The glimmer of a solution was beginning to form at the back of Geoffrey’s mind, and he knew he had enough information and clues to identify Leger’s killer. Unfortunately, the pain in his arm was distracting, and he did not feel equal to the serious thought such an analysis would entail. He followed Roger out of the priory, more than happy to sit in the White Lion until he felt better.
‘You cannot let Walter destroy the sky-stone,’ said Revelle, intercepting them as they walked towards the tavern. Geoffrey blinked, wondering where the angel-faced knight had come from — and why he was not with the bevy of soldiers he could see moving at a rapid lick along the path out of the town. ‘It cured Nest, and there is great good in it.’
‘Probably,’ Geoffrey agreed tiredly. ‘But Aidan knows a faster way, so perhaps he will reach it first. Moreover, Cadowan and Nest have disappeared, and I imagine they also intend to claim it. Thankfully, there is no room for more contenders, because I do not feel-’
‘But Ivar did not head for the base of the cliff,’ said Revelle urgently. ‘He was plodding towards a route to the top and farther west — towards the cave where he used to live. I know, because I went there when Eleanor needed his help. I think the sky-stone is not where he told Leger it was.’
‘Then go,’ suggested Geoffrey, recalling that Ivar had said as much himself — that he had moved the sky-stone after confiding in Leger, because Leger had not given him an immediate answer about what should be done with it. ‘Claim it for yourself, and give it to whichever contender you think the most worthy.’
‘Ivar will not have left it out in full view,’ snapped Revelle. ‘He will have buried it or shoved it in a crevice, and it will take me an age to search for it alone. By then, Walter will have realized the story was a fabrication, and will search the cave as well.’
‘He is your liege lord,’ said Geoffrey. ‘Reason with him if you feel so strongly that-’
‘You do not reason with Walter,’ interrupted Revelle contemptuously. ‘As you should know from yesterday. He will destroy the stone, and we will all be the losers. But if you two come with me now, we can save it together.’
‘But which of us gets to keep it?’ asked Roger acquisitively. ‘Or do we break it in three?’
‘We give it to my cousin,’ said Revelle, ignoring Roger’s pained look and addressing Geoffrey. ‘Bishop Giffard will know how to use it justly.’
‘He will,’ acknowledged Geoffrey. ‘But-’
‘Good,’ interrupted Revelle. ‘Then we must hurry. We shall use a goat-track and will arrive before Ivar is even halfway up.’
The last thing Geoffrey felt like was scrambling up cliffs, but Revelle and Roger were already setting a cracking pace, so he followed as quickly as he could. Once at the woods, Revelle began to follow an almost invisible trail that angled sharply upwards. Geoffrey doubted many human feet had trodden it.
‘How did you discover this route?’ asked Roger, panting as it grew steeper.
‘Hunting for wild boar,’ replied Revelle between quick breaths. ‘It was how I reached Ivar so quickly after Eleanor drowned.’
Geoffrey was breathing heavily, and his vision was becoming blurred, made worse by the fact that the clouds overhead were so black that the morning was more like twilight. He began to wish he had risked removing his armour to inspect his arm the previous night, because now he was developing a fever. He tried to push his discomfort to the back of his mind, but his misery intensified when there was another roll of thunder and rain began to fall.
At first, it was just a few drops, but then the heavens opened with a ferocity the knight had rarely seen. Even the trees did not protect him, and the track underfoot became slick and dangerous. His feet skidded constantly, and, each time he fell, pain shot up his arm. He could not recall when he had last felt so wretched.
‘I cannot continue,’ he gasped to Roger. ‘You go. I will wait here.’
‘Watch out!’ yelled Revelle from above them, and Geoffrey only just managed to leap to one side as a stream of brown water shot by, full of foliage, mud and small stones. The intense rain was washing away the soil that anchored trees and bushes to the ground.
‘You cannot stay here,’ said Roger grimly, grabbing his good arm and hauling him on. ‘You will be swept away. You have no choice but to climb.’
‘Do you think the sky-stone is driving this weather?’ called Revelle uneasily. ‘Is it summoning the help of the elements to ensure it is claimed by the party it wants?’
‘No,’ said Geoffrey, refusing to contemplate such a wild notion.
It felt like an age before Revelle shouted that they were near their destination. Geoffrey was exhausted, his arm burned and he could not catch his breath.
‘The cave is there,’ Revelle said, pointing with one hand and reaching down to pull Geoffrey up with the other. The cave’s entrance was well concealed, and Geoffrey would not have known it was there had Revelle not identified it. They fought their way through a curtain of creepers and found themselves in a surprisingly spacious cavern, with a dry, sandy floor. Immediately, the sound of the storm faded.
But they were not alone: Ivar was there. He was breathing hard, as if he, too, had endured a fierce scramble. He had lit a fire and was sprinkling something on it that made it burn a curious blue colour. He was also chanting.
‘What are you doing?’ demanded Revelle. ‘And how did you get here before us?’
The former hermit’s face wore a peculiar expression, halfway between malice and triumph. ‘I know these cliffs better than anyone: you could never outrun me. And I am about to summon some help, so I can keep what is mine.’
‘He is calling on Satan!’ cried Roger in alarm. He was about to stride forward and grab Ivar, but stopped when the crazed-looking man pointed a gnarled finger at him.
‘Stand back!’ Ivar ordered. ‘Or you will be sorry. I have called Satan, and he has sent this storm to help me. I control it, and I will use it to destroy you if you come any closer.’
As if to prove his words, a blaze of lightning lit the entire hillside and the loudest crack of thunder Geoffrey had ever heard crashed outside. Several trees burst into flames. Revelle and Roger regarded Ivar with stunned expressions, while answers clicked smartly together in Geoffrey’s mind. He leaned against the wall of the cave and supposed his fever had prevented him from seeing them before, because they were obvious.
‘Ivar is the killer,’ he said, surprised at how feeble his voice sounded. ‘ He killed Leger.’
‘Keep back,’ warned Ivar again. ‘Or you will die.’
Geoffrey saw him hold something above his head. It was a little smaller than his hand and unevenly shaped, bearing the same mark as the symbol on the letter that Giffard had forwarded to Revelle. The sky-stone, thought Geoffrey, gazing at the item that had caused so much trouble.
‘I conjure Satan!’ shouted Ivar wildly. ‘Come, my dark lord!’
‘Get out, quickly!’ hissed Roger, grabbing Revelle’s arm and hauling him backwards. ‘It is not safe in here. Do not just stand there, Geoff! Move!’
But Geoffrey had no strength to move. It was all he could do to lean against the wall of the cave, when his legs threatened to buckle and deposit him on the ground.
‘I thought Walter was being perverse when he accused Ivar of witchcraft,’ said Revelle from outside the cave. ‘But he was right all along! He-’
But suddenly there was a tremendous crash and a huge tongue of flame shot into the cave. It knocked Geoffrey from his feet, and he could feel heat licking his armour. Then it faded as quickly as it had come, leaving behind it a rank stench of burning. He looked at the front of the cave, but there was no sign of Roger or Revelle, and the vegetation where they had stood was blackened and smoking. Geoffrey had no doubt that they were dead.
Still staring at the ruined foliage at the mouth of the cave, Geoffrey tried to clamber to his feet. He found he could not do it.
‘Are you still here?’ asked Ivar. He sounded surprised. ‘Well, no matter. You are in no condition to hinder me — you will not take the sky-stone, and nor will anyone.’