Part 31 (1/2)
”Briochan, my beloved, be present before your G.o.ddessss,” said the voice behind him.
In answer to that command, tendrils of smoke began to rise from the casket, gradually weaving a head crowned with laurel leaves, tonsured like Torgon. but it was not Torgon. As the face solidified, overlaying Torgon's, Comyn was aware of a s.h.i.+ft-that it was that other who now held him steady for what had been agreed. And as that other bade him take that next step, from which there was no turning back, Comyn brought the two distal ends of the rune-staves together, like setting flame to tinder.
Green fire flared in a blinding light, power crackling down Comyn's arms to envelop him in a mantle of otherness that overlaid his own consciousness. In that instant, he felt his perceptions stir, s.h.i.+ft; and then Torgon was taking his arm, leading him blindly up the stairs to the surface, to the topmost tower of Burghead, bidding him turn his face toward the south.
”Be his voice, Briochan,” Torgon murmured, touching his hand in bidding him to raise the staves. ”Seek out and find our enemies. Show him where they lie!”
Aware of that other, with him and in him, Comyn cast his senses outward, along the sight lines of the rune-staves in his hand. Partnered with Briochan, he discovered that sensory impressions were strangely enhanced. Sight, hearing, taste, touch, and smell had all been sharpened to an uncanny degree of acuity.
The touch of his clothes against his skin, the taste of salt sweat on his lips, the sound of men quietly talking in the yard below-all these things came to him with a sharpness he had never experienced before.
In mounting excitement, he spread his sensibilities wider, like a net, reaching out beyond the confines of the fortress to the south.
As his field of perception broadened, his nostrils flared wide at the scent of something that both drew and repelled him. Its sweetness was that of church incense, causing the dark aspect within him to snarl and spit in revulsion. But it was also the trace he was seeking: the signature of a hostile sanct.i.ty that would lead him to where the Stone of Columba lay hidden.
He closed his eyes and mind to all other sensations in order to focus on that one impression. The scent drew him southward. Like a wolf on the hunt, he followed it over wood and water, mountain and glen.
Skirting the hateful beacon that was the cathedral at Dunkeld, he reached the thread of a river and followed until he came abruptly before a cavern mouth that reeked of the fragrance of holiness.
Stomach-turning in its potency, the fragrance told him that he had found what he was seeking, though it lay behind a veil that must be torn. Knowing he had found it, his darkling aspect rejoiced at the prospect of attacking and destroying the altar stone of his patron's saintly adversary.
With the site indelibly imprinted in his mind, Comyn pulled back within himself, feeling that other ent.i.ty fall away.
”I know where the Stone is hidden,” he said to Torgon, ”but it is well protected. I sensed no physical protectors, but they will come-and they will be the weak point. When they gather in the presence of the Stone, their thoughts will be on what they hope to accomplish-and that will also be their time of greatest weakness. It is then that we shall strike in earnest. We must make ready.”
The next day dawned fair. Immediately after the conventual Ma.s.s of the abbey, Torquil set out for the cave where the Stone lay hidden, with Brothers Christoph and Flannan, Father Bertrand, and the two Columbans. Meeting afterward in Abbot Henry's chamber, Arnault and Luc listened as Gaspar told them of his dreams in the early hours of the morning.
”It could be that all our talk of this work last night set my mind to fearing,” he said, as he rubbed at his forehead.
Luc shook his head. ”No, there's trouble in the air-and I think your headache confirms that you were catching glimpses of it. When our Columban brethren joined us in the spring, they said they'd been sensing something brewing all through the winter. We were aware of it at Balantrodoch, too. We just can't seem to work out where it's coming from.”
”Could there be English patrols in the area?” Gaspar asked.
”Possible, but not likely,” Arnault said. ”Besides, it isn't conventional soldiery I fear. I've told you before about my suspicions regarding the Comyns.”
”I thought the old Comyn had died,” Gaspar said.
”He did,” Luc said, ”but his son is cut from the same cloth. Torquil saw both of them there, that night that Jay and de Sautre gave the casket to them-and he told you about what came after him, after they'd spotted him. Thank G.o.d for His grace-and for that talisman Torquil was carrying!”
”Do you think this Red Comyn has inherited his father's full powers?” Gaspar asked.
Arnault shrugged. ”Inherited or a.s.sumed, I couldn't say-but we cannot afford to rule out that possibility.
From the evidence thus far, I fear the worst. We've learned that the late Comyn put a great deal of money and work into restoring an old Pictish fortress up on the north coast, deep in the heart of Badenoch country-and when we've tried to probe in that direction, there's a psychic haze, almost a fog, that none of us have been able to penetrate. Given the delicacy of our waiting game, we haven't dared to go up there in person.”
”You think it's sorcery obscuring the fort?”
”Probably. But whether or not this Comyn is dabbling in such things, his focus is on political gain. As much as he hates the English, he doesn't want to see anyone but himself become the next king of Scotland-even if it's only as a va.s.sal of Edward. If he has any inkling what we're up to- whether or not he's in league with his father's old allies-he'll certainly try to interfere, to whatever extent he's able.”
The second party left Scone late in the afternoon-Arnault, Gaspar, and Luc-armed with Abbot Henry's blessing. Other travelers on the road to Dunkeld were few, and those the party did encounter hurried on about their business, sparing curious glances for three Templars obviously on some portentous errand; but they had decided that they needed the symbolic comfort afforded by the habits of their Order more than the anonymity that would have accompanied disguise.
The settling dusk was heavy and still, warm even for August. When they stopped to rest the horses, shortly before the place they intended to leave the main road, the only thing moving anywhere was a large black bird catching the air currents high above them, wheeling in leisurely spiral patterns that seemed to spell ill omen.
”I don't think I like the look of that bird,” Gaspar remarked to Luc, as he adjusted his horses's girth.
”I don't either,” Luc replied, ”but it's out of bow-shot range, even if we'd thought to bring a bow.”
Arnault overheard them, and cast an anxious glance skyward as he mounted again.
”Never mind,” he told them. ”We'll soon be among the trees of Birnam Wood.”
The leafy precincts of the forest seemed welcoming at first. But as the three pressed on, the patches of shadow amid the trees began to take on a sinister quality. For a while, Arnault wondered if it was just a trick of his imagination- until he noticed that Luc and Gaspar were also casting uneasy glances over shoulders.
”Something isn't right here,” Gaspar muttered under his breath. ”Whatever it is, it has no liking for anyone who travels under the sign of the Cross.”
Darkness was approaching as they threaded their way along the series of streambeds that led toward the Stone's hiding place, Arnault in the lead. They forded the stream at a shallow point and struck out westward along the north bank. The river was running low, leaving margins of sand and rocks on either hand. It looked different from what Arnault remembered, and he was relieved when they came within sight of the ravine leading to the cavern where, for the past seven years, the Stone of Destiny had lain hidden.
The others had already established a picket for the horses at the mouth of the ravine. Leaving the horses for Torquil and the others to deal with, Arnault took Gaspar and Luc up to the cave to visit the Stone.
Christoph was sitting just inside the entrance of the outer chamber, his sword thrust into the ground before him, and rose to sketch a sign in the air before the opening, before stepping back to admit them.
Light spilled from the narrow doorway that led to the inner chamber, and Arnault gestured for Gaspar and Luc to precede him.
Inside, the chamber of the Stone had been transformed into a worthy shrine to contain it. Candles were set at the four quarters, with the real Presence of the Sacrament established in the east by a pyx and a votive light burning in a cup of red gla.s.s. A faint hint of incense hung on the air-a breath of frankincense mixed with something clean and slightly citric.
The Stone itself lay in the center of the s.p.a.ce, now set upon a small rug of the sort Arnault had seen used for prayer in the Holy Land. Fingon and Ninian were kneeling behind it, each with a hand upon it, and looked up as the three newcomers entered, but Gaspar waved them back to what they had been doing.
As the Columban brethren returned to their labors, murmuring between them in the Gaelic tongue, Gaspar studied the Stone from afar, finally turning to Arnault.
”I hadn't thought to ask before, but-a.s.suming this sacrifice has the desired effect, do you know now who Wallace's successor is to be?”
”Aye, Robert Bruce.”
Gaspar lifted his eyebrow in surprise. ”The same whose grandfather challenged Balliol for the crown?”
”The very same,” Arnault replied. ”Little did we guess then that their mutual animosity prefigured a battle between the forces of darkness and light. But Bruce is definitely our man.”
”And Wallace-you're sure he is the Uncrowned King?”
”Alas for him-I am,” Arnault replied.
Leaving the two Columban brothers to continue their deliberations, the three emerged from the cavern.
Before the entrance, the others had traced a sweeping line in the sand delineating a crescent-shaped area of protection, studded with the swords of all the other knights. Led by Father Bertrand, they were erecting a warding wall of prayer along the boundary so formed. The Columbans joined them after a while, weaving moonlight into the protection as the late sun set and the moon rose, all but full.
As they settled, then, around a small fire to partake of an evening meal of travel rations, Arnault withdrew to a sheltered spot far to the right of the protective crescent, where he could sit with his back against a tree. After sticking his own sword into the ground like a protective talisman, he drew up his hood, under the ensign of the cross of his Order, and took out the keekstane from his belt pouch, as he had each night since learning of Wallace's capture.