Chapter 27

CHAPTER 27

ROLAND

The sky lit up in a way Roland hadn't seen in more than twenty years. An Aurum-sent beacon.

Every instinct took control, driving him and the other Paladins beyond reason and logic. The knights followed, trusting their leaders and their training as ever, investigating reports of Ilanthian witchhunters in the forest near Knightsford forgotten in an instant. They had ridden at that light, as if driven from behind by holy fire, as if drawn to it like moths, as if nothing else had mattered in the world. The world had thundered and burned and he had felt it inside him, beating in time with his heart, the song he knew so well. All Roland knew was that the Aurum was blazing through him, the light unleashed. He had heard her voice. He was sure he had heard Elodie's voice, calling them, rallying them to arms. And he had no choice but to answer.

Only one person had ever been able to send up a beacon like that, and she did it only in the direst of needs. His heart soared inside him, every nerve alight, as he looked for her.

The Aurum-sent beacon vanished as they attacked, but for those few moments it had been glorious. It had surged through his veins, strengthening him, filling his heart with endless courage. He had known it of old, the light of the Aurum as it had been wielded in battle in the past, bright and terrible. The way Elodie had wielded it…

For a moment his fractured heart had hoped… prayed…

But Elodie wasn't there. Of course she wasn't. Why would she be? Elodie was gone.

Stupid. So stupid.

But what did it matter?

If this girl could wield the light of the Aurum, if they had truly been blessed in such a way, he would pay any price. It was as if all his dreams had come true.

No. Not all of them. Not quite.

The girl wasn't Elodie.

He didn't know who she was. She'd passed out with the effort, even as the battle was done and Finn, beaten and exhausted, still bound in shadow-wrought chains, just held her, whispering her name over and over again. Begging her to stay with him.

Wren.

The routing of the Ilanthian incursion force took a lot less time than Roland had anticipated. They fell back through the trees and, though he sent a significant number of his men in pursuit, Roland himself stayed behind. Let the younger men have the glory of mopping up the rest. He had Finnian to think about and anything of use that might be garnered by way of intelligence from what had been left behind.

Leander had slipped through his fingers, but that was probably just as well. The peace was fragile enough and the crown prince desperate to disrupt it. He was too like his bastard uncle, Evander. Capturing the king's favourite son on the wrong side of the border was never going to work out well for anyone. His bodyguards had spirited him away as soon as the knights came within sight.

Just as well, or Roland had no doubt Finn would be dead now. It had been too close. Thank the Aurum for the girl who had saved the man he loved as a son. Whoever she was Roland knew he owed her a debt of gratitude.

The girl was pretty, though very pale and weakened from the magic she had channelled. She hid behind a mass of wild black hair, and curled in against Finn's body, clasping a small leather book in her hand, crushed against her chest. When anyone tried to come near, even for a second, Finn snarled at them with a ferocity Roland hadn't seen in him since he was a child, newly arrived from Sidonia.

No one had been able to make Finn leave her, not for a second, not even to see the healers.

The journey back to Knightsford was slow, Roland leading the way, Finn carrying the girl with him on a borrowed mount. What had happened to his beloved horse, Roland didn't know. There would be time for a debriefing soon, but at the moment there was no point. The first thing he needed to do was get them both to safety.

Later he could find out everything. Finn would tell him, once he'd rested and was sure the girl was safe. Roland knew him better than anyone.

Once he had dreamed of having children. A son to carry on his name, of course. Everyone wanted that. A host of strong boys, to train and raise in the knightly way. But a daughter too, as beautiful as her mother and as wise.

None of it had been possible. Roland's fault, really, for falling in love with a queen. And not just any queen. She had claimed his heart with just a look and that had been that. Even if he had wanted to love another it would never have worked out.

So raising the royal hostage in the aftermath of the devastation of the war had been not only an expression of duty to his country and the crown, but had become a pleasure. The wild little creature who had been deposited with him had grown into a fine young man, one anyone would be proud to call son. Brave, resilient, skilled, clever.

Roland would never be able to express his pride in Finnian. But he felt it keenly nonetheless.

Any time duty took the boy over the border and back into Ilanthus, however, Roland worried. With good reason, as the situation now demonstrated. Alessander might demand to know his youngest son was still alive and healthy, and Finnian might obey the summons, but they were all aware of the threat he posed to Leander and how much the crown prince loathed him. That Finn used those visits as opportunities to gather intelligence for Roland had always deeply unsettled the Grandmaster. It was too great a risk. But then, Finnian occupied a precarious position between the two hostile powers. Either of them would take any harm to him as a grave insult.

Not that Leander cared about that either. It was the worst thing that could have happened, the crown prince following him, capturing him. It could have ended in disaster for them all.

Roland watched Finn now, while the healer tried to coax him to cooperate, and knew it had been far too close. Leander must be very sure of himself to come here after Finn.

Assassins and witchhunters on Asterothian soil… it was not to be endured. Roland would see them hounded to the ends of the earth if anything happened to the boy. And as for the security here… He'd fortify the garrison of course. And increase patrols on the border. Those invaders already dead would send a powerful message to the Sidonian court, one he was sure Alessander would heed. But what would it matter in time? Leander would want vengeance.

Roland suddenly felt old. Every one of his forty years weighed on him as if they were doubled.

Knightsford was a bustling town on the river, protected by high walls and fortifications. It was the last defence on the road to Ilanthus. The place to which people like the villagers of Thirbridge were meant to retreat. Roland had sent a scouting party there, to see if there had been any survivors. But he doubted it.

Anselm was waiting for him in the garrison office, and from his expression the news about Thirbridge was grimmer than expected. He listened to the expected report without comment, and then examined the list of those invaders captured or the dead who had been identified. Precious few of either and no word on Leander himself. Nothing to prove he'd been there but their own word, and Roland knew from bitter experience that the Ilanthians would die rather than identify their prince as having led them here.

‘Is Finn… is he hurt?' Anselm asked tentatively. Their friendship had always been strong. Roland had found himself relying on that to protect his ward as much as anything else. He trusted Anselm.

‘I'm going to see him now. They didn't treat him kindly. We got there in time, however, and that's something to be thankful for.'

‘And the girl?'

Rumours were already flying then. ‘That remains to be seen. She was exhausted. The use of magic seems to have drained her completely. She's lucky to have survived. You can accompany me, if you wish. I'm sure Finn would appreciate a friendly face.'

‘He hasn't done anything wrong, has he?'

Trust Anselm to come to Finn's defence. Roland smiled.

‘That remains to be seen, but there are many questions to be answered right now. Not least, what happened back there?'

The young knight's eyes narrowed. Well, he was always the clever one. ‘And who is the girl?'