Voice Of The Demon (Book 2)

Second Book of Elita

KATE JACOBY

First published in 1999 by Millennium, an imprint of Gollancz Books

This ebook edition published in 2013 by

Jo Fletcher Books
An imprint of Quercus Editions Ltd
55 Baker Street
7th Floor, South Block
London
W1U 8EW

Copyright © 1999 by Tracey Oliphant.

The moral right of Kate Jacoby to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

Ebook ISBN 978 1 78206 881 5

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

You can find this and many other great books at:
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Also by Kate Jacoby

EXILE’S RETURN
First Book of Elita

BLACK EAGLE RISING
Third Book of Elita

REBEL’S CAGE
Fourth Book of Elita

TRIAL OF FIRE
Fifth Book of Elita

My thanks to my family and friends for their love and patience. Thank you also to Leslie Gardner, Jo Fletcher and Kerri Valkova. Much love to Karen Pender-Gunn. Thanks also to Karen Mitchell, whose patience, I’m sure, must run out one day. And a big thank you to Peter Oliphant for the beautiful
Battle of Shanogh Anar.

1355

In 1341, Lusara was a strong, independent nation whose wealth was both admired and envied by her neighbours. But she was also a country devastated by civil unrest as the major Houses battled with each other. All of this came to an end when Selar of Mayenne used his brother’s armies to conquer Lusara and make himself King.

Selar swept the old order aside and married Lady Rosalind MacKenna. Daughter of the Duke MacKenna, she was descended from the old royal family and Selar used this to found his own royal line. With ruthlessness and fierce determination, Selar crushed any opposition to his rule and punished the whole country for daring to stand against him.

Of the old Houses, only a few survived with any power. One of these was led by the young Earl of Dunlorn, Robert Douglas. His father had died a hero fighting Selar. Scion of the oldest House and heir to a long tradition of serving Lusara, Robert was forced to hide the secret part of his nature: he was a sorcerer – in a land where such a thing was both feared and reviled – and most certainly outlawed. Robert carried the hopes of his conquered people, but, seeing no other way to help them, he agreed to work alongside Selar. In return for his oath of allegiance, Selar gave Robert the power to help his people. The two men became friends, and for some years a quiet peace flooded a relieved land.

However, this peace was not to last. Jealous of Robert’s influence, the powerful Guilde moved against him. Robert found no support with the King for his defiance and, shattered, he left the court for his home. When his young wife died of a fever days later, Robert left Lusara, planning never to return. Now the people of Lusara had lost their one chance of freedom.

But three years later, Robert broke his self-imposed exile,
returning with his most trusted friend, Micah Maclean, at his side. Determined merely to husband his lands, Robert’s plans were abruptly interrupted when he discovered his brother Finnlay had come looking for him. Finnlay demanded Robert act: he should take up the leadership of the secret sorcerers’ Enclave – or failing that, Robert must make a stand against Selar and free their people from tyranny.

For many reasons, Robert had to refuse, but before he could go much further, he was forced to rescue a young girl from Guilde soldiers. Robert discovered that she was one of the children abducted during the House feuds before Selar’s conquest. Her name was Jennifer Ross, daughter of the Earl of Ross – and she was a sorcerer whose powers were far different to any within the Enclave. Robert took Jennifer back to her father’s lands at Elita and continued home.

When Selar discovered Robert had returned to Lusara, he grew fearful and imprisoned the newly elected Bishop Aiden McCauly in order to plant his own man and gain a firm hold on the wavering support of the Church. And the King had a new friend, the Guildesman Samdon Nash, who remained constantly at his side. Then tragedy struck. Robert’s uncle, the Duke of Haddon, was embroiled in a futile rebellion and killed by Selar’s ruthless forces.

Stunned, Robert was tortured by guilt – but he had sworn an oath to Selar and even now could not break that vow. He had to remain constant to his promise never to take arms against the King. He believed that no matter how he tried to help the people, he would fail. This was the only way …

But when he and Finnlay were caught in an accident in the hills above Nanmoor, Robert was injured and lost his memory. Finnlay, using his own powers to try finding his brother, was captured, charged with the heinous crime of sorcery – and word flew across the land. A real sorcerer had been caught, the truth was no longer a secret.

With Jennifer’s help, Robert mounted a rescue and returned Finnlay to the safety of the Enclave, but there were questions to be answered, loyalties to be proved. The Enclave demanded Robert go before their powerful talisman, the Key – the very thing Robert had avoided for most of his life.

The Key took possession of Robert and told all who were witness part of a prophecy which sent a wave of shock through the Enclave. Robert was Bonded to Jennifer. They shared the
rare gift of mindspeech. They were called the Enemy and the Ally – and against them was a creature of evil known as the Angel of Darkness.

On the precipice of ignorance, only this Angel of Darkness truly understood the choices before them all and the devastating consequences for Lusara. Linked by a tradition handed down over five centuries, this man harboured a secret ambition. He knew and wanted the Ally, but he was ignorant of the Enemy’s true identity. And unlike the others, he knew exactly what the Bonding meant and the grave danger it was to him. Too late they would come to know him by another name: Samdon Nash.

For Robert Douglas, however, the choices were all too limited. Banished from the Enclave and forbidden by his oath to Selar to help his country, his honour cried out for action. His feelings for Jenn were a sharp confusion that demanded attention, but he was held back, paralysed by something he’d kept concealed all his life. This one factor alone, which he’d fought to deny, to avoid, to conquer, dominated his actions in a way nobody could have foreseen – nor even have understood – for it was at the heart of the prophecy the Key had given him as a child, the part of the prophecy the Key had kept secret from the Enclave. It was destiny, fate, something he had no choice but to obey.

In the silence of his own mind, Robert gave this curse another name. He called it the demon.

Excerpt from
The Secret History of Lusara

Ruel

Where once the glorious pennant flew

and brilliant trumpet hailed the dawn,

the dread usurper defiled our spirit

and left no place for peace to hide.

Where graceful spire and buttress arched

o’er the tranquil holy place

rapaciously and brutally the cursed serpent

                    cut down Lusara’s pride.

from
Battle of Shanogh Anar
by Thomas McKinnley

‘I need not tell you how the divisions among us hurt not only our mother Church, but also the welfare of our state. It is at times like this that we must show our unity to the country. These debates and whisperings must stop. Dissent is our greatest enemy, my brothers. We must be of one mind. With all of us working together we can overcome these small difficulties and once again take our place among the leaders of our country.’

As Bishop Brome paused to take a sip of wine, Deacon Godfrey drew in a deep breath and held it, trying to stifle another yawn. The Bishop’s Palace was one of the oldest parts of Marsay and even though it afforded a magnificent view of the Basilica, most of it – and this room in particular – also drew the afternoon heat. Beads of sweat gathered in a minor conspiracy and trickled down Godfrey’s back. He didn’t dare shift, not even to move a hand to fan himself. He had to stand as still as his brethren, all gathered before Brome as he ate dinner.

Over the last year Brome had displayed an enormous appetite for the finer aspects of his position. In summer he almost always ate here, in the small hall where tall windows faced west to catch the evening light. Ancient oak beams stretched high between walls of grey stone from which hung a collection of six silk tapestries, a gift from King William over a century before. It was said the
gift
had been more a bribe to gain the support of a Church set against William’s marriage to the widowed Lady Jardine.

Godfrey’s attention was drawn back to Brome as the Bishop resumed his discourse in between mouthfuls of roast beef steeped in a sauce so full of peppercorns Godfrey could smell them from where he stood. Beside him were others of his rank, while in front, Archdeacons Hilderic, Francis and
Ohler waited patiently. Or rather, Francis and Ohler appeared patient. Hilderic gave the impression of something quite different.

‘We have had a difficult year,’ the Bishop continued, ‘with that foolish rebellion from Blair and his cohorts. Thankfully we no longer have to deal with the financing and administration of the hospices. Our brothers in the Guilde have assured me that the work we began in that area over a thousand years ago will continue under their beneficence.’

Godfrey swallowed against a sudden dryness in his mouth. Hilderic, no more than three feet in front of him, had abruptly stiffened. His shoulders appeared hard as rock and his head had come up. Godfrey could just imagine the expression on his face.

‘Which brings me to the reason I called you here this afternoon.’ Brome put down his knife, pressed his fingers against a stiff linen cloth and picked up a jewelled goblet. He leaned back in his seat, his watery eyes scanning his captive audience but meeting no gazes. He had never been an attractive figure, but now, approaching his fiftieth year of soft living, fat had begun to obscure the lines of his face, almost swallowing up his small mouth and round nose.

‘I am aware that the Guilde’s investigation at Kilphedir is still to be completed and there is, at this time, no absolute evidence that sorcery is once again alive in Lusara. I’m sure that, given time, Governor Osbert and his assistants will divine truth from lie. However, I also feel it is fitting for us to communicate to the Guilde our full support both for the investigation itself and for whatever actions they deem necessary as a result of their findings.’

‘Forgive me, Your Grace.’ Hilderic almost pounced and Godfrey’s stomach clenched in horror. ‘But surely that’s a little presumptive. Until Governor Osbert returns with some conclusions, we don’t know what action the Proctor will take. How can we condone something we know nothing about?’

Brome’s eyelids flickered rapidly, but his voice was steady. ‘We don’t need to know, Archdeacon. Guilde business is Guilde business – and it’s exactly that kind of dissent I was
referring to. My sainted predecessor, Domnhall, though gifted in many ways, did to some extent damage our relations with our traditional allies. Surely you can see that my desire to support them on this matter is a small attempt to heal the rift which has developed between us. I know not whether the rumours of sorcery hold any truth any more than I know for certain whether Finnlay Douglas is at the heart of them. What I do know is that the eradication of sorcery has always been the responsibility of the Guilde. It’s up to us as spiritual caretakers to support them in such a difficult and dangerous task. They’re well suited to it – much better than we. Our support will be much appreciated by the Proctor.’