Trial of Fire Read Free

body where his landing had created a hole and a black nothing above. So, this was his death. He needed to make his confession, to release the regret that he had waited so long to find Aiden McCauly, not to mention the hubris that the great man would have need of a man who couldn’t even follow a road after dark—
    ‘You there! Are you alive?’
    John frowned. Was that a real voice, or simply his mind playing evil games before it gave up the ghost?
    ‘Are you hurt? Can you move?’
    A face appeared in front of him. Though it was dark, he could make out deep lines, a thick beard and a frown of concern. A hand reached out and shook his shoulder.
    ‘Are you dead yet?’
    ‘I … don’t think so.’ John managed. He tried to convince his body to move, but he could feel no more than the inside of his mouth now; the rest of him was happy to just lie there in the soft, warm snow.
    There was movement around him, and in the distance he could hear the jingle of horse reins, the hard thud of other feet landing on the ground. It appeared there were people around here who had no trouble keeping track of the road.
    ‘You’re a very lucky man.’ Hands came around him, lifting him up, wrapping him in something he couldn’t feel. ‘We almost didn’t come out on patrol tonight. We were about to turn back when we saw you fall. Whatin the name of Serin are you doing out here on your own, on foot? What’s your name?’
    ‘John … Father John Ballan. I was … looking for … looking for … Bleaksn—’ The words got much harder to find all of a sudden. He looked into the face of the man holding him up, caught the shadows of a dozen horses behind him, and something that might have been lights far in the distance. Then abruptly everything went dark.
    *
    ‘I think he’s one of yours.’
    ‘But where did he come from?’
    ‘He didn’t say, but he was clearly alone and he’s definitely not armed. Nor did he exhibit any signs that he’s been Bonded by Nash.’
    ‘That we know of.’
    ‘Was I wrong to bring him in?’
    ‘No, of course not! Still, I can’t help wondering what he was thinking. Do you think he was looking for us?’
    ‘Well, the last thing he said was something that sounded like Bleakstone Castle.’
    ‘What do you think?’
    ‘As I said, Bishop, I think he’s one of yours.’
    ‘Very well. Let me see him. Did you find out his name?’
    ‘Father John Ballan.’
    ‘Father?’
    John blinked, but his eyes were too sore to keep open. He was comfortable, that much was certain. And he was warm. Oh, so warm! Warm and comfortable. Now if only those people would stop talking, he’d be able to get some more rest and—
    The bed dipped and he opened his eyes a little again – and gasped in shock. ‘Bishop!’ Desperately, he struggled to sit up, but Aiden McCauly placed a firm but gentle hand on his chest and kept him down.
    ‘You stay right where you are, Father. I don’t think you’ll be getting up before tomorrow.’
    John blinked again, his eyes still sore, but he couldn’t close them now if his life depended on it. Aiden McCauly was sitting on the side of his bed, alive, well and with a small smile playing across his face. John prayed silently that he wasn’t still lying in the snow somewhere, breathing his last and dreaming this.
    McCauly had aged since the last time John had seen him, fifteen years ago. The brown hair was mostly grey, and the lines on his face were deep, though few. Still, his gentle brown eyes were as perceptive as ever. For a man in his sixties, living in exile, Aiden McCauly had done better than most.
    The truly elected Bishop of Lusara was now holding a cup of something hot to John’s lips; he dutifully sipped. The aroma of the spiced brew drifted into the room, making him sleepy again.
    ‘Now,’ McCauly began, holding the cup between his hands, ‘Deverin tells me you were on foot? The last I heard, you were living at Maitland Manor, tutor and chaplain to Andrew Eachern,