all right,’ she answered.
Catharian glanced at the man: Denbe, a master of the martial order of the Flame Guard, then returned his gaze to Sabella for a moment and smiled. Despite the privation of this journey, Sabella looked better than she had at the Sanctuary. Getting out in the sunlight, breathing fresh air, and not sitting all day in a dark room using her gifts to search for the lost son of the line of Firemane seemed to be reviving her. For a passing moment he wondered how the other Far Seers were doing now that this hunt was over. He had little doubt that their leader, Elmish, had found plenty for them to do.
The Flame Guard had become complacent over generations with the rise of the Firemane line and had taken root in Ithra, the capital city of the kingdom of Ithrace. In so doing they had enabled their enemies almost to obliterate the order in one blow.
It was thought that all of those in the sacking of Ithra had perished, where the former Hall of the Guardians had stood: what few knew was that some survivors had retreated to the original hall in the distant south which had been abandoned centuries earlier, a hall within the ancient Sanctuary. Enough members of the Flame Guard had survived that the order had managed to endure. For nearly two decades they had hidden and slowly recruited adepts and willing soldiers, but people with the vision and capacity to serve a higher calling were rare. Now they were beginning to venture into the world again, despite being few in number, to ensure a balance was restored. Still a long way from the power they were twenty years ago, they were continuing to find recruits to their cause, and were getting prepared for a battle they knew must eventually come.
Catharian sat down. They had spent almost a month identifying which young man in the town was the Firemane child. By process of elimination it had quickly become obvious that the lad from an unnamed eastern land who had purchased a burned-out inn and restored it, with his wife, was the missing heir. Many questions remained unanswered as to how he had survived until adulthood, how he’d come to somewhat conceal his powers without proper training, and whether he knew how much danger he was in, as well as the more mundane questions of how he had ended up an innkeeper in Marquensas. All this was piquing Catharian’s curiosity.
The false monk had become a familiar face to Hatushaly because of his acquaintance with Declan and Ratigan. Catharian was known as a mendicant friar, so when he passed through the town on his way to Port Colos, Copper Hills or Marquenet, it raised no suspicions when he appeared at the Inn of the Three Stars. Hatu and Hava had even taken to providing him with a meal, or food for the road, for they found his stories amusing.
Catharian had hinted he might be given the duty to raise a shrine to Tathan in Beran’s Hill. That had given him a reasonable excuse to be in town often, and should the need arise to have agents of the Flame Guard there constantly, they could start construction on the false shrine.
The earlier arrival of a newcomer had made him think that the latter option was now unlikely, and that the three of them might have to act sooner rather than later, but the story that they were going to build a shrine gave him good reason to linger. He hoped it wasn’t too soon, as he would prefer to act when more agents of the Flame Guard arrived, and Sabella and Denbe were better rested.
‘I think I recognized a man who arrived a few days ago,’ said the false monk.
‘Who?’ asked Denbe, looking interested. The old soldier had no problem with taking rest when it came his way. While weeks of travelling up to Beran’s Hill had kept him alert, a week of sitting in this hut had made him restless. The hint of a possible upcoming fight made him sit up and take notice.
‘If he’s who I think he is, he’s an agent of the Church.’
Denbe nodded. No further clarification was need: the Church of the One was now simply the Church to most people. ‘What’s his name?’
‘They call him Piccolo,’ said Catharian. ‘He’s Episkopos Bernardo’s man.’
‘I’ve heard of him,’ said Denbe. ‘He’s a murderous swine. Very dangerous.’
‘Odd name,’ said Sabella. ‘He’s a musician?’
Denbe shook his head solemnly. ‘When he was a boy he killed another boy with a piccolo.’
‘Oh,’ said Sabella, taken aback.
‘His brother,’ added Denbe.
‘Oh!’ Sabella blinked rapidly for a moment, as if trying to erase an image from her mind.
Catharian motioned for Denbe to step outside the hut and when they were out of earshot, he asked, ‘She seems to be doing well. Is she?’
‘Surprisingly, yes,’ said the older fighter. His sun-darkened skin made his face look as if it was sculpted from darkly tanned leather, but the brilliance of his smile lit up his face in a stark contrast to his usually stern countenance. ‘I often fretted over what we put those poor girls through.’ Women were the only ones able to use the gift of long-distance seeing. Some men had the power, like the young man known as Hatushaly, and some were trained to hold that power, but the ability to channel and manipulate what was thought of as ‘magic’ was the province of women alone.
Catharian put his hand on his friend’s shoulder. ‘As have I. More than one poor girl has ended up …’ He let the thought remain unfinished. Denbe knew as well as he that there had been brilliant youngsters who had ended up almost mindless, living under the Flame Guard’s care, youngsters left with little coherent thought, skipping from moment to moment in their days with no more than the desires of a child. They had vacant eyes, intense reactions of fear or joy, but they just existed until the day they died. If they were lucky, they passed early, but a few lingered on for decades.
‘Just keep watch for a day or two longer. I think it’s time for me to announce we’re going to build a small shrine to Tathan in Beran’s Hill. When you arrive in the town, I can explain your presence easily, then; you are going to be the protector of the shine, and Sabella is my novice. So, I’ll expect you … the day after tomorrow. Should we need to act sooner, I’ll ride back here.’
‘What if someone else from the Church arrives, someone in an official capacity, not an agent for the episkopos?’
‘I know enough about the bureaucracy of the Church to have them scurrying to send messages back and forth across a continent and an ocean before they decide we are not who we seem to be; ample time to depart safely. Baron Daylon has a far more tolerant attitude towards faith than most others these days and refuses to let the Church establish any sort of control in his barony. There are no members of the Church Adamant in Marquensas, at least not officially, so the burning of heretics as theatre has not become a habit here.’
‘Speaking of messages,’ said Denbe. ‘Should we notify the others?’
‘Not yet. We may need them but sending messages is problematic. One of us would have to ride back to Marquenet as we have no pigeons.’
‘Don’t like pigeons,’ said the fighter. ‘Hawks eat them.’
‘That’s why we send more than one,’ replied Catharian. ‘If all goes according to plan, a boat should put in soon and pigeons will be arriving that can fly to our enclave outside Ithra. From there, if need be, they can send messages quickly back to the Sanctuary.’ He paused as if considering something. ‘Let’s see what tomorrow brings. If this situation remains unchanged it could benefit us doubly. Establishing a presence here in Marquensas before trouble arrives would be of benefit.
‘If we have to depart in a hurry, so be it, but if we can deal with our enemies in a calm and considered fashion, I would prefer that. Until then, we can keep an eye on young Hatushaly, and when the time is right, ensure that he finds his destiny.’
‘Whether he wants it or not,’ Denbe said dryly.
‘’Tis ever thus,’ returned Catharian. ‘Had his father lived and turned him over to us for his early training, as his brothers were, there would be no fear of him arising to full power without our guidance. By any reasonable measure, he should be dead a dozen times over, either from enemies, or simply his inability