Part 27 (1/2)

Wallace rounded on him with a flash of anger. ”Your speech borders on blasphemy, Templar,” he warned. ”I have told you once that I seek no crown, and I tell you so again!”

”The divine purpose thrusts upon us many things we would shun if we followed only earthly desires for comfort and peace,” Arnault noted. ”Do you think it was mere chance that brought you to us, when we sought to save the Stone of Columba from King Edward? It was at that moment, when you were recognized by the power of the Stone, that your destiny was set forth.”

Wallace went very still, warring emotions flicking across his honest, open face.

”How could you possibly know that? I do not know! And what is the Stone to you? Who are you, to tell me this?”

”I am a Knight of the Temple,” Arnault said, ”and my destiny is to serve my Order, and the glory of G.o.d's name, to my last breath.

”The Temple, too, has its destiny-more than just its mission in the Holy Land. And that greater destiny, if you will, is now threatened by grave danger, as is all of Christendom. Meeting that danger has led a few of us here, to Scotland, where our attempts to clarify and deal with this danger have been frustrated repeatedly-sometimes even by those within our own ranks, who have fallen into the ways of corruption.

”You saw some of them at Falkirk-and sent one of them to be judged for his crimes by the All High G.o.d.

So did I. But they are not the only ones we have to fear, or the ones we must fear the most. Others who serve the Darkness more directly have a.s.serted themselves on this same disputed ground, restoring banished pagan sorcery and seeking to bring back the ancient G.o.ds, with their b.l.o.o.d.y ways, from the outer dark into which they were cast centuries ago.”

He paused a beat. ”But I have told you more than you wanted to hear, or even can grasp.”

Wallace's gaze had dropped from his in confusion, but there could be no doubt that Arnault still had his attention.

”The balance here in Scotland is precarious, as you must know,” he went on. ”The struggle for the throne will determine far more than whether this family or that will gain a period of ascendancy; it will decide whether this Christian nation may survive at all-and with it, the fulfillment of that greater purpose for which the Order of the Temple was founded.”

After a pause, Wallace at last spoke in a hushed voice.

”Speak to me of the Stone, Frre Arnault,” he whispered. ”The rest”-he fluttered a hand in rejection-”I know not how to answer. But the Stone-there is some kins.h.i.+p I felt with it, some. calling. But I don't know what it means.”

”Nor do I-or at least, only a part of it,” Arnault said. ”But when one's own insight or reason fails to bring sufficient enlightenment, one must seek the wise counsel of those with clearer vision. My own quest took me to Iona, and the kindred of Columba. It was there I learned more of the forces at work here, and where my duty lay in the midst of this war.”

”If you know that, then you know more than I,” Wallace said.

Arnault inclined his head. ”I can tell you this: The Stone, which we both have helped to preserve, was given by Saint Columba himself, as a visible sign of the bond between the king and the land. That bond was known of old, but seen in the light of the faith of Christ, its truth is even clearer. The strength of the king gives strength to the land, and vice versa; and what harms one harms the other. The power which arises from this link-the land's sovereignty, if you will-was preserved, focused, contained by the Stone of Destiny; and it lent both authority and power to the king. But the extinction of the line of Canmore severed that link between king and land, and now the Stone itself has been robbed of its potency.”

”But-if the king draws his power from the Stone,” Wallace said slowly, ”and the Stone draws its potency from the king, what is to be done when there is no king, and the Stone has been rendered inert?”

Grateful that he had managed to divert the Guardian's attention to the cure rather than the cause of the problem, Arnault carefully went on.

”Before a true king can be established, the Stone must be restored to its former state. We have learned that this can only be done by one who stands in the place of the king without ascending the throne: an Uncrowned King, if you will, who has all the attributes of a king without laying claim to the crown.”

Wallace frowned, looking vaguely uneasy. ”With all you have learned, all you have seen, are you suggesting that I am the one you seek?”

”I am,” Arnault said quietly. ”And if I were to tell you that I had this of Saint Columba himself, in a vision at Iona, that would only frighten you. But ask yourself this: Has any man achieved more for Scotland than you have, or suffered more for her sake in loss and betrayal?”

Wallace met the Templar's gaze squarely, swallowing only with difficulty. His face had the look of a man who was preparing for the worst in spite of himself.

”You're right,” he whispered. ”I am frightened.” He paused to take a deep breath. ”So, what is it you would have me do?”

”At the risk-again-of being taken for a blasphemer, I would have you follow in the footsteps of the King of Kings, Who gave up His life for His friends,” Arnault replied, in as much warning as he dared give directly. ”I would have you take up your appointed destiny-and do not surrender to the false sweetness of despair, no matter how fiercely fortune may beat against you. The man who will not surrender cannot be defeated, nor can his honor be taken from him. Hold fast to this, whether it be through death or victory, and you will achieve the salvation of your land-but only if you hold true to that purpose and refuse to abandon it, whatever may come in the future.”

Wallace walked several paces away, rubbing at his beard, then strode back, shaking his head. ”You keep returning to my destiny,” he said. ”For yourself, you have fortified your faith with old wisdom, with counsel and revelations I do not have. I want to believe that I can still make some difference, but-”

”If you agree,” Arnault said quietly, ”I believe that a share of what I have seen can be yours, as well.”

The offer brought Wallace up short. He gazed long at Arnault, apparently sensing that the Templar was offering more than fine words-perhaps more than he really wanted to know-but after a moment he gave a clipped nod.

”I agree.”

Behind them, the camp was just beginning to stir. Probably, no one would disturb them for a while, especially if they appeared to be deep in private converse. Taking a leaning seat against the wall beside them, Arnault swept a hand in invitation for Wallace to join him, then pulled from its habitual resting place beneath his tunic the perforated scrying stone that Brother Ninian had given him. As he removed it from its leather thong, he briefly explained its nature to Wallace, who stared at it skeptically.

”A keekstane?” the Guardian declared. ”I had thought such superst.i.tions fit only for old women and simpleminded children. Is it to such talismans as these that we should entrust our lives?”

”We entrust ourselves to G.o.d,” Arnault said, ”but sometimes He guides us in unexpected ways.

Sometimes He would even have us be as children-for in that way, we best demonstrate our trust in His Providence.”

So saying, he slipped a dagger from its sheath and quietly offered it hilt-first to Wallace. Made of steel reforged from a blade broken in battle in the Holy Land, he had carried it with him since the retreat from Acre, as a memento of the reason they were fighting. But some instinct had always prevented him from putting it to ordinary use, and only now did he realize why.

”Make a small wound in your palm,” he instructed. ”Once a little blood has welled, I shall give you the keekstane to hold.

”What, in some kind of pagan blood sacrifice?” Wallace said doubtfully, as he hesitated.

”Not at all,” Arnault replied. It was, however, true that the dagger, no less than the keekstane, must be blooded, to serve the ultimate purpose to which Wallace was called. ”The keekstane possesses spiritual virtues that enable it to serve as a window between the Seen and Unseen, and the blood serves as a link between yourself and these virtues. Think of it being akin to the way a saint's physical relic serves as a connection with its owner's spiritual essence-an instrumental means for penetrating the veil that normally screens the future from our mortal eyes.”

Wallace searched deep into Arnault's eyes. He looked very apprehensive, but also very determined.

”Very well,” he finally said. ”I've trusted you before, in far greater matters. I'll not hold back now.”

Closing the dagger firmly in his right fist, he set its point to his left palm and, with a quick stroke, opened a small cut about a finger-width long. A coin-sized pool of blood slowly formed in the palm of his hand, and when Arnault had slipped the dagger back into its sheath, he placed the keekstane flat over the wound, pressing it close with his fingertips.

”Close your eyes now,” he ordered, ”and picture the Stone as you last saw it. Fix its image in your mind.and ask in your heart for a vision of your destiny.”

As Wallace obeyed, Arnault closed his own eyes and breathed a hasty prayer.

Kindly Columba, send him clear vision.

Then, reaching out for his own mystical connection with the keekstane, he cast his thoughts back to the revelations he had previously been granted of that other Stone, asking for a sharing of that vision with Wallace. He could feel a tingle beneath his fingertips, the keekstane growing warmer; and then, through more than the eyes of memory, he was looking upon the Stone of Destiny.

And Wallace was with him, standing in awed wonder on the opposite side of the Stone. He appeared surprised and yet strangely accepting, as if feeling, for perhaps the first time since losing home and family, that he had come to the place where he belonged.

As they both gazed down at the Stone, there blossomed at its heart a faint yet steady light, filled with both peril and promise. To Arnault, it seemed for a fleeting moment that he glimpsed the face of Saint Columba in that light; but then the light shrank to a mere point.

Unease flared briefly then, as if in response to their presence there. The darkness beyond the Stone thickened, and a stench of seaweed and dank earth teased their nostrils as ghost-whispers of a pagan chant echoed up through the gloom. A chill s.h.i.+vered up Arnault's spine as he sensed a malignant ent.i.ty hovering unseen on the edge of their awareness, and even Wallace flinched a little.

The light, however, did not waver, and Arnault could see that Wallace was holding firm to that sight, taking courage from it in spite of the sense of imminent menace that threatened to intrude. Fueled by their faith, the light expanded and the dark retreated before it, the vile smell and the aura of personified evil also receding.

The unholy chant faded, giving place to sounds of distant combat. The battle din mounted amid the thunder of hooves and the clash of arms. The screams of dying men mingled with an exultant clamor of victory as Arnault and Wallace found themselves enfolded in radiance like a golden ray of sunlight.

Banners waved on every side-the flags and ensigns of Scotland-and the clamor became discernible as the acclamation of a king. A throne took shape amid the glow, and seated upon it was a crowned figure whose face they could not make out.