EXILE'S RETURN

by Kate Jacoby

  His expectations were shared by the villagers. Down every narrow street, people were closing shutters, taking belongings inside. They knew the mountain weather well and their preparations made Robert more than a little uncomfortable.

  He couldn’t afford a long delay. If it should snow it would be impossible to cross the mountains before spring. As they dismounted before an inn, Robert prayed silently this storm would last only the night.

  “Micah, you take care of the supplies. Get enough to last us a week. We’ll be across the Goleth by then and I don’t want to weigh the animals down too much.” He paused, noticing Finnlay’s eyes on him. He wanted to talk. Not only about the Enclave—but about Oliver too. Well, Robert wanted to talk as well, but not now. Now there were more practical things to worry about. “And we need to find Jenn something warmer to wear.”

  Jenn glanced at him, startled, but said nothing. As Micah went off about his chores, Robert headed up the busy street, Finnlay and Jenn following behind.

  Solmoss had grown little since Robert had last been here. There were a few more houses further up the hill but the local shrine still stood alone. Beyond and hidden by the scrubby wood was a deep ravine and the only pass through the range. A few market stalls squatted on the edge of the village, as if shrinking back from the shrine built to protect them. It was here that Robert stopped to find a new cloak for Jenn. Most of the stalls were now closing in preparation for the coming storm, but Robert displayed a few coins for encouragement and soon he found something useful.

  “This one will do,” he murmured, reaching for a thick brown garment of rough-spun wool. He turned to show it to her, but she wasn’t paying attention. “Jenn?”

  At the sound of her name, she stepped back, bumping into him. “Look—the shrine. The Guilde!”

  Robert turned. A little further up the hill, perched on a single rock outcrop, stood the wooden trium, the same as in any village in Lusara—but this one was surrounded by at least a dozen Guildesmen and their attention was focused on one thing.

  “By the gods!” Finnlay breathed. “They’ve got Arlie Baldwyn!”

  There were a few people standing around, watching as the Guilde dragged the man to the trium and tied his hands to the triangular arms, bound his feet at the base. The fair head was raised and fixed defiantly on the nearest Guilde guard. His wife Martha was nowhere to be seen.

  Robert started forward but events moved too quickly. Arlie’s head was pulled back, his face a grimace. There was a flash of steel and Arlie screamed as his left hand was severed at the wrist. Robert grabbed Finnlay’s arm. “Find Micah! Get the horses and bring them around the village to the wood, there. Do you see it?”

  “But...”

  Without pausing, Robert gripped his shoulders hard. “If we don’t get Arlie down they’ll leave him there to bleed to death! Move. I’ll find Martha.”

  Without another word, Finnlay turned and headed back down the hill.

  When Robert looked back the small crowd was dispersing from around the trium and the Guildesmen were returning to the village. Four were left on guard.

  There was only one way they could do this—but first, he had to find Martha. Quickly. He took in a deep breath and marshalled his concentration. Reaching deep inside, he awoke his Senses, sent them out into the village. He focused on one single thing, one aura—and there! Martha, hiding behind the building just opposite. Finnlay would come across her as he returned. Good. That made things so much easier. Now to get Arlie out.

  Robert glanced back at Arlie, silently willing his friend to hold on. Then he turned to Jenn. “I need your help.”

  She didn’t answer. Her eyes were fixed on the shrine and the blood falling down Arlie’s bound arm.

  “Jenn?” Robert reached out and touched her shoulder. She jumped and turned a look of sheer panic on him. He kept his voice calm but couldn’t extinguish the urgency. “I need your help. They’re leaving him there to die, Jenn. He’s my friend. I have to help him.”

  There was no apparent reason for it, but the panic died from her eyes. She took a deep breath. “What do you want me to do?”

  He gave her a quick smile of encouragement then led her across the street and into the wood. They waited in the shelter of a scrawny tree as the first drops of rain began to fall. The last of the market stalls closed up as everybody headed indoors. “I need you to create a diversion. Those guards there, go up to them, talk to them—whatever. But draw them away from Arlie.”

  “Now?” she murmured, her eyes still on the yellow uniforms.

  “Not yet. When Finn gets back with the horses. We can’t get far without them. We’ve got a few minutes.”

  Jenn nodded calmly, but her hands were shaking. Robert reached out and took them. Her fingers were cold—he never did get that cloak. “Are you all right?”

  “Why?” she murmured, rigid with fear—or was it anger? “Why did they do that to him?”

  “I don’t know,” Robert frowned. Familiar seeds of frustration and helplessness gnawed at him as though the last three years had never passed. “He must have broken some Guilde Law.”

  “But cutting off his hand? What book of law does that come from?”

  What indeed? And why the left hand? What had Arlie done?

  But Jenn wanted an answer. There would be time to deal with other reasons later. “The punishment I’ve heard of goes back to the days when sorcerers still walked the land and were feared and hated. It was said that cutting off the left hand would stop their powers—something about a talisman they used. It was then supposed to be easier to kill them. But I don’t know why the Guilde have suddenly started using such a thing after all this time. I mean, everyone knows there are no sorcerers any more. It must be some new law.”

  At that, Jenn turned to face him. “Why didn’t you stop them?”

  The question threw him. “There was no time.”

  “No. I don’t mean today.”

  No, she didn’t. She meant something else entirely. “You know who I am,” he stated flatly. “How did you know?”

  She took a step closer and her eyes searched his face. He could only guess what she was looking for. “Why didn’t you stop the Guilde?”

  He met her gaze for a long moment, then looked away. A thousand answers raced through his mind—answers he could and had given out as easily as prayers at Caslemas. Quick, simple, pat answers that hinted at but never actually told the truth. For some reason though, he could utter none of them. He opened his mouth in an effort to do so, but the only thing that came out was the truth. “Because I couldn’t.”

  He gave her no further opportunity to ask questions. Finnlay and Micah had found Martha and were now coming through the woods towards them. It was time to move.

  “Get the guards as far to the other side of the shrine as you can manage and then be prepared to run. Don’t worry, I won’t leave without you.”

  “But can you get him down without help?” Jenn’s hands started shaking again but she was in control.

  Robert smiled. “Don’t worry, I’ll have help.”

  As Finn arrived, Jenn headed out of the wood and into the rain. The wind whipped at her gown, caught her hair but she continued doggedly. Boldly she strode up to the nearest guard.

  “What’s she doing?” Finn whispered.

  “I don’t know. Just listen.”

  From beneath the wind, he could hear Jenn. As she spoke, the other guards gathered around her, all captured by her disarming smile—and yet, even with the wind and the rain, Robert could still hear that tremor of fear or anger in her voice.

  “I sincerely hope you have a very good reason to do such a thing to this criminal,” she said. “From what I’ve heard, this punishment is reserved for sorcerers ...”

  “Oh hell,” Finnlay groaned in Robert’s ear.

  But Robert wasn’t listening so much as watching what Jenn was doing. Almost with each word, her weight shifted a little and she drew the guards away from the shrine. Not far from it
—but almost far enough.

  “You’d better hope,” she went on, “that he’s not a sorcerer or you could be sorry.”

  “He’ll be sorry!” One guard laughed and his mates joined in.

  “Because I’ve heard stories about things like this,” Jenn continued, unperturbed. “About ghosts that have risen from the trium and haunted their murderers for years afterwards. For some reason, cutting off the hand like that ensures a man will become a ghost when he dies. I even heard one story about a Guildesman who threw himself from a cliff because a ghost had haunted him every night for ten years. If that’s what a normal man would do, just imagine what will happen to you if this man is a sorcerer.”

  Robert tensed as each of the guards turned to glance at Arlie. Then they looked back at Jenn as she regaled them with more tales. Now was the time to move.

  He strode out of the woods into a deserted space, slashed by wind and rain. The guards seemed oblivious to it—and Robert reached out to help them a little. With the smallest brush, he pushed their attention away from Arlie.

  He gained the shrine in seconds. Thunder rolled above him as his knife came out and cut the bonds holding Arlie. He left the rope around the man’s left wrist to stem the flowing blood. As the last thread was cut, Arlie fell forward and Robert caught him. With a silent grunt he hefted Arlie on to his shoulder and turned back for the woods where Finn was waiting. Together they got him on to a horse with Martha mounted up behind to hold him steady.

  “You get moving. We’ve got seconds, no more. Head up the track to the river. If we can get over the bridge before they reach us we’ll be safe.” Robert sent them on their way then turned back to see where Jenn was.

  At that second, lightning flashed across the sky—and Jenn raised her hands as if to put a curse on the men before her. Then with a kind of manic laugh she turned and ran further up the hill—away from Robert. Two of the guards moved to follow her but the others glanced back to find their prisoner was missing. Instantly the alarm was called and Robert took off.

  He ran through the woods, higher up the hill, until he found Jenn, panting for breath. He grabbed her hand and together they raced on until they reached Finn and the others. Through the storm they could hear the sounds of pursuit. They had to get to that bridge.

  They trotted the horses along the track but as quickly as they moved they were still too slow. The guards would be on them in minutes—with the rest of their number. This was not going well.

  “There!” Micah shouted suddenly, “the bridge!”

  The wood ended abruptly with a wide canyon carved through the rock. A raging river tore through its heart, spanned by a frail bridge too narrow for more than one horse at a time. Trestle legs supported the bridge but it was the rope railings that held it high above the water. On the other side was the path into the mountains and safety.

  “Take Arlie and Martha across, Finn. Go with them, Jenn. Take the horses.” Robert had to shout over the storm. The bridge creaked under the weight, but one by one they crossed safely. “Your turn, Micah!”

  But no sooner had he stepped on to the first slat than the guards finally came upon them. Robert whipped out his sword and blocked the entrance to the bridge. Micah was ready to turn back to help him, but Robert shouted for him to go. As Micah stumbled across, Robert swung his sword, desperate to keep the guards from the bridge, but there were too many of them. He killed the first but his place was instantly taken by another. Robert swung again but as the man fell, another rushed past and began hacking at the bridge rope. Micah was still out there and the violence of the blow made him slip. Robert rushed to stop the attack but he was too late. The first rope snapped and the bridge tilted. The wooden supports strained against the water’s current and, desperately, Micah scrambled to hold on.

  Robert turned back to the bridge but the guards were on him, crowding him, determined. He inflicted damage but he was outnumbered. Another gained the bridge and began hacking at the remaining rope. Robert tried to fight his way through but couldn’t get near. He shouted a warning but even his own ears heard nothing over the storm. Suddenly the last rope snapped and the bridge was left to stand alone.

  It wasn’t made for this kind of misuse. Slowly it began to tilt further, then, with a jerk, fell sideways. With a yell, Micah slipped completely and fell, knocking his head. Through the rain, Robert could see the smear of red blood across Micah’s face, saw him slide over the edge of the bridge, unconscious, his left arm hanging useless at his side. The bridge tilted again and the river tugged at Micah’s feet. Robert strained to get to him, but he was cornered, fighting for his life. In agony, he watched Micah slide closer to death, when suddenly he stopped falling. A hand grabbed his clothing, two hands, desperately. Jenn!

  Flat on her stomach, she held on to Micah against the river. But she wasn’t strong enough to pull him back up. She needed help—but if Finn went out there, the bridge would surely fall.

  Robert ducked a blade aimed at his head and slipped on the muddy precipice. He tumbled down to a rock ledge and had a moment’s respite as the guard scrambled to follow him. In that second, Robert turned, haphazardly gathering his powers to hold the bridge but—

  The bridge moved again. With Micah dangling over the side, Jenn holding on to him, the bridge shifted, shuddered and moved—against the current. Slowly it rose until it was almost level. Jenn hauled Micah alongside her, her face screwed up with the effort. Instantly Finnlay dashed out to her. Together they dragged Micah’s body to safety. The moment they hit the mud, the bridge groaned again and collapsed completely.

  As the last splinters of wood floated down into the canyon, Robert glanced back at the guard. They were upon him now, the first blade swung in his direction. He parried it, pushed the man back—then turned towards the river...

  And jumped.

  Chapter 4

  Pain.

  Over and over he tumbled. Breathe ... water ... cold! Hold on, Robert. Concentrate. Find the other side. Move. Ignore the pain. Concentrate. Focus. Reach out. Reach out.

  Pain.

  Focus, damn you! Focus. Find the other side! Do it! Forget the bridge, forget the Guilde. Find the other side. Concentrate. Reach out, gather your damned powers you idiot! What good are they if you can’t find the other side of the canyon!

  So this was how Selar had felt...

  Focus! You’ll drown if you don’t focus!

  Robert, honest, I didn’t touch the bridge...

  That’s it, push the pain down. Focus, concentrate. Reach out and there—there’s the rock. Kick. Ignore the cold. You’re getting closer. Touch the rock. That’s it...

  Robert’s head came above the water and icy air ripped into his lungs. Inch by inch he pushed himself up on to the rock and out of the torrent. For a minute he lay there, unmoving, until the pain resurfaced, the cold. He turned and looked back up the canyon. The bridge, the wood, the Guildesmen were nowhere to be seen. He must have been washed some way downriver.

  With a groan, he climbed to his feet. No broken bones, nothing but a few bruises—and the hideous cold. He had to get moving before the cold could kill him. Before him rose the canyon wall, grey, wet with rain and beaten by the wind. But there was a path. All he needed to do was get to the top. Finnlay would find him. Finnlay was a Seeker. He would come and find him.

  The rockface cut into his hands but they didn’t even bleed. At least the cold dulled the pain. His sodden cloak dragged him back, shuffled around by the wind like a mighty millstone. He wanted to tear it off and let it fall to the river and be swept away but he couldn’t stop long enough. He had to keep moving, had to keep some warmth in his body.

  Why didn’t you stop them ...

  I know what you are, Robert...

  Oliver! How had he known? Not just about him, but Finn as well. How? They’d never given anything away, never shown him, never told him. How had he known?

  What was he doing with Blair and Seaton? Plotting treason?

  Robert kept climbing. If
only his thoughts could be as dulled as the pain in his hands. Further and further he climbed, but still the words tumbled in his mind.

  The bridge.

  He hadn’t touched it. Hadn’t even been able to marshal his powers to reach out and hold it. But it had moved! By itself?

  Impossible. Then how? Only one way—and only one person. Finn would never be strong enough to do something like that. Arlie? Martha? No. And not Micah.

  With a final scramble he gained the top of the cliff and landed on his face. He rolled over away from the edge and paused to catch his breath. Now he just had to stay awake. Finnlay would never find him if he slipped into unconsciousness. Stay awake and think about—what?

  The Guilde. Oh, yes, things had changed in his absence. Somehow the Guilde had resurrected ancient laws and started applying them to normal people. Of course they’d not known Arlie was a sorcerer—they would have burned him at the stake if they had. No, Arlie had committed some small crime and they had cut off his hand in punishment. By the gods, Selar, what are you doing?

  “There he is! Quickly now!”

  Finn’s voice, coming from where?

  Robert tried to get up, but the cold had drained the last of his strength. He was beyond shivering, beyond feeling. Blessed peace at last.

  “Come on, Jenn,” Finnlay’s hands were on him. “Hold his shoulders while I lift him on to the horse. That’s it. Now let’s get him back to the fire.”

  In a haze of grey, Robert peered through the rain at Finnlay’s familiar face. In a croak, he murmured, “It was Jenn, Finn.”

  Finnlay laughed harshly. “They’re all right, Robert. We found a deserted shack. Martha’s looking after them. We’ll have you there soon. Just hold on.”

  Robert just nodded. Finnlay hadn’t understood—but it didn’t matter. He soon would. They all would.