Trial of Fire

Book 5: The Books of Elita

by Kate Jacoby

Genres: Fantasy; Epic Fantasy

Synopsis

The final part in this glorious epic of political intrigue, sorcery and romance: Lusara is finally boiling over into rebellion, but the Angel of Darkness has his own plans: for fans of Mercedes Lackey and L.E. Modesitt. Millennia ago, a great prophecy was forged: the Enemy, the Ally and the Angel of Darkness would come together, and out of their meeting would come chaos and destruction for Lusara and all its peoples. And now is the time for that prophecy to be fulfilled, for good or ill, for the Enclave, the secret mountain community of those gifted with magical powers, has been exposed and its sorcerers must scatter before those who wish them annihilated can get there. And hot on the heels of the Enemy, the sorcerer Robert Douglas, and the Ally, Jenn, leader of those hidden magic-wielders, is Nash, the Angel of Darkness - and his powers are fully regenerated . . . After twenty-five years of tyranny, Lusara is finally boiling over into rebellion!

Release date: December 19, 2013

Publisher: Jo Fletcher Books

Print pages: 530

Sample

And so we come to the final chapter in this saga. This was a time of confusion, of uncertainty, of faltering hope, and yet those at the heart of this story knew their time was fast approaching.

This was the time Robert Douglas had most feared, for it was his hand that would divide fate from hope, his destiny to find an answer to the Prophecy, or, while delivering his country from evil, destroy the very thing he loved most.

History had always worked against him. He’d returned from his self-imposed exile to find Lusara struggling under the rule of Selar, the conqueror; the Church floundering, the powerful Guilde growing stronger under Proctor Vaughn. Vaughn knew Robert was a sorcerer – and hated him for it.

The secret Enclave, hidden high in the Goleth Mountains, was home to sorcerers who no longer dared to live in the country, fearing for their lives from both Guilde and the evil sorcerers, the Malachi. The Enclave was protected by the Key; it was this powerful talisman which had given Robert the Prophecy.

While the people needed a release from tyranny, those within the Enclave, the Salti, begged Robert to help them, but Robert, a man of honour, could not reconcile the responsibilities placed upon him with his oath of allegiance to Selar, nor with the terrible fate of the Prophecy. This conflict raged within him for more than thirty years, becoming a dark stain inside him he could neither control nor destroy. In his own mind, he called it the demon.

The one person who understood both Robert and his demon was Jennifer Ross, abducted as a child and sent to live in Shan Moss forest. When, fourteen years later, Robert rescued her, he discovered she was not only a sorcerer, with powers vastly different to any other magic-wielder in Lusara, but the daughter of the Earl of Elita. Robert returned Jenn to her father as he had promised, but even as he realised his feelings for her were changing, he discovered that she was also a part of the Prophecy, named the Ally – and he knew that if he allowed it to come true, she would be the one he would destroy.

King Selar had a new friend, Samdon Nash. A sorcerer of incredible power and evil, Nash was known as Carlan to his people, the Malachi. He would stop at nothing to posses the Key – and Jenn, the Ally.

And then fate took hold of Robert and his brother Finnlay once again, and the secret of sorcery died. Word flew across the land.

*

Nash secured his position at court, using a hideous perversion of the ancient Bonding to tie Selar to him, so the King would lose all free will and become Nash’s puppet.

Robert helped the Queen to safety, but it was Jenn’s impending marriage that finally broke him. Despite all his promises to himself, he spent the night with her, giving into the Bonding foretold by the Prophecy. Then he went into exile once again – this time determined to stay there and harm no others.

Though heartbroken, Jenn understood Robert and went through with her marriage to Duke Teige Eachern, Selar’s brutish cousin. When she found she was carrying Robert’s child, she kept the secret, allowing her husband to believe it was his.

Robert exiled himself in a remote abbey where he met Bishop Aiden McCauly, hiding there after escape from imprisonment on false charges of treason. The seeds of a deep and powerful friendship were born between the two. They were drawn from their sanctuary by threats to Robert’s brother and an attack on Jenn at Elita.

Racing across the country, they arrived at the castle in time to discover those besieging were Malachi, under control of the Angel of Darkness, the third protagonist in the Prophecy. Even as Jenn went into labour, as her father was killed and her son born, the enemy was closing in, threatening to overrun the castle. Exhausting all his defences, the demon within Robert finally cracked and broke, flooding through him with a fury that would not be denied. From the highest battlement he let loose the Word of Destruction, obliterating the Malachi and severely wounding the Angel of Darkness.

*

Five years later Robert returned again to Lusara, on an urgent mission: Selar was determined to invade neighbouring Mayenne, but his success would mean the end of Lusara. Robert set about gathering loyal men to stop Selar in his tracks.

With her husband’s death, Jenn took her son, Andrew, to live with her sister, while she joined the rebels. She and Robert travelled to the southern continent in search of answers to the Prophecy; though answers eluded them, the trip healed the rift between them, and Robert vowed to marry her … but on their return to Bleakstone, Robert’s allies insisted instead he marry Selar’s daughter, Galiena, and, upon victory, that he take the crown. Jenn insisted that he agree; Lusara was more important than their love.

After the wedding, word arrived that Selar was advancing to the border and the rebel forces were mobilised.

Jenn headed to the Enclave, where she was chosen by the Key to replace the dead Jaibir, the leader of the colony. Robert arrived too late to stop it: with Jenn now joined to the Key for life, Robert could no longer trust her; he left to rejoin his army.

Still determined to help, Jenn joined Robert’s army. That night, when their camp was attacked by Malachi, one young woman was captured, Sairead, the girl Robert’s closest friend had fallen in love with.

At dawn the battle was engaged. Both sides fought hard, but there was no clear winner, even though Robert killed Selar.

As Robert slept fitfully that night, Malachi crept into the camp, freed Sairead and abducted Micah, her lover, Robert’s closest companion. When the armies lined up for battle the following day, Robert faced his bitterest enemy, Nash, the Angel of Darkness.

Robert rescued Micah, but was stabbed in the back by Sairead. Believing Micah had betrayed him, Robert turned to fight Nash, who was severely wounded, his power virtually gone. Robert too was hurt, but Jenn felt the build-up of power and knew Robert was preparing to use the Word of Destruction to kill both himself and Nash – he would defy the Prophecy he hated with his own death.

Jenn rushed between them, using her own awesome powers to split them apart. Nash was spent, but alive, and Kenrick’s men rescued him from the field. Robert remained standing long enough to see Kenrick’s army racing away in terror and to hear the cheers of his own men. Then he collapsed into Finnlay’s arms.

*

The war was over, and Kenrick – now King – fled back to Marsay with the wounded Nash and the dispirited Malachi. Micah, desolate to be banished from Robert’s side, left to play bodyguard to his friend’s son, Andrew. Robert’s army buried its dead that night as Robert himself lay dying, his wounds severe, the demon inside him making them worse.

Finnlay fetched Jenn, hoping she would tell Robert that she loved him and that Andrew was his son so Robert might have something to fight for. But Jenn’s choices were too limited; the only way to save Robert was with another lie: she told him that she had never loved him – and the demon struck out at her, but with Robert so weak, it could do no damage. Now the demon was working to heal him, but he looked at her with hatred. She left for the Enclave, knowing that she had irrevocably lost his love – but that he was now free of her, free to fulfil a destiny his country cried out for.

*

For the next eight years, Robert worked in the background, carrying out small raids against the Crown and Guilde, gathering support and information. Though he achieved much, he was not yet ready to move against Kenrick, who had grown into an even worse tyrant than his father – the boy was a powerful, though untrained, sorcerer firmly under Nash’s control.

Though the country was desperate, Robert couldn’t move until one last piece was in place. In a monastery in Flan’har, and with his most trusted allies around him, Robert announced that he was placing Jenn’s son, Andrew, on the throne of Lusara. He would fight and destroy Nash, while Andrew dealt with Kenrick, his cousin. Bishop McCauly and the others would remain in Flan’har, ready to support Andrew when the time came.

Andrew, growing up strong in the care of his mother in the Enclave and Micah at home, knew nothing of Robert’s plans until Robert kidnapped him one night. In his secret home buried inside the caves under Nanmoor, Robert detailed enough of his plans to horrify the fourteen-year-old boy before returning him to his home at Maitland. Here Robert saw Jenn for the first time since the Battle of Shan Moss, eight years before.

After his fight with Robert at that same battle, Nash was broken in body, but not in spirit. As his life had been sustained by the blood of others, his wounds required more to heal – and this blood he found hard to obtain. Crippled but unbowed, he set out to place his Bonded Malachi spies in the courts of southern princes, and to capture Jenn’s son with an eye to replacing Kenrick with him, if the King did not obey.

But even as he sent his men south to kidnap Andrew, another more desperate struggle erupted and, to his surprise, Nash discovered that he had a daughter of his own blood. With all haste, he set out to find her, imprisoning Valena, the mother, and using the child’s blood to repair his injuries, increasing his power tenfold. For three days he lay vulnerable while his body was rebuilt, but at dawn on the fourth he rose, strong, whole and more powerful than he’d ever thought possible.

Nash’s Malachi attacked Andrew and Micah, but Jenn and Robert intervened, rescuing the boy. In revenge, Andrew’s aunt and uncle were murdered by the Malachi and, fearing more reprisals, Robert took them all back to the Enclave.

Though they were now safe from Nash, the Malachi and even Kenrick, Robert felt the evil had followed him, in the shape of the demon nestling inside him, burning with anger and hatred: if he lost control, he would use the Word of Destruction as he’d been told in the Prophecy. But even as his ability to contain the demon cracked and broke, Jenn’s love held him secure. He saw at last that she’d been his all along.

Robert presented Jenn with the one thing they’d always believed could help their struggle against Nash: the Calyx. But as they took it before the Key, hoping for the answers they desperately needed, disaster struck. Key and Calyx joined to become one and, in the process, the protective walls around the Enclave fell away, leaving them open to discovery by Nash. With his new powers, Nash cried with delight, promising to cross the country to find them, kill Robert and take the Key – and Jenn. His victory was assured.

*

In the act of salvation, you will become desolation itself, destroying that which you love most … So said the Prophecy to Robert, when he was just nine years old. From that day onwards, everything he did to prove it wrong only proved it right. Every attempt he’d made to free Lusara, to help his people, the Salti, ended in the destruction of something – and always by his hand. Now he knew; there was nowhere else for him to go. He had to accept the fate handed him; he had never had a choice, and never would.

But for Robert Douglas, torn across layers of history he could never understand, victory and failure had become one. He could not know that courage alone would not be enough, that the answers he needed were closer than he thought, nor that history itself would be his salvation. And he could certainly never know that the Ally of Prophecy had yet to speak.

He could be absolutely sure about only one thing: if it took his last, dying breath, Lusara would be free.

Excerpt from The Secret History of Lusara – Ruel

John knew he was going to die, but since he could no longer feel his fingers or toes, or most of his extremities, he could be reasonably assured that his death would be relatively painless. But to die in such a manner, in the middle of the night, lost in a snowstorm, somewhere in southern Flan’har, was not quite the hero’s demise he might have hoped for. Of course, he’d never actually hoped for any kind of demise, hero’s or otherwise, but the truth was, if he had to die, then he would have chosen to do so pursuing the cause of his people’s freedom. Instead, it appeared he was going to die pursuing the end of a road lost some moments after dark, many hours ago.

Nobody had warned him about the weather. In fact, at the inn where he’d stayed the previous night, he’d been assured the worst of the winter was most definitely over and that setting out on foot at dawn the next morning would gain him his destination by nightfall. It was true that black clouds had mocked the morning sunshine, but he was a priest and had never really had much cause to learn to read the weather … or maps, or how to tell the direction from the sun – assuming there was one.

This was his first pilgrimage; it was fast turning into his last. He’d known there would be risks when he’d left Maitland, and Andrew, bless his soul, had been worried, had given him advice that no ordinary fourteen-year-old boy would normally offer. The young Duke had urged him to be careful, while pretending there was no envy in his eyes. He’d seen John’s trip as an adventure, and wished he could have one of his own, but Andrew’s foster parents, his Aunt Bella and Uncle Lawrence, would have preferred their precious boy to remain at home, and not even cross the country to see his mother, a woman they both knew was a sorcerer.

Of course, they’d never known that John was also a sorcerer – though to look at his current predicament, he would be embarrassed to admit to such skills. But John hadn’t practised much, concentrating instead on his vocation, knowing in his bones that he was born for the Church – even if that same Church’s laws against sorcerers would have him executed if he were ever discovered.

Times had changed, though. King Kenrick had overturned the laws against sorcery because he had abilities himself, and both Guilde and Church claimed they would not slaughter anyone they found with talents … assuming they could know just by looking, or assuming sorcerers would be stupid enough to confess their abilities even now …

His mind was drifting. Though he placed one foot in front of the other, though he pushed the air in and out of his lungs, his mind couldn’t hold onto his place, his moment, his night of dark, his black and white death.

John had wanted so much to make this pilgrimage, to find this man and place himself into his service. He’d done all he could for Andrew, but the boy had grown up and for John, there were other paths he knew he had to follow, so he’d left all his comforts behind, packed a few meagre belongings and set out on foot to cross the border into Flan’har. He had no idea where he should look, but he was positive he was needed to help a man whose spiritual leadership he knew would one day free not only Lusara, but also Lusara’s sorcerers.

John’s foot came down hard on something and twisted sideways. The rest of him followed and he landed spread-eagled in the snow, fresh flakes landing softly on his face. He could see nothing now as he looked up, just the frame of snow around his 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. What in 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, Duke of Ayr. What brings you here? And on foot?’

‘Forgive me, Your Grace.’ John tried again to sit up, but at the Bishop’s gesture, he settled once more. ‘I came to … to find you. I want to—’ He paused. Suddenly his deep desire to be instrumental in the freeing of his people seemed an exercise in self-indulgence. He’d already had an important role, and he’d forsaken Andrew to come here, and be a burden on the one man who—

‘You want to?’ McCauly prompted.

‘I want to help you, Your Grace.’

‘Help me?’

‘Yes. If you will allow it.’

‘Help me how?’

And there it was, the moment he had been dreading. He knew when he left Maitland, even when he had first contemplated this pilgrimage, that he would have to confess this most secret of secrets. Though his body ached, he took a deep breath. ‘You have been working with Robert Douglas.’

‘Have I?’ McCauly was noncommittal.

‘Yes. And you’ve been writing books and papers, disseminating them throughout Lusara. You’ve been writing about sorcery and how the Church needs to question all we’ve been told about it. That there are questions about the old Empire and the Guilde’s ancient attitude to sorcery. That every priest must search his conscience and ask what it is we most fear, and how best we should address those fears. How simple prejudice only breeds more fear and hatred.’

Surprised, McCauly sat back. He put the cup on the side table and laced his fingers together. His expression gave nothing away. ‘You have certainly kept up with your reading. So tell me, why would this make you want to join me?’

‘Because, Your Grace, I … I am a sorcerer.’

There was nothing in McCauly’s gaze, not a hint in his movements; just a pause and no more. Then, abruptly, he got to his feet and moved away a little to poke at the fire. For the first time, John noticed the rest of the room, but he couldn’t take in details other than the warm ochre colours, the sparse furnishings.

‘You recall,’ McCauly began softly, ‘Everard Payne, Earl of Cannockburke?’

‘Of course, Your Grace.’

McCauly turned and faced him squarely. ‘He told me you had been instrumental in aiding my escape from prison. He never actually said, but I had to assume the only way you could do so was to use sorcery.’

‘I’m sorry, Your Grace.’

‘For what? For having the courage to take such a risk on my behalf? If you’d been caught, Father, you would have been burned at the stake! And now you’ve come all the way here – on foot – to help me?’

John was taken aback at the fierceness in the Bishop’s gaze. It lasted only a moment, then McCauly was calm once more, his hands folded again into his woollen sleeves. ‘By all means, Father, if you want to help, then I am not the man to dictate in what manner you give that help. For my part, I am glad to have the company of another priest. Tomorrow we will celebrate mass together. In the meantime, I ask that you get your rest. You will be sore tomorrow for your trouble.’

As he turned to go, he paused, showing John his face in profile. ‘And you being here has given me the opportunity to thank you personally for your part in my rescue. You are indeed a very brave man, Father John, and our cause is the stronger for your joining it. Good night.’

‘Good night, Your Grace,’ he breathed into the silence. Then the door was closed behind the Bishop and John lay there with a grin on his face, his aches and his sore eyes completely forgotten.

*

John had no idea what time it was when he woke. There was some daylight, a few misty clouds, and a gusty wind that whistled under his door now and then, but beyond that, he could only guess.

He got out of bed gingerly, his muscles protesting even that little effort. But he needed to relieve himself and was delighted to find a corner curtain hiding a garderobe. After that, he found a bowl of warmish water, a towel and some plain clothes – not clerical, but they were warm and since the Bishop hadn’t worn any kind of habit, John had to assume that was the wisest move.

He washed and dressed quickly, not wanting to lose this dearly won heat. Some kind soul had left him some food on a tray. He ate only enough to quell his grumbling stomach, then, a little excited, a little daunted, he opened the door of his room and peeked into the passage. It was dark except for a slit of weak sunlight from a narrow window further along which marked the wooden floor and half the opposite stone wall. He tried to get his bearings, to gauge from the smells and noises of this place his best option for finding other people, but Bleakstone sounded horribly silent for a castle well-inhabited with rebels.

John closed his door quietly. Choosing at random he turned to his right, heading for the narrow window and what looked like a staircase beyond it. It wasn’t a staircase, but rather, an angled turn in the wall, which he followed. It was lit by more narrow windows which looked down onto a courtyard. An open door showed a room with two tables, one long, one round. The long table had piles of books, scrolls charts and other things he recognised. The round table had a beautifully carved book stand, a thick tome resting upon it, and at the side, an inkwell, a pen, a sheaf of papers and a heavy eye-glass. Curiosity burned within him and, despite his years of discipline as a priest, he took a step inside.

‘Ah, there you are!’

John started at the Bishop’s voice coming from behind the door. There was a fireplace against that wall; McCauly had obviously been reading while warming himself. He was watching John with a smile. ‘I’m glad to see you up at last. Did you sleep well? Do you feel better for your rest? We were wondering if you’d even wake today.’

‘I feel well, Your Grace. Thank you.’

‘Did you have something to eat?’

‘Yes, I did.’

McCauly took one more look at the paper he was holding, then moved to the long table, placed it on a particular pile and turned his attention on John. ‘So. You’ve decided to become a rebel.’

John didn’t need to answer.

‘You know,’ McCauly continued, ‘the others have questions regarding the wisdom of embracing you into our circle. I’m sure you understand that what we are doing here is very…’

‘Sensitive?’

‘Exactly.’

John swallowed hard. ‘Do you wish me to leave?’

‘No – and besides, that wouldn’t make them feel any better.’

John took a fortifying breath. ‘Then the only other alternative you have is to imprison me here.’ He folded his hands together. It was not what he had wished for, nor what he had hoped, but if this was the only way he could serve, then so be it. ‘I can act as scribe for you as easily from a cell as anywhere else. I am also proficient in a number of ancient languages and although I have not practised as well as I might, I am a fair Seeker and can scan on an hourly basis to warn if there are Malachi in the near vicinity. I also have some skills in treating minor wounds, though I hope that won’t be necessary.’

When McCauly said nothing, John went on, ‘I assure you I have no abilities to bend metal bars or burrow through stone. If I am to be imprisoned – which I think is your only option – then the sooner I am secured away from sensitive material—’

‘That won’t be necessary.’ McCauly picked up a log from the rack and placed it on those burning in the fireplace. ‘The others have questions – I do not and, for what it’s worth, my word carries some weight in this place.’ He turned back, his serious expression softened by a smile. ‘Now, suppose I show you around Bleakstone and introduce you to your fellow rebels? There are not that many of us here as yet, but there are reasons for that.’

‘And Robert? He is not here?’

‘No – and please don’t ask me where he is. I understand he is in Lusara, but I have no idea where. More than that I think should wait until you’ve got your bearings. Come, this way.’

*

Aiden couldn’t help watching the younger priest as he showed him through the castle. He was so very earnest, so serious, Aiden was tempted to deliberately say something to make him smile at least, if not laugh. There was an innocence to Father John Aiden hadn’t seen outside St Julian’s, the kind of innocence usually found only in children and cloistered monks.

But he had seen things, this priest. He’d been Jenn’s Chaplain at Ayr during her marriage, giving what support he could when the Duke had beaten her. He’d helped Robert get Jenn and the boy out of there and safely to Maitland. He’d stuck faithfully to Andrew ever since; Robert had often said how glad he was that John had chosen to stay at Maitland, that they had somebody they could always trust inside the house.

Of course, the others at Bleakstone weren’t actually suspicious of John; they were just naturally wary of any newcomer at a time like this.

Aiden took him through the rooms in the main keep, mostly accommodations currently empty. He did show John the tower room Robert normally used when he came here, but following a brief walk across the courtyard, and an even briefer wander through the barren castle gardens, Aiden finally took him to the council chamber.

This room was not the biggest in Bleakstone, but it was probably his favourite. The walls were covered in rich wood panels, the carvings depicting hunting scenes and dances with the gods. The floors were tiled in roan and white marble, cool in the summer, icy in winter but for the thick Alusian carpets thrown down, their colours adding to the warmth. The painted ceiling panels were decorated with key moments from the lives of previous dukes of Flan’har and, together with the rich furnishings, the deliberate light from north- and south-facing windows, there was not a day when this room was not welcoming.

Aiden spent a lot of time here, working with men who now looked up as he entered, John a step behind him. Aiden didn’t tarry with the introductions. ‘Father John Ballan, you remember Payne, Earl of Cannockburke?’

‘Of course.’ John bowed as Payne got to his feet and approached.

The Earl was taller than John, young and handsome; his eyes appraised the man. ‘It’s good to see you again, Father. You are well after your … er, trip?’

John blushed a little, but matched Payne’s smile with a hesitant one of his