Sometimes they rebounded, more real than ever, and horror tore her from sleep with brutality. She found herself in her bed, trembling and frightened, with the horrible feeling that she was eight years old again, more vulnerable than ever.
She stared for a long time at the canvas ceiling of the tent, trying to calm her breathing and anchor herself back in the present. Between the stitches of the fabric, the day was beginning to dawn with slivers of sunrays.
Bradley’s hoarse cough rung out and made her jump. She rose quickly and dressed in a few seconds before joining him.
The old commander was sitting in his bed, his nose buried in a pile of documents. He paid no attention to her as she fussed around her worktable, chopping herbs that she mixed with dried apple before throwing them all into the water she was boiling.
“Hello,” she finally said, approaching the old man and touching his forehead.
He didn’t have a fever, but he didn’t look so good. He hadn’t slept or slept very little. The bags under his eyes had grown heavy, and his features seemed more drawn than ever.
“Ah! Hello, Ailéas. I didn’t see you there. Damn winter,” he grumbled into his unkempt beard. “It almost makes me miss the French military campaign from a few years ago. Could you make me a…”
She handed him the herbal tea she’d just infused.
“Thank you, my throat is killing me.”
“If you had covered yourself last night with more blankets…”
“Pooh, I’m tougher than that!”
He sipped the beverage, was seized by another fit of coughing, then swallowed it all in one gulp.
“Oh, that feels good!” he exclaimed. “Come on, hop, it’s time to do our tour around the camp. Afterwards, we’ll go for a walk in the forest; I have to talk to you.”
“Are you sure you’re well enough?”
“What do you take me for, an invalid? Leave me be! I can get up on my own, for goodness’ sake! Instead of fussing, go put on your wool, it’s freezing this morning.”
She brought him her fur coat.
“You act like I’ve got one foot in the grave,” he cursed, frowning.
Ailéas said nothing and looked annoyed. She had grown to love the frank optimism and stubbornness of the old man. But it could also get on her nerves, especially when he thought himself invincible and was convinced that everything would work out for the best.
Especially when that was certainly not the case this time.
He had been coughing up his lungs for some time now. The winter had been particularly harsh and, over the last few months, the Lann Fala had forced them to trudge from the county of Fife to Argyll. Bradley had grown weaker, though no one else had noticed. Only Ailéas had her suspicions, which were confirmed over the weeks.
The day before, he had coughed up a thin trickle of blood, barely wider than a lock of hair. She watched with wide eyes, but he had just shrugged his shoulders.
“Stop making that funereal face,” he insisted, putting on his jacket.
This attitude frustrated her endlessly.
Didn’t he understand that until she found Fillan, he was all she had in the world? She couldn’t imagine what would happen if he died.
They left the tent, and an icy breeze greeted them.
Some rare remnants of snow that the cold had long since turned to ice lingered in some places.
The old commander cracked his back with a sweeping movement, clapped his hands and headed forwards.
“Let’s go, men! Everything must be shinier than our king’s crown!” he yelled.
The morning inspection that he carried out two to three times a week was one of his favorite activities. That and the battle reports, a few days after having had time to mourn the dead and heal those who were not yet dead. He explained to Ailéas that this was what brought him closer to his men while constantly reminding them of his authority—an essential part of life in a garrison, where time passed more slowly.
Ailéas admired his natural charisma. As Bradley’s sickness became more and more apparent, for the first time she feared that one of the men would use it to undermine their superior. Instead, they were united in a completely different emotion. Everyone deeply respected Bradley. During the last few days, she had even seen a look of sorrow identical to hers on many faces, as if some soldiers also feared that their world was about to crumble.
“I know of nothing better than a well-kept and orderly garrison to boost your morale,” enthused the commander after a few minutes of perambulations and greetings.
I could think of plenty of things, thought Ailéas, who didn’t appreciate the rigor of the military camp.
“There’s no denying it: when the Lann Fala leave us alone, we’re a well-oiled machine, and all is well.”
It had been some time since they had seen Cornavii and his men, which greatly pleased the old warrior as he no longer had his authority taken away from him.
“Do you think we’ll see them again?”
Whenever one of the men in the red capes appeared, she was afraid of being unmasked.
“I can’t promise anything, but I hope not! They have other fish to fry and must certainly be bothering a commander in the north. Let them stay there and let them rot!”
They left the camp behind, which would soon wake into the monotony of everyday life. The sun rose higher and higher, shining its rays through the mist in the countryside.
As they walked down the forest path, Bradley accepted the arm that she held out to him, trying not to use it too much for support.
“Winter is coming to an end,” said Ailéas, passing a beech tree and spotting the first buds.
This simple sentence seemed innocuous, but it meant a lot. She had not forgotten the old man’s promise. Quite the contrary.
“You’re right, and spring will do me good. No need to stare at me like that; I haven’t forgotten the conversation we had, or all the ones after it. Nor have I forgotten what I promised you. It’s time for you to stand on your own two feet.”
“But to go where?” she asked, feeling her heart jump. “I still don’t know where Fillan is.”
“Let’s sit down for a moment, shall we? I told you that we had things to discuss, and that’s exactly what we’ll do. That big stump right there will do nicely.”
He was out of breath and took a long sip from the bottle that Ailéas had made sure to fill with a fresh infusion.
“I conducted a little investigation on my side, in total secrecy.”
“What? But how? When?”
“In total secrecy, I said! I did not wish to attract attention. And then, I wanted to be sure before telling you anything and give you false hope.”
She waited for him to continue, hanging on to his every word.
“I made contact with a member of the Brotherhood of Assassins.”
“I don’t know them.”
“It’s not surprising, given that they are extremely discreet.”
“The Brotherhood of Assassins…” repeated Ailéas. “Are they murderers?”
“If you’re wondering whether they kill people, just like England, Scotland or me, yes, they are murderers. But they don’t kill for fun, or at least as far as I can tell.”
“What does that have to do with Fillan?”
He took another sip, then wiped his beard.
“To find your brother’s trail, I had to think long and hard. Scotland is huge, and it was like looking for a needle in a haystack. And then I remembered one thing: the Assassins are the sworn enemies of the Templars.”
“How do you know that?”
“Do you remember when I told you about that mark on your wrist and about what happened to me in the Highlands when I was younger?”
She nodded.
“The clan in question had ties to the Brotherhood. By spending time with them, I was able to learn a little more about them and even made some connections. Of course, they didn’t reveal anything essential to me, except that they were fighting a long and fierce battle with the Templars. By remembering that, I had my first clue.”
“I don’t understand.”
“It’s simple: ever since Berwick, the Lann Fala have made it a point of honor to find you and your brother, and they are far from hiding it. As the Assassins have always sought to thwart the Order’s plans, I wondered if they were perhaps looking for you too, or even better: if they knew where Fillan was. So I tried to contact them. But those I had known were either dead or disappeared.”
Ailéas felt her heartbeat quicken in her chest.
“Through sheer perseverance, I was able to get in touch with one of them. Someone I trust recommended him to me.”
“And he knows where Fillan is?” she asked, her voice trembling.
“He knows almost everything.”
She felt like she was going to explode.
“Your twin has joined the Brotherhood,” said the old commander, looking serious.
Fillan, an Assassin? She couldn’t believe her ears. He barely knew what a weapon was, let alone how to hold one.
“Are you sure we’re talking about the same person?”
“Given what you’ve told me about him,” Bradley went on, “I confess that this also surprised me. But it’s him. The Assassin gave me information on your twin’s whereabouts before winter which corroborated certain information, including what the Lann Fala knew. I even learned that the Merchants Guild made a deal with the Brotherhood to help you escape, that infamous night in Berwick.”
“Who is this person who gave you this information?” she asked suspiciously. “Are you sure we trust him?”
“Trust? No, I wouldn’t say that,” retorted Bradley. “I don’t know his name. All I did was tell him who I was and that I knew where you were. I had no choice; in this kind of situation, it’s necessary to reciprocally exchange information to gain the other’s confidence.”
“If you don’t trust him, how can you be sure that this isn’t a trap from the Order?”
“Impossible to be sure, but it’s a risk that I had to take to find your brother. There was no other trail.”
“But it’s a risk that concerns us both,” she continued, trying to keep her calm. “You should have told me about it.”
“I wanted to surprise you,” he said, scratching his head. “I’m sorry, you’re right.”
Ailéas was lost in her thoughts for a moment. She felt torn between the fear of being exposed, which the old soldier himself had prevented for months, and the possibility of finding Fillan.
“Very well,” she said finally, standing up with sudden determination. “What do we do? What’s next?”
Bradley smiled at her reaction. He loved her ability to bounce back, in any situation.
“For now, nothing at all,” he replied.
“What?! This is such a habit with you! You want to do nothing? You must have been a fern in another life. This is crazy!”
He laughed softly, so as not to arouse his cough.
“This time it’s not my doing. The man of the Brotherhood asked me to wait. It won’t take long for him to reach out to me again.”
She had a terrible sense of foreboding but chose to ignore it.
“Thank you, Bradley,” she said simply, putting a hand on his thick arm.
The old man smiled before starting to cough again. Clumsily, he tried to hide the trickle of blood that had dripped into his beard.