EXILE'S RETURN

by Kate Jacoby

  So ... that was Deacon Godfrey, Robert’s old friend. A man close to the leadership of the Church. A man who knew enough to warn Robert not to approach Marsay. And the old priest? Obviously Archdeacon Hilderic. And Godfrey had just seen McCauly. So much the better.

  Finnlay melted into the shadows of the Basilica. Godfrey was right. A beggar attracted too much attention in this kind of environment. Time for a change of disguise—and for that matter, time to go and find Murdoch.

  It took him little more than half an hour to get from the castle to the other side of town. He paused in an empty alley only long enough to adjust his clothing and then set out to find the tailor’s shop. Although he’d never spent a great deal of time in the capital, Finnlay knew Marsay well enough to find the street without too much trouble. It was down at the bottom of the mount, inside the city wall but close to the river which surrounded the city. On this warm spring day, Finnlay found the rising smell of shops and carters, animals and taverns almost overpowering and it was with some relief that he ducked into the doorway of the tailor’s premises. It was darker in here, and smelt of oiled wool. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust and when they did, he saw Murdoch attending a customer.

  “I shall be with you in a moment, sir,” Murdoch smiled without a flicker of recognition.

  Finnlay nodded and moved to wander around the tiny establishment. Folds of soft Alusian silk lay on a bench by one wall, surrounded by bolts of rough woven hessian.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Finnlay turned around and, seeing that they were alone, shrugged. “What do you think?”

  Murdoch shook his head. “You might have warned me you were coming. I nearly had heart failure when you walked through that door. Come upstairs. We can talk there.”

  With the shop door closed for the afternoon, Murdoch led Finnlay up the steep narrow staircase to the upper floor. Once there, he poured them both some ale, then moved to stand by the little window which looked down into the street.

  “Are you waiting for someone?” Finnlay asked, pulling off his filthy cloak.

  “Yes. He’s just coming up the street. Wait here while I let him in.”

  Murdoch was gone only a few minutes and when he returned, he brought with him a stranger. Finnlay stood to meet him while Murdoch closed the door and put a warning on it.

  “Unless I’m mistaken,” the stranger began, moving forward, “you are Finnlay Douglas. We’ve not met, but I’ve heard about you. I’m John Ballan.”

  “There’s no point in being discreet, John,” Murdoch laughed, pouring him a mug of ale. “Finnlay will find out everything there is about you, whether you like it or not. He’s that kind of sorcerer.”

  “Thank you, Murdoch,” Finnlay replied flatly. “And just what is it that I will find out eventually?”

  “This is Father John Ballan, Finn, secretary to Archdeacon Hilderic. You’ve never met before because John has made only one visit to the caves. He entered holy orders as a young man and spent his life working here on our—and the Church’s behalf. Now don’t look shocked, Finn. It doesn’t do you justice.”

  Finnlay took in a deep breath and sat down. “An amazing coincidence. I just met your superior.”

  “Really? Where?”

  “Coming out of the dungeons. Godfrey had been to see McCauly.”

  Murdoch’s face went white. “What in the name of the gods were you doing there? Have you no idea how dangerous it is? On top of that, Godfrey and your brother were good friends—there’s a good chance he could have recognized you!”

  With a shrug, Finnlay replied, “He came close. I had to give him a nudge to shake him off. He’s probably forgotten all about me by now.”

  Murdoch sank on to a chair by the table, shaking his head in disbelief. “You’re a fool, Finn. What were you doing?”

  “Trying to find out about McCauly.”

  “But that’s what I’m here for, to pass on that kind of information to the others.”

  “Yes, well, I’m not living in the caves at the moment. I’m back at home.”

  The room fell silent. Finnlay sighed and waved his hands at the two men. “Well, go on and ask.”

  “You’re back at home?” John murmured. “With your brother?”

  “Yes, that’s right. Cosy, isn’t it?”

  “I must know something. Godfrey wrote your brother a letter in secret. Is there a chance that the letter asked your brother to do something about McCauly?”

  “No, quite the opposite. He warned Robert to stay away.”

  “And will he?”

  Finnlay drained his ale and reached for the jug. “My brother is determined to remain completely uninvolved with everything except the management of his estates. I’ve no doubt he’d very much like to do something about McCauly, but I think we all know that the moment he tried, we’d have a civil war on our hands. Have you got any food, Murdoch? I’m starving.”

  Murdoch rose and opened a cupboard. He produced half a cold chicken and some bread, which he handed to Finnlay.

  With a frown he said, “But I felt sure that when Robert chose not to Stand the Circle ...”

  Finnlay interrupted, “So what’s happening here? Are there any moves to free McCauly? Is the Church standing behind him?”

  “The Church,” John replied, “is split—just as that prophecy foretold. There are no real moves planned, but that doesn’t mean things will stay that way. At the moment it’s a waiting game. I fear a lot of it depends on this new man at court.”

  “What new man?”

  John glanced at Murdoch. “It’s taken some months, but effectively he’s replaced your brother as Selar’s closest friend. His name is Samdon Nash—and he’s a member of the Guilde.”

  “Ye gods!” Finnlay breathed. “Is he Vaughn’s pet? Is this another move by the proctor?”

  “No, I don’t think so,” replied Murdoch. “They’ve grown close. I think it’s only a matter of time before Selar appoints Nash to the council. You should try and get a look at him while you’re here, for future reference.”

  “Very well. But why do you think his presence has such a bearing on McCauly?”

  Murdoch stood and refilled their mugs from the jug of ale. He returned to the window and gazed down at the street below. “You never spent much time at court, did you? A few quick visits when Robert was on the council.”

  “I came for a couple of weeks, one summer ...”

  “Still, you were never around much. You forget how much the King needed your brother. Not just his work and support, but also his friendship. Selar’s a lonely man, in a foreign country, surrounded by enemies and blood-sucking supporters. People like Vaughn and Tiege Eachern are not friends, but tools to use as he chooses. Once Robert left, there was a big hole in Selar’s life and now it’s been filled by Nash. When Robert was around we could breathe easy, but not so with this man. I have a very bad feeling about him, Finn. I don’t like him at all.”

  “Have you scanned him? He’s not Malachi, is he?”

  “No, nothing like that. I don’t get that close to him. John sees him more than I do.”

  Finnlay glanced across at the priest. The young man lifted his shoulders, but obviously had nothing to contribute. “It is possible, though, isn’t it? I mean, if he’s Malachi, he may have found a way to screen it, so that we can’t tell.”

  “Finnlay,” Murdoch smiled, “not all evil men are necessarily Malachi. I’m just saying that Nash is a man we should keep our eyes on, that’s all.”

  “I see.” Finnlay emptied his cup once more and turned away from the window. “Well, I have to get going. I can only stay in town a couple of days and there is still a bit I have to do.”

  “Before you go,” John raised his hand, “is it true about the Ross girl? About how you found her? Is she really as powerful as they say?”

  “Yes, it’s all true. Why?”

  “It’s just that there’s a story going around within the cave community, that is, that your brother
knew where she was all along—and knew about her powers. That he might have had something to do with her abduction in the first place—because of her powers.”

  “What?” Finnlay burst out laughing. “Well, I’ve heard some things in my time but that really beats the lot! Robert? Abduct a child during the Troubles? My brother? The man who is so honour-bound that he won’t stand against the King because of an oath? You must be kidding!”

  “Well, you must admit that it’s a little strange.”

  “Nothing strange about it, Father John!” Finnlay laughed again. “I know—I was there when it all happened. Every bit of it. Think about it. If he really wanted her for some reason, would he just return her to her damned father? Wouldn’t he spirit her away somewhere? And for what purpose? Robert has no need of her powers—he already has more than he knows what to do with. Sometimes I wonder what the Enclave is thinking about!”

  “Finn—”

  “Oh, forget it, Murdoch. No one can hear me and you know it. Saying that word is no more damning than anything else we’ve said here. Look, I must go. I’ll drop in before I leave Marsay. Anything else you can tell me about this Nash fellow will be welcome.”

  Murdoch waved his hand towards the door then added, “Please, Finn—be careful.”

  The courtyard was filled with sunlight and the heat of a dozen men sparring with sword and mace. The crash of steel and occasional cries of triumph or encouragement echoed around the grey sandstone walls and melted into the cloudy sky above. All around the perimeter servants and lords done with fighting towelled themselves dry and watched the continuing conflicts.

  Nash had not fought today, although he had for the last two. This morning he waited on the King with a jewelled goblet of wine and a slip of snowy white linen. He stood in the doorway of the pavilion, erected for the sole purpose of giving Selar somewhere from which to watch this event when he wasn’t taking part. In the centre of the courtyard, Selar sparred with Kandar. Although Nash knew the Earl to be a fine swordsman, he could see George was not performing at his best. More than once Selar was able to slip through his guard to nick the point of his sword against Kandar’s gleaming chain mail.

  “Deep thoughts?” a sensuous voice murmured in his ear. “Do you envy the young Earl and how close he is to your dear friend? Do you not wish to be so close to him yourself?”

  Nash smiled, knowing she couldn’t see the expression. “Your obscene suggestions do not do you justice, my dear. You would be wise to keep them to yourself.”

  “I can’t help it. Just seeing the way you watch them puts these thoughts into my head. For all your fine talk of power, is there not something else you want? Is there no other reason why you share every waking moment with the King?”

  Languidly, Nash placed the cup of wine on the small table by his elbow and turned to look at her. Her face was composed with serious concern but her eyes danced and reflected hints of sunlight. She slowly smiled.

  “And are you going to tell me that you are suddenly jealous?” Nash murmured. “After all this time?”

  “Jealous? No. But Samdon, you know I don’t trust you. I’ve told you a thousand times. After five years, you should know I mean what I say.”

  Nash stepped forward and she backed away further into the shadows of the pavilion. “Perhaps you would like to leave me. Is that it? Do you want to return to your brothers and sisters? Do you miss the Malachi so much? Do you regret leaving their narrow ambition for the sake of my grand one?” He laughed and bent his head to kiss her smooth white throat. “Ah, Valena, if only you would leave me. Then you wouldn’t be such a distraction to me.”

  She laughed and moved closer, breathing close to his ear. “Yes, I’m so much of a distraction that the moment I return you ignore me. I’ve been back two weeks and you haven’t even asked me about my trip, not even to ask if I had a good Caslemas.”

  Nash gazed down at her and noted every curve and line of her beautiful face. His hand came up and delicately traced the edge of her bodice where it met her flesh. Automatically, he sent his senses out into the courtyard, but the King was still fighting and no one was paying Nash any attention at all. He smiled again. “I assumed, my dear, that if there was anything terribly important, you would come to me immediately.”

  “Then you assume too much on my part. Returning in itself was important, don’t you think?”

  He couldn’t help but laugh. She was so very good at this. So skilled in the fine art of seduction. No wonder the Malachi wanted her back. Without doubt she was one of their finest—but that was also the reason why he wanted her. Because he appreciated her much more than they ever could.

  “So then, what did you find out about our renegade Earl? Is he planning treason? Is he any threat to Selar—and therefore to us?”

  Valena gently removed his hand from her breast and stepped back a little. Her face lost that enticing smile and instead became immediately more practical. “I think he’s a spent cause. He’s weary of the fight and has no desire to be involved with it again. He’ll stay at home, I promise you. As far as he is concerned, your position is secure.”

  “But?” Nash queried with a raised eyebrow.

  “He has a younger brother, Finnlay. I don’t know that it’s important, but he does have an interest in the history of sorcery.”

  “Really?” Nash breathed. “And do you think he has any power?”

  “No. He’s just an interested amateur. Besides, I thought you picked up all the possible candidates years ago. At least, that’s what you told me. Can you have missed anyone?”

  “No,” Nash shook his head, “I spent five years scanning Lusara before I even began taking them. I know I collected every child with powers from a major House who was born at the time. There may be others since then, but they don’t matter. My father’s instructions were quite clear. It is this generation that is the most dangerous. Any following are of no consequence.”

  Nash broke off and glanced over his shoulder. “You’d better leave. He’s coming in for refreshment and I don’t want him to see you. Not yet.”

  “I’ll wait for you tonight,” she murmured in farewell, once more in her most sensuous voice.

  She was gone just as Selar strode into the pavilion, tossing his sword on a chair and sweeping up the goblet of wine Nash held out. Following close on his heels were Vaughn and Osbert.

  “Forgive me, Sire,” Vaughn began with little flourish, “I must speak with you.”

  “What is it?” Selar frowned, appearing entirely disinterested.

  “That matter we spoke of some weeks ago?”

  “What matter?”

  “Evidence, Sire.” Vaughn smiled. “I have it.”

  It was not so much the abrupt appearance of Vaughn that caught Rosalind’s attention, but the sudden exit from the pavilion, the abandonment of sparring practice for the day. Younger knights continued to work in the centre of the yard, but Selar and his favourites disappeared through the doorway below her open balcony without even a word of explanation.

  Not that Selar needed to explain anything. He was, after all, the King and could do what he liked. Even if it meant locking up a properly anointed Bishop! No matter that he’d committed no crime ...

  “Forgive me, Your Grace.” A quiet voice interrupted her thoughts. “Do you expect the King to return to the yard today?”

  Rosalind turned slowly. Her ladies were not so close to her that they could hear every word of this conversation. They stood by the door apparently ignoring Rosalind and the priest now standing before her. Godfrey waited with his hands clasped patiently together, his eyebrows raised slightly as though in perpetual surprise. He neither smiled nor grimaced, but rather gazed at her openly, begging a trust she could only dare to believe.

  “It is ... possible,” Rosalind replied after a moment, keeping her voice clearly audible, “he may return. I’m not sure. Was there something .. .?”

  She swallowed carefully and tried not to appear nervous. She’d not spoken alone wi
th this man since that night when she’d stolen out of the castle to warn him of Vaughn’s plans with the hospices.

  Godfrey seemed to sense her agitation and smiled gently. “I was hoping to beg for another audience with Bishop McCauly ... I mean, Archdeacon McCauly.”

  Rosalind couldn’t hide a little smile at the deliberate mistake. It appeared there was a small joke they could share between them, even with the ladies present. “Of course, Deacon. I’m sure the King would listen to your petition. I’m also sure that the Archdeacon would be grateful for another visit.”

  “I was hoping to bring him the Sacraments, Your Grace. If I could perhaps convince the King to allow me to celebrate Mass in the cell each week...” Godfrey’s voice trailed off, dropping to merely a whisper, then, “Please—you will let me know if you think McCauly is in any immediate danger, won’t you?”

  Rosalind’s eyes snapped to the women by the door. They were chatting between themselves, but very aware of Rosalind’s guest. “But what danger?” she stammered, turning her attention back to Godfrey.

  “From the King,” Godfrey replied quickly. “If you hear anything at all, please find a way to let me know. I don’t know if I can do anything—but I can at least try.”

  Would Selar actually try to kill McCauly while in prison? It didn’t seem possible—and yet ... Rosalind breathed deeply and nodded. “Of course, Deacon. I promise.”

  “I’ve waited too long for this, Vaughn. You told me this would only take a few weeks!” Selar splashed more water on his face, then took the towel from Nash’s hands and moved over to the fire. The King’s chamber was quite chilly and Nash put another log on to the small blaze.

  “The situation has been very delicate, Sire,” Vaughn insisted. “More delicate than we realized in the beginning. If we pushed too hard they might have known what was happening.”

  Selar tossed the towel away and folded his arms. “Very well, tell me. What is Blair planning? What is your evidence?”