They moved quietly through the darkened precinct, alerting no guard to their presence, then, just as they were about to enter the stable, Alwenna felt a sudden apprehension. She laid a hand on Drew’s arm, stopping him.
“Not that way,” she whispered, trying to suppress the vision that clouded her senses, but she could no more stop it than stop water flowing downhill. The sky above her darkened until the pinpoints of stars were obscured by smoke, black and billowing. It welled from the stable roof while an inferno roared, devouring the timbers of the building. The yard was filled with monks passing water buckets along lines, throwing them into the flames which licked higher and higher with each offering of sweat. Father Garrad stood off to one side, watching the roof burn.
“They will pay. I’ll see to that.” His words were oddly distorted by the crackling of the flames. Then the flames dimmed and she was looking down at a tame log fire in a hearth. A man’s voice swore, at length, then tossed a piece of parchment into the flames. The edges turned brown, and the signature “Garrad’ was visible before the sheet contorted, twisting up as the fire claimed it. The man straightened up, the curl of his lip instantly recognisable: Vasic. He was older than when Alwenna had last seen him, more mature.
“Count yourself lucky I wasn’t there to have you locked inside, priest.” Vasic strode away as the parchment crumbled to ash.
“My lady, please, we will be seen.” Drew’s hand at her elbow tugged her back to her surroundings.
She couldn’t focus on anything. “Drew… guide me for a moment.”
Drew hesitated then gingerly led her forward several paces. Then she heard the metal-on-metal clunk of the stable latch as he lifted it and pushed the door part-way open. The sense of dread returned but the world slid back into focus – in time for her to see two pale figures in the straw, engrossed in a heaving, grunting tangle of limbs, illuminated by candlelight. Drew backed up abruptly, leaving the door ajar.
“I never thought… That’s Brother Irwyn.” He was visibly shaken by the sight of the two monks.
“Did he see you?”
“I… I don’t think so.” Drew gnawed on a thumbnail. “That’s the only way into the hayloft.”
“What now? Do we wait until they’ve gone?”
Drew shook his head reluctantly. “We could miss the tide.”
“Then we must sneak past them. They might not notice.”
He gave her a horrified look. “But…”
“What other option do we have?”
“The loft ladder’s against the back wall. Maybe if we’re quiet enough…”
Drew eased the door wider open, then slipped inside. She followed him, keeping her eyes on the ground where she walked while the monks continued their increasingly noisy tryst just a few yards away. Drew climbed the ladder with the ease of familiarity. Alwenna found she had to hitch her skirts out of the way to prevent her feet becoming entangled. She was halfway up the ladder when the monks fell silent. Not daring to look round, she tried to move more quickly, but lost her footing as she reached the topmost rung. The ladder creaked in protest as she slipped and bashed her shin on the offending rung. She clambered hastily over it and onto the loft, sending a loose clump of hay cascading down.
“Who’s there?” The man’s voice was harsh, but unmistakably that of Brother Irwyn. Drew’s guess had been right. She joined Drew at the loft door where he wrestled with the iron loop that operated the latch. There were scuffling sounds from below. The latch lifted with an audible creak, but that was nothing to the groan of rusted hinges as the door swung open, or the clatter of the latch as Drew released it.
This time there was a single shout from below, followed by cursing and the creak of the ladder as someone set foot on it. Alwenna lowered herself from the door until she had to let go and simply drop the remaining distance. A pain shot through her ankle as she hit the ground, then rolled, regaining her feet as Drew landed beside her. They scrambled up and dashed across the field as a man shouted from the loft behind them.
Drew helped Alwenna scramble over the drystone wall, risking a look back. He cursed. “We’re followed.”
They ducked down behind the wall, hurrying as best they could until they reached a sheep pen. There Drew paused, before tucking in behind the corner of the wall. “They’re not calling for help. We still have a chance.” He picked up a cobble that must have fallen from the wall, hefted it in his hand, then pressed his back to the wall, waiting. Alwenna took up position next to him. The wall and the ground around it was rank with the smell of sheep. What would Weaver have done? Ensured neither monk could have left the stable in the first place, like as not.
It felt like a long time before clumsy footsteps drew near, though it could only have been a few seconds. Their pursuer was breathing heavily, as if unaccustomed to such exercise. Alwenna pressed tighter against the wall. Finding a loose stone beneath her fingertips, she took hold of it.
Stones clattered as their pursuer climbed over the wall and began making his way towards them. Drew tensed as the footsteps came closer, then paused. Then two more steps, firm and decided this time.
Drew sprang to his feet, cobble in hand, and there was a grunt of surprise as he hurled himself at their pursuer, followed by a hollow thud. All became confusion as the two tussled. Alwenna eased herself up to peer over the wall. Irwyn, with dark blood trickling down his forehead, had one hand about Drew’s throat. Drew struck at him with the cobble a second time, but landed only a glancing blow off his shoulder and the stone fell from his hands. Their escape was close to failure.
Alwenna dived for Irwyn, striking out with the stone she clutched. It connected with his skull with a sickening thud. Irwyn swayed for a moment, then toppled to the ground and Drew staggered clear.
Drew reached up to wipe his cut lip with the back of his hand, sucking in air with an effort. “Thank you, my lady.”
Alwenna still gripped the rock in her hand. Was it her imagination, or could she see Irwyn’s blood on it? She dropped it hastily.
A second monk was hurrying across the field, for all the world like an ungainly bird as his unbelted robes flapped loose about him.
“Brother Francis. He won’t stop us.” Drew caught hold of her hand and tugged her towards the shore and they were off, sprinting over the open ground, crunching over the shingle to where the boats waited.
Alwenna risked a look back as they dragged a boat to the water’s edge. Francis was stooped over Irwyn, all thoughts of pursuit apparently forgotten.
A few minutes later they were rowing across the sound. Drew pulled steadily at the oars, helped by the tide, until they were out in open water and could see the precinct beyond the trees once more. Drew frowned, pausing with oars raised. Even before Alwenna twisted around she guessed what she would see. Smoke billowed from the roof of the stable and flames already licked at the stars.
“They had a candle with them in the stable.” She could picture it clearly in her mind’s eye: set on the floor among the straw. It must have been upturned in their haste at being discovered.
“Lucky for us, my lady.” He was much calmer now. “Even if they notice we’re gone they’ll have no leisure to do anything about it. And I doubt Francis will want to tell them.” He pulled back on the oars again and they sped towards the mainland.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Garrad rubbed his eyes and set aside the letter he was composing. It had taken three days before the fire burnt itself out. The library had been saved by the monks’ efforts, but the stables had been completely destroyed. Rebuilding it was going to be costly: importing new timbers from the mainland, new slate, hiring labourers… The precinct was in desperate need of funds. His best hope had been finding the runaways on the mainland before they travelled too far, but the search parties had learned nothing. The pair of them had vanished without trace. He had anticipated generous treatment from Vasic for handing over the Lady Alwenna, but now he could look for nothing but displeasure. And Vasic’s reputation for making his displeasure known had reached even this quiet corner of the Peninsula. Somehow he had to break the news to his new king. He couldn’t put it off any longer. He picked up the part-written letter again, but this time was interrupted by a knock at the door.
Brother Irwyn entered the room. His hands and one arm were bandaged, while his forehead bore a livid scar. Rumour had it he’d carried out some heroic rescue during the fire, although no one seemed to know quite who or what had been rescued.
“You continue to make a good recovery, I see, brother. What brings you here?” Garrad set the letter down on his desk.
“Father, my conscience is heavy.” The priest made show of wringing his hands together, every inch the penitent. The effect was marred somewhat by his bulky bandages.
“Indeed?” Garrad didn’t have time – or inclination – for this.
“It concerns the night of the fire, holy father. It grieves me to tell you this, but… I’ve thought for a while Brother Drew was unreliable. He spent so much time chasing after the Lady Alwenna I feared he had lost his way. So I kept a close eye on him and – this is what I have hesitated to tell you – the night of the fire I saw them sneaking into the stable building, with a lighted candle.”
“And you tell me this only now?”
Irwyn hung his head. “I cannot be sure this caused the fire, father. But I could not in all conscience withhold the information any longer.” The man was a consummate actor, Garrad had to grant him that. “I called Brother Francis for assistance but they heard us approaching and fled over the fields. We gave chase, not realising the candle must have been overturned in their haste. The stable was ablaze when we returned.”
“I see.” Father Garrad steepled his fingers, regarding his second-in-command. Not for a moment did he believe this was the truth: the monk had waited until they were sure the fugitives had gone beyond recall. Nevertheless his tale might be turned to good use. “And you would attest to all this before the highest courts if necessary?”
“I would, father. Brother Francis will be able to confirm everything I have told you. Brother Drew flouted the laws of our order, and broke his vows with that woman. I suspect witchery on her part, he was so smitten.”
“Indeed, that is a possibility I had not considered. You were fortunate she did not turn her unholy powers on you, as she did on her dupe Ranald Weaver.”
“The Goddess gave me strength to resist such worldly lures, your holiness.”
Garrad was impressed. The man could lie as brazenly and adroitly as any he had ever known. “That is fortunate. Had you not intervened in such timely fashion the fire might have spread to the library. Our loss would have been incalculable.”
Irwyn assumed an expression of great humility. “It was fortunate indeed, father. Divine providence guided my actions that night.”
“Indeed.” Garrad studied Irwyn. The monk met his gaze with every impression of innocence and righteousness. He would make an excellent witness. And Brother Francis, with his impeccable record at the precinct, would back every word. So very respectable in appearance, the pair of them. “Irwyn, thank you for sharing your suspicions. I shall send a full report to his highness King Vasic. He must be informed what manner of woman he seeks to take into his protection.”
Garrad dismissed Irwyn and tore up the half-written letter, beginning again with a fresh sheet of parchment. He weighed each sentence carefully before committing it to the page. It took quite some time, but when he had dusted the sheet with sand to dry the ink and read through the whole he felt satisfied with the end result. Every adverse event at Vorrahan could be laid clearly at the Lady Alwenna’s door. This should be more than sufficient to save his good name where Vasic was concerned. He sealed the sheet with wax, marking it with his signet ring. Tomorrow he would send one of the novices to carry it to the mainland. He poured himself a drink, savouring it as the liquor burned a fiery path down his throat.
Then he caught sight of movement from the corner of his eye. A figure stood by the window, wearing the familiar cowl of the novice monk required of all trainees at Vorrahan. It was Tresilian. He stared straight at Garrad.
“That was not well done, father. I see now I ought not have given my trust to you so completely.” He paused, head tilted on one side as Garrad gaped at him in disbelief. “Alwenna is wiser than me, I think. And she knew Gwydion of old, long before you could begin to poison his mind. She will not be so easily manipulated. You will see.” He raised the hood up over his head so it hid his face. “You will pay for every one of your crimes, father. You cannot hide the truth from the Goddess.” He turned away and the candle flame guttered and went out, pitching Garrad into darkness. He sat at his desk, smoke from the snuffed candle curling into his nostrils, heart racing, scarcely daring to breathe as he listened for any hint of movement in the darkened chamber. Only when he was as certain as a man could be that he was alone did he rise from his seat and fumble his way to the door.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Drew’s stomach knotted with anxiety as they approached the crossroads. If he intended to ask, this was the time. He glanced at the Lady Alwenna. She was sagging in her saddle, although a couple of hours’ daylight remained.
“If I may suggest… my family live not far from here. I think they would gladly shelter us for the night. My lady?”
She glanced his way, frowning, clearly pre-occupied with her own thoughts. “I beg your pardon?”
“My family live nearby. We might shelter there for the night.”
Her frown lifted for a moment. “That would be welcome. If you think we can trust them?”
“My ma’ll be glad to see me, my lady. She never wanted me to leave. I… I would be grateful to see her once more before travelling east.”
“Of course.” She smiled and her face was transformed, but only for a few seconds. The Lady Alwenna carried too much sadness with her. If only Gwydion had told him more – told them both more. The old man should never have burdened her with the knowledge of ages. Then again, if he hadn’t, that knowledge might be Drew’s now. And everything Drew had seen told him that the burden was a heavy one. To think he’d once envied her.