A dozen fat grey gulls squawked, chattered and launched sweeping attacks on the empty fortress of Clonnet. Their wings beat against the angry wind as they landed on a stone wall, blackened by smoke and fire. White against the black, light against dark. So little light, so much dark.
Nash stood in the centre of the courtyard, his gaze taking in the scene as a whole, but he couldn’t absorb it. So much devastation from a simple fire. Everything of stone was charred, but still standing. All else had fallen. And once again rumours of sorcery had emptied the place. The castle workers – even the local people – had refused to come back here. Only Nash’s squad of Guilde soldiers could be forced to rake through the wreckage – and that, unwillingly.
‘Master?’
Taymar had come up behind him but Nash didn’t turn to acknowledge his arrival. ‘Yes?’
‘We’ve found more bodies.’
‘Is she among them?’
‘I think so.’
Nash whirled around. ‘She can’t be! She could not have died in a simple fire, damn you! The Enemy was with her. There is no way he would have left her to die! Show me!’
He strode across the cobblestones as Taymar hurried alongside. The yellow of Guilde robes dotted the area as soldiers clambered gingerly over the scorched ruin. Before the husk of the gallery the bodies were laid out, uncovered but unrecognisable. Taymar stopped and pointed to one on the end, small and ravaged by the fire. No mark showed the identity, no clothing remained, no jewellery.
Nothing.
Was it possible?
No … it was inconceivable – and yet … The sister had said – and the priest. Why would he lie? The servant, too?
The boy.
The Ally was devoted to that child. He had always been the only thing she’d really loved, the reason why she’d put up with her oaf of a husband. She’d lived only to watch him grow. If she’d survived this fire, could she have just abandoned the child in her sister’s care? Never to see him again?
Nash crouched down beside the small, blackened form. He reached out to touch the hand as though he would spark some life, but there was nothing in this shell, no laughter, no flashing blue eyes.
He stood and turned, calling for his horse. ‘Taymar, you stay here and gather as much information as you can. Then bring the Duke’s body back to the capital with as much state as you can manage under the circumstances. We must remember he was a cousin of our beloved King.’
‘And the Duchess?’
As his horse was brought to him, Nash grabbed the reins. He swung up into the saddle and looked once more around the remains of Clonnet Castle. Empty. It was all empty now. ‘Bring her as well. We have no choice but to bury them together. I’m going back to Marsay. If you find out anything more, let me know.’
Taymar nodded and Nash turned his horse through the gate. He might not know where the Enemy was right now – but at least Nash knew where he’d been. The Douglas was developing quite a penchant for destroying castles.
*
Governor Osbert wandered without purpose through the garden, paying no attention to the fact that his robes were collecting mud from the path. Every now and then he would be passed by castle staff on some business for the King; some murmured greetings, but nobody spoke to him. Not directly.
The narrow path led him to an insignificant little bridge which crossed the pond. The water was flat, mirroring the grey sky above and revealing nothing of its depths. He stopped there and placed his hands on the cold wooden rail. Bushes ringed the pond, their sharp, leafless branches spiking the edge like some great instrument of torture. None of them seemed to have yet noticed that it was spring.
This garden had been the Queen’s favourite place, winter or summer. Almost every day, she’d brought her young children out here, Kenrick and the pretty Galiena. Now the Queen, like this garden, was dead. Her son, as spiky as the unruly bushes, growing more like his father every year. So where was the little Princess? Not so little now, of course. She would be sixteen and just beginning to blossom into her own spring.
Osbert turned from his pathetic fancy to pace back and forth across the bridge. In the distance he could see Archdeacon Godfrey enter the garden, hesitate, then change direction to head for the pond. He was dressed in his usual attire: the black robes of a priest, long chain holding a trium and the small medallion attached to it, denoting his position as Guilde Chaplain. Godfrey was a good man, forthright and honest. He’d remained steady throughout the last few years, yielding his honour to no man – regardless of the circumstances.
‘Good morning, Governor.’ Godfrey ventured a smile, taking only a single step onto the bridge.
‘Good morning, Father,’ Osbert replied. ‘I’m sorry, but unless it’s something urgent, I’m not really in the mood for casual conversation.’
‘I apologise. I did not mean to disturb you. I thought only that … ’
‘What?’
Godfrey paused before replying. ‘You appeared upset. I thought perhaps I might be able to help.’
Help? Wouldn’t it be just wonderful if the damned priest could help?
Osbert resumed his pacing, unable to remain still. ‘I’m in need of no help that you could give me, Father. I’m afraid my problems go somewhat beyond your role as Chaplain.’
‘Nevertheless, I’m a priest, and I’m willing to listen.’
To what? A list of small but incredibly inconsequential events, all of which had brought him here to this barren spot? By the gods, he’d been such a fool, thinking he could use Nash’s influence with the King to his own advantage. All he’d wanted was to be Proctor, to replace Vaughn – but Nash had known all along the partnership was flawed. Osbert had tied himself to Nash and now he couldn’t get away. He was in too deep.
‘You do yourself no good service,’ Godfrey said into the silence, quiet and careful, ‘by isolating yourself.’
‘Isolating myself?’ Osbert gave a bark of ironic laughter. ‘I’ve been isolated by others, Father. Despite my position, I am cut off from the hierarchy of the Guilde, my duties almost removed from me completely. Vaughn sets the example and the rest follow. Even the court … ’ He broke off. The whole catastrophic mess was simply insane.
‘Troubles can often seem unsolvable when you stand alone in the middle of them. Sometimes we need other eyes to help us peer through the gloom. Are you in trouble, Governor?’
When the ground beneath you is so cracked it opens up, starts to suck you down into it – is that trouble?
The library was gone. He had no hope of finding out where. Years ago, when he’d drugged Vaughn and found the old empty room, the Proctor had said only one thing about the new hiding place: ‘Where none shall look and none shall find.’ A riddle designed to have no answer, nor was Osbert disposed to finding one, but Nash still wanted him to look. Trouble? The damned priest had no idea!
‘My troubles are of my own making, Father, and as such, only I can find a way through them.’
‘But can you?’ Godfrey murmured.
Vaughn’s little toy – it was supposed to sniff out sorcerers. But Osbert had been there when Nash had come before it. It had made no sign – how could that be? Nash was everything a sorcerer should be: evil to his core. Osbert had seen it with his own eyes; he had watched Nash as he’d tortured, inflicting pain and enjoying it. His powers were unbelievable – no man could stand against them.’
And certainly not Osbert.
Well, it was too late for him now, but at least he could gain some comfort from the missing books: Nash would never get his putrid hands on them!
He took in a deep breath and straightened up. He turned to Godfrey, his face calm now. ‘I thank you for your efforts, but I fear I must bear this burden alone. I will, however, remember your kindness. In that, Godfrey, you stand alone.’
Godfrey frowned a little. ‘If you do need help, Governor, you have but to ask. Good day.’
*
Watch Nash, Robert had told Godfrey. Watch him and beware of him. Show no sign that you know anything of him. Mind your thoughts or he will know them. Be careful.
As Godfrey hurried away from the garden, he looked back at the troubled Governor, still pacing the bridge. For many years now, Osbert had been something of an ally to Nash, bringing him up through the ranks of the Guilde, but despite Nash’s success, Osbert appeared less than happy.
Robert hadn’t said exactly that Nash was a sorcerer, but …
Osbert was indeed troubled and it was an easy guess that it had something to do with Nash. Well, if Osbert was about to fall, it could only help their cause if Godfrey caught him.
It would also help Osbert.
*
Vaughn kept track of the horse and rider from his small balcony overlooking the square. He saw them come up the hill, clatter across the cobbles before the Basilica and turn immediately through the castle gates.
Nash always appeared to be in a hurry, rushing here and there as though the slave of unseen masters.
Well, Vaughn mused with a smile, perhaps he was.
‘He didn’t stay at Clonnet long,’ Godet remarked, standing beside Vaughn. ‘I wonder if he found what he was looking for.’
‘What makes you think he was looking for anything in particular? He was charged with finding the Duke’s body to bring back here for funeral rites.’
‘But the story about the Outlaw starting the fire, killing Eachern?’
Vaughn shrugged. ‘Perhaps now Selar will do something. Now the Douglas has actually attacked a member of his own family, the King can hardly say the problem is only mine.’
‘We’ve had no more Halls attacked for some time now.’
‘And the Bresail is finding fewer and fewer sorcerers.’
‘Yes.’ Vaughn pressed a finger against his lips. The city appeared to be clear of their evil for the moment, but still … ‘We’ll keep with it, however. One day, I know, as my blood runs through my veins, I will find Robert Douglas. Until then, perhaps we can find a few more ways to make his minion Nash more uncomfortable. Nash has used the Guilde for his own purposes. Now perhaps the influence of the Guilde can be brought to bear against him and whatever scheme he has going with Robert Douglas. Bring me that list of iron shipments, will you?’
*
The Basilica held an odd mixture of folk. Most obvious was the King, dressed in mourning for his dead cousin, sitting alongside his son. Behind them were arranged the most witless collection of courtiers Nash had ever seen. They each belonged to one of two groups: either they were so afraid of Selar that they dared not miss Eachern’s funeral, or they had hated the Duke so much, they felt they had to be here just to make sure he really was dead.
Of course, the young Duke Andrew was present, his aunt, Lady Bella, holding the boy’s hand firmly. Lawrence, Baron Maitland sat on the other side of him, a protective wall around the child. They had brought friends and retainers with them to mourn; though their loss was less likely the Duke than his wife. To his credit, the boy sat still and quiet, dry-eyed throughout the Mass. His gaze never left his mother’s casket before the altar, which was draped in the Ross colours.
What was most surprising was the number of lesser folk who had entered the church behind the procession. Some had merely come to witness the spectacle. But the others? They appeared genuinely sad and sent sympathetic gazes towards the young boy and his stern but beautiful aunt. Were they mourning the death of one of the last of the Ross House?
These folk were Lusaran, after all. Not the wealthy merchant class imported from Mayenne after Selar’s conquest; these people were poor and no doubt knew the strange story of how Jennifer had been abducted as a child, then found as an adult and returned to her lost family. Did they feel something for her, some vestige of loyalty to the old royal family? After all, there was a connection – going back generations – but it was all the connection they had.
Odd that such feelings could still persist in a people twenty years under the rule of a conqueror.
With the last prayer said, the choir broke into a chant and the sound rose high into the darkest recesses of the ancient church. People began to file out, quietly, as was fitting. Nash waited a moment, then left the Guilde bench and made his careful way through the throng to Bella’s side. She saw him coming, but didn’t move away.
‘I’m very sorry, my lady,’ Nash murmured, allowing his voice to be coloured by sadness. ‘You’ve suffered a great loss.’
Bella lifted her head, but kept tight hold of her nephew’s hand. ‘Thank you, my lord Governor. I know you were one of the few friends my sister was allowed. I’m glad she had that much.’
‘I too,’ Nash murmured. ‘So sad, too, that the man who rescued her from the forest and brought her back to you, was the same who was responsible for her death.’
Conflicting thoughts and emotions flitted across Bella’s face, but all she said was, ‘Yes, indeed.’
‘And how do you fare, your Grace?’ Nash gazed down at the boy who was watching him warily. He’d had the opportunity a number of times over the last few years to scan this child. It would have been an act of blatant stupidity if he’d not. He did so again now. The boy had an aura certainly – with a mother like Jennifer, how could he not? But there was nothing untoward about it. No suggestion of her power – nor any power at all. If this boy ever grew up to be a sorcerer, his talents would be virtually negligible, and therefore no threat to Nash.
Of course, if the boy’s father had not been Eachern, but the Enemy- Andrew would, by this age, almost glow with the gifts from both his parents.
But he had no time for further study. Selar was approaching and the group around Bella shrank back, bowing as they did so. The King towered over them all. He put a hand on Kenrick’s shoulder and opened his mouth to speak, but suddenly Andrew drew back, stumbling into the skirts of his aunt.
It was not Selar who had scared the child, but the Prince. Andrew let go Bella’s hand and stood there, his face red with something that might have been anger. Bella leaned down to him. ‘What’s wrong, my love?’
Andrew shook his head, but didn’t take his eyes off Kenrick.
‘He’s just scared, my lady,’ Kenrick sneered, moving a little closer. Andrew didn’t back away this time, but held his ground.
‘Not scared,’ Andrew spat. ‘Not of that!
‘What did you say?’ Kenrick demanded.
Andrew screwed up his face in clear disgust and shook his head again.
‘That’s not worth being scared of.’
‘How dare you! I’ll—’
‘Enough!’ Selar growled. ‘My lady, I trust you will teach your nephew the proper respect due my son when next we meet. Otherwise, I will be forced to do so myself. Come, Kenrick, Nash.’
Nash paused only long enough to glance once more at the young Duke, then turned and followed after the retreating King.
*
The fire in front of Nash crackled and spat, but in spite of its fierce heat, cold still worked through his bones, and deeper, where nothing could touch it. He stared at the flames and tried to ignore the posturing Prince as he stalked up and down the room between Nash and the chair his father occupied.
Was she really dead?
‘I won’t have it! That boy would have nothing without you, Sire!’
That body laid to rest beside Eachern’s. Was it hers?
‘Don’t take it to heart, my son. He’s just lost both his parents.’
The Ally no more.
‘That’s no excuse for his behaviour, Father, and you know it!’
He’d waited too long to Bond her. If he’d done it already, she …
‘He’s upset, missing his mother. Think nothing of it, son.’
She would still be alive.
‘How can you say that? Should I accept such an insult to my honour?’
She would have been his.
Selar snapped, ‘Duke Andrew is a child, son. A baby, no more. I will not allow you to exact revenge on a five-year-old the day he buries his parents.’
Kenrick came to a halt before his father, his face still suffused with imagined injury. ‘But Father—’
‘Enough. Wait a while, son. A year. We’ll have him at court as your page. He’ll learn a few sharp lessons, I’ll warrant you. Until then, calm yourself. You’ll find as you grow older, it’s far wiser to make friends than enemies. You would do well, instead of berating him like this, to turn him into your ally. That’s the greatest revenge you could have.’
Nash glanced up at that, but Selar wasn’t looking at him. His entire attention was focused on his son. Kenrick bowed stiffly and left the room. Selar laughed indulgently and waved apologetically at Nash.
‘He’s young, Sire. He’ll learn.’
‘Still, damned odd of Eachern’s son to react like that, don’t you think?’ Selar lounged deep into his chair, elbows on the arms, making a steeple with his fingers. ‘I can’t help wondering if the old goat said something to his boy, something not entirely nice about Kenrick.’
‘Come now, Sire. What could he have said? The Prince isn’t old enough to have done anyone harm.’ That wasn’t entirely true, but there was no need to point it out to the King.
Selar laughed. ‘Of course you’re right. Yes, I’ll get young Andrew here next year. It’s time he started his education anyway. Now,’ he sat up and turned his expectant gaze on Nash, ‘when do we ride north? I’m anxious to see how my army has progressed. Do we march in a month as planned?’
Nash almost sighed out loud, but restrained himself. This King, so powerful and so feared, only ever thought about two subjects: his son and his damned war against Mayenne. If it wasn’t so necessary, Nash would happily have given the whole thing up as a tremendously bad idea. After all, it was costing a fortune – in gold and in even more precious time. But for it to work, it had to be done properly. The only way to flush out the Enemy was to give him a target so big he couldn’t resist the temptation to stop it.
Ah, Robert Douglas, so powerful, even without the Word of Destruction at his fingertips. So strong, so driven by honour that it had become his major weakness: a weakness simple to exploit. The Enemy loved his country, would do anything to stop it being dragged into such a useless, hopeless war. Such a weakness, to want to save his pathetic people, so beaten and broken that they couldn’t stand up long enough to save themselves. They needed a hero to stop Selar from drawing them into conflict with Mayenne.
Lusara could never win such a war and everyone knew it – except Selar. The natural result would be nothing but devastation – and Selar would be lucky to survive with his borders intact. He’d managed to blind himself to the greater strength of his brother, of Mayenne. No, Tirone would invade Lusara in response, kill his younger brother and rule both countries.
But it wouldn’t come to that. The Douglas would stop them. Nash knew that as certainly as he knew to draw breath. The Douglas would stop the army before it got to the border – and when he did, Nash would have him at last.
Even if she was no longer there waiting for him. His prize … Could he still take the Enemy without her there?
Of course he could. He could do anything!
‘I tell you, Nash,’ Selar went on, ignoring the silence, ‘I’m still not happy about bringing mercenaries from over the Sadlan border. I know they’re mighty swordsmen and will fight well for their money, but it’s not the same.’
‘We can’t recruit from the land more than we have. We’ve been over this before. If you’d sent out a general call to arms, Tirone would be well warned by now. As it is, all he’ll have is rumours here and there, no more than he’s had for the last five years. He’ll pay no attention, and by the time he does, it will be too late.’
Suddenly weary to the core, Nash rose from his chair. ‘As to your ride north, wait a week. I’m leaving myself in a couple of days. I’ll prepare things for your arrival and tell you when you can come.’
‘Good.’
Nash left the room and closed the door behind him. It was all very well having Selar Bonded to him, but sometimes it was very draining having to do all the thinking and planning. On the other hand, he never got a word of resistance from the King, and right now, that was much more important.
He headed down the stairs and found Valena waiting for him, her delicate perfume a balm to his ravaged Senses. There was something about her beauty that had drawn him in, from the first moment he had seen her in Karakham so many years ago. Now she awaited his approach, her eyes solemn.
‘How did it go?’
‘Are you asking me if the King is mourning his cousin?’
‘Do I look that stupid?’
‘No.’ Nash glanced around to make sure they were alone in the passage, then drew her to one side. ‘Have you spent any time with Kenrick?’
Valena smiled sweetly, secretly, just for him. Despite his purpose, a frisson of excitement flittered across his skin. ‘Now why would I do something like that? Would you now have me share the son’s bed as well as the father’s?’
Nash forced himself to stand apart from her. ‘I know you, my dear.’
A flash in her eyes was quickly gone. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘There’s something not entirely right with that boy and no amount of digging gets an answer.’
‘Well, it’s obvious how he feels about you.’
‘And how is that?’
Valena pursed her lips, no longer deliberately seductive, but even more alluring. ‘I think he’s jealous.’
‘Of the time I spend with the King?’
‘I don’t think so. He is, after all, the heir to the throne. He thinks you’re a young man with a long career at court ahead of you. I think he wonders why you don’t … give him more courtesy, in your capacity as chief adviser to his father.’
‘I thought he hated me.’
‘Oh, he does – but I think the opportunity is there to do something with that hate – if you’re willing to make the effort.’
Nash looked down the dark empty hallway. It was late and most people were in bed now, tired out after that damned long funeral. ‘Go up to Selar now. Get him to sleep. I’ll come back in an hour.’
‘Why?’
‘There’s something I have to do.’ Nash turned back, not failing to notice how the soft light caught her cheek, burnished her lips. ‘Go on.’
With a dubious frown, Valena headed up the stairs. Deliberately, Nash refused to watch her go. Instead, he walked down the passage and turned the corner at the end. He stopped in front of the Prince’s door. Huge bronze handles sank into twin wedges of oak, carved to illustrious heights to honour the resident within. Casually, Nash put one hand to the oak, pressed his fingers against the polished indentations. At first, he could Sense nothing but the wood, its hard fibres compacted and solid. But then …
‘By the blood!’ he breathed, his eyes opening in genuine amazement. ‘Well, well, well! Now that is interesting.’
Briskly now, he removed his hand and strode back down the hallway, revelling in his walk. No limp, no shadow of pain any more. But he didn’t think about how it was almost wasted now that the Ally was dead. He had to be quick. He had just enough time to grab something to eat before it would be time to come back.
*
The King’s bedchamber was filled with the warm yellow glow of a dozen candles burned low, flickering in currents of air wafting about the castle. Valena waited for him, saying nothing. With a nod, he dismissed her, and she left reluctantly. For a few moments, Nash stood on the threshold of the room, steadying his breathing, focusing his mind. Then he stepped forward until he was kneeling beside the bed and gazing on Selar’s face.
Carefully removing one glove, he reached forward and touched Selar’s forehead. The man was deep in sleep, soft and shallow inhale and exhale, the brief shudder of the eyelids as some dream formed and then escaped.
Nash sighed. ‘It’s been a long time. You no longer remember when we first met. I was an old man and you, an angry young Duke with a score to settle with your father, your brother. You never knew how I made your life into what it is today. How I had men instigate the Troubles in Lusara, sowed the seeds for your invasion. You were an unwitting tool, but willing in your ignorance. I remember how terrified of sorcery you were. Now, you hardly believe it exists. I remember how you once loved the Douglas. Now you think of him as nothing more than a coward. And how wrong you have been – about everything. Yes, a perfect tool indeed – but I think the time has come for you to look elsewhere for your glory.’
Now Nash laid two fingers in the centre of Selar’s forehead, pressing firmly, sustaining the power. ‘You will fight to the end. Understand, you will take no quarter. When the time comes, you will allow no hesitation. Do you understand me?’
Deep in thrall, yet still asleep, Selar’s lips moved. Words barely breathed dropped into the room. ‘Yes, Master.’
*
Taymar had bowls of water and linen laid out for Nash. The water still steamed; feathers rising from its surface to be caught by rays of bleak lamplight. Nash shrugged off his jacket and shirt, then plunged his head into the hot water. With eyes closed, he patted around for a towel, then found one pressed to his cheeks by a familiar hand. Its partner wound its way around Nash’s waist to press against his stomach muscles.
‘You have no idea how I miss you.’ The luxurious voice caressed his ear like silk.
Nash couldn’t help it. He dropped the towel and turned to Valena, holding her face in his hands. Before she could even take a breath, he kissed her, deliberately drowning her urge to speak further. It had been a long time and his body responded with an urgency he could no longer control. Eager, Valena dragged him to the bed.
His hands moved quickly even as his mind stumbled on the reality of what he was doing, what he had promised himself he would not do again. Why had she come to him again?
But mind and body did not communicate. Instead, his lust drove him to the edge of madness, and then beyond. Afterwards, as he lay beside her, he took the time to breathe in her scent, to feel again the smooth skin of her throat.
‘You missed me,’ Valena murmured against his touch, a smile in her voice.
‘Why are you here?’ Nash replied gently, wary, and yet unwilling to completely break the moment.
At his question, Valena rose onto her elbow and gazed at him steadily. All suggestion of seduction, of powerplay and betrayal absent. ‘Don’t try and tell me you didn’t want me.’
‘Answer me.’
Her reply was almost wistful. ‘Even though you don’t want to, even though you don’t really know what it means, you love me – still.’
Nash stared at her for a moment longer, then got up from the bed. He grabbed a robe and threw it around his shoulders. He stalked towards the old fireplace, taking a deep mouthful from a wine flask as he went. ‘We’ve been over all this before. You have your work to do, I have mine.’
‘But you chose my work for me. You can’t very well complain.’
‘You chose your work by your own nature!’ Nash snapped, then glanced over his shoulder to where Valena sat on the bed, still gloriously naked. It seemed that no matter how he tried, she still had this incredible power over him. And why? He wasn’t that weak. He’d never even touched a woman until he’d met her – had never been interested. Lust had always been a problem other men had, not him.
‘Samdon, please. We don’t have to do it this way.’
‘The King will wake soon and expect to find you at his side.’
Valena left the bed and came towards him. He did nothing to stop her moving her hands inside his robe until it encompassed them both and she shared his warmth. ‘Sam, why can’t you swallow your jealousy? I must share Selar’s bed for your benefit … ’
‘Our benefit.’
‘So why can’t I share yours for our pleasure?’
‘Isn’t that what DeMassey is for?’
Valena looked up at that, her eyes golden in the firelight. ‘I haven’t slept with Luc for years.’
Nash didn’t reply for a moment, but neither did he push her away. The touch of her against his skin awoke all kinds of things inside him and for the first time in years, he actually felt good. Could he stand sharing her? Wasn’t that better than not having her at all?
Of course it was. Especially now.
‘This used to be our dream, Sam,’ Valena continued, now going on her toes to touch her lips to his chin. ‘I miss sharing. You have no time to tell me how the work goes now. Luc used to tell me – but it was never the same.’
No, DeMassey could never fulfil a woman like this. Nash couldn’t help smiling. DeMassey was a formidable sorcerer, a man of grace and beauty – but even so, all those years ago, Valena had chosen Nash over DeMassey, and still chose him now.
‘Perhaps,’ Nash murmured, his face against her fragrant hair, ‘I was a little hasty.’
In response, Valena’s hands moved and Nash forgot all about DeMassey, Selar – and the entire world.