Voice Of The Demon (Book 2) (14 page)

There was silence.

Finnlay coughed a little. ‘I’m not happy about keeping it from Fiona. It’s her mother we’re talking about. She has a right to know.’

Jenn looked at him levelly but said nothing. Trying not to sound like he was making an excuse, Finnlay added, ‘We brought her into this, Jenn. It’s not fair to shut her out now.’

‘And I’m sure she would take the news very calmly, not worry and do nothing rash or impulsive to fight something that was strong enough to defeat her mother.’ Jenn’s voice was gentle and Finnlay could only nod in response.

Then Jenn stood up and folded her hands together. ‘Fiona’s not returning to Elita with me, so I’ll leave tonight and take Patric down the mountain. Once in the valley he should be all right. Finn, can you organize a map – and show him how to read it? He’ll need a horse too. You can ride, can’t you Patric?’

‘I’ve practised a little, but only in the field up here. I’m afraid I’m not very good.’

‘It will have to do. I also need one of you to give me some sort of history of sorcery. I’m sick of working in the dark.’

Arlie nodded. ‘Leave it with me, Jenn. I’ll get Martha to send you what you need via one of our couriers. I’ll give you the details of how to unlock the code before you go.’

‘Thank you,’ Jenn nodded. ‘Let’s get moving.’

The others filed out of the room, leaving Finnlay alone with Jenn. He paused by the door, his hand on the latch.
‘Are you sure you want to leave so soon? Anybody could take Patric down the mountain.’

Jenn began collecting her things together and stuffing them into a saddlebag. Her shoulders were stiff and her voice strained. ‘I’m a bit worried about Fiona. If she gets wind of this she’ll be worried sick.’

‘Jenn,’ Finnlay growled.

She stopped packing and slowly turned to face him, her eyes dark in the candlelight. She didn’t look at him, but instead focused on the crackling fire. Again she looked tiny and vulnerable and, for a moment, utterly lost. ‘I just don’t know what to do, Finn. He won’t talk to me. Not even with all this distance between us. Not even when it’s so desperately important. He just won’t talk to me.’

‘There was a time when he wouldn’t talk to me either,’ Finn said. ‘Don’t worry, Jenn, he’ll come back to you.’

‘And in the meantime?’

‘Have faith.’

Micah hefted the axe high in the air and brought it down with all the force his tired muscles could muster. The blade sank deep into the wood and stuck there.

Grunting, Micah pushed it back and forth until it came free, then pressed his thumb to the edge. With a sigh, he turned back to the shed, put a handful of water on the whetstone and began to sharpen the blade. Before he could finish, however, his ears were assaulted with childish screams of laughter and two young boys tore into the shed and immediately began chasing each other around his legs.

‘Uncle Micah,’ Peron, the youngest screeched, ‘tell Savin to stop chasing me!’ This was instantly punctuated by another yelp as Savin reached around Micah’s knees for his brother’s hair.

‘All right, stop it, both of you!’ Micah left the axe and swept an arm around each boy. In one movement, he picked them both up and carried them outside, struggling and kicking. He strode over to the well and laid the boys stomach down on the well wall, their heads hanging over the side. The screams of laughter echoed down the well as Micah continued, ‘The more you struggle the more likely you’ll fall in – and don’t think I’ll climb down there and rescue you. It’s far too dark and dangerous for me. You’ll miss your dinner and your mother won’t know what’s happened to you.’

‘And what do you think you’re doing to my sons?’

Micah glanced at Lanette as she came across the farmyard, a clay pitcher in her hands. The hot sun made her auburn hair light, her pale skin glow. She grinned and shook her head at him. Matching her smile, Micah turned back to the boys and leaned forward so they could hear his whisper. ‘See what you’ve done? Now I’m in trouble too.’

Instantly the boys stopped struggling and Micah set them back on the ground. They took one look at their mother and scampered off into the field behind.

‘They’re supposed to be bringing the milk cows into the byre,’ Lanette began, handing Micah the pitcher. ‘But on a day like this, they’d rather be playing. As should you.’

Micah put the pitcher aside and drew some water up from the well. He took the bucket and emptied it over his head and bare chest. The sudden cold made him gasp and Lanette laughed at him.

‘It’s too hot to be chopping wood, Micah. Surely there is other work you could do around here to expiate your sin?’

With an ironic laugh, Micah took up the pitcher again and sat on the stone wall. ‘Father won’t let me do anything else and you know it. The only reason he allows this much is because of Mother.’

Lanette sighed and sat beside him. ‘You should be grateful he gives you that much.’

‘Grateful? You know he still hasn’t said a single word to me since I returned. Not one. Not even a greeting.’

‘What did you expect? A warm welcome? A return to the
fold? You were gone a long time, Micah. He needed you then and you weren’t here. You were off with the Duke in distant lands for reasons Father cannot understand. Even less can he understand why you came back.’

‘He’s never given me the opportunity to explain,’ Micah grunted, and drained the rest of the ginger beer. ‘Every time I walk into a room, he leaves. Whenever I try to say something, he glares at me and walks off. How am I supposed to make him forgive me?’

Lanette reached out and touched his face, took his hand in hers. ‘I’m not sure he can forgive you, my dear brother. I know you’ve tried hard all these months, but I’m not sure it will do any good. You were always his favourite, Micah. He watched you grow with such pride. Right up until the day the Duke took the King’s oath. From that day onwards, you were in the service of a traitor and Father cannot forgive that. Your refusal to leave the Duke since has only made it worse.’

Why did it have to be so complicated? Why couldn’t they just accept his decision? ‘You’re telling me I have to leave Dunlorn before Father will forgive me.’

‘It would be the first step.’ Lanette gave him a tentative smile. ‘I’m sure he’d listen to you after that.’

‘He would have me break my oath just to please him? I can’t do that.’

‘I’m sure the Duke would understand.’

‘Of course he would,’ Micah growled. ‘He would release me instantly – but that’s not the point. I don’t want to leave his service. I believe in him.’

‘But you see, that’s the problem. Father cannot understand why you give your loyalty so freely to the Duke and not to the family. The Duke is loved by the people, even now. He has many powerful friends who’ll stand by his side. You may believe he deserves your loyalty, but surely we are deserving too?’

‘Why do you think I’m here now?’ Micah frowned in the harsh glare of the midday sun. ‘I’m trying to prove just that.’

‘But tonight, when the sun sets, you’ll leave us again and return to the castle. Every time you turn your back on this
farm, you betray Father.’ Lanette squeezed his hand. ‘I want you to be reconciled, Micah. This has torn the whole family apart. Our brothers are too close to taking sides, and then there’ll be no peace. Do you really want to see that happen? Surely it would be best if you left the Duke’s service.’

Micah carefully released his hand from her grip and came to his feet. There was only one answer he could give, but she would never understand. ‘I’m sorry, Lanny. I just can’t.’

She was about to protest when her husband Ian came striding out of the farmhouse. ‘Lanny? Is Micah . . . Oh, there you are. You’d better come inside, Micah. There’s somebody asking for you. A beggar, by the look of him.’

Lanette gave him an odd look, but rather than answer, Micah swept up his shirt and headed indoors. His eyes took a moment to adjust to the sudden darkness. When they cleared, he found his parents waiting by the hearth. Before them, draped over a stool, was a figure from the depths of poverty. A thin, ragged cloak lay over his shoulders, shrouded his head and was caked in mud, bits of straw and the gods knew what else. From his hunched shoulders and bare, bleeding feet, Micah guessed the man was exhausted.

‘Can I help you?’ Micah asked, moving forward.

At that moment, the man lifted his head and fixed his gaze on Micah.

‘Patric!’ Micah gasped, his breath taken completely away. ‘But what. . .’

Patric’s pale grey eyes spoke a silent warning; Micah sank to his knees, throwing a comment over his shoulder. ‘It’s all right, Father. I do know this man.’

David Maclean shook his head and turned away. ‘Lanette, would you bring some ale and food. The stranger must be hungry.’

‘Of course, Father.’

‘No,’ Micah murmured, studying Patric carefully. The bruises on his face, the cuts on his feet were real. This was no disguise. There was only one reason why Patric would leave the safety of the Enclave. He came to his feet with an apology. ‘I have to get back now anyway. The Duke has a council meeting I must attend. I’ll take my friend with me.’

Even as he said it he knew the damage those few words would inflict. His father had made the first move by offering hospitality to this odd friend, opening the door for Micah to share some part of his life with his family. But all Micah could do was deny his father the opportunity – slam that door back in his face. By taking Patric to Dunlorn, Micah would only re-open the wound that might have been healed.

With a sigh, he helped Patric to stand. Ian opened the door for them and held Micah’s horse while Patric mounted. As they left the farm, Micah couldn’t bring himself to look back. He already knew what he would see.

*

Subdued sunlight streamed across the floor of the council chamber from a sky overburdened with clouds. The morning’s sun had disappeared but the heat remained, undiminished by the threatened storm.

Robert sat at the head of the table, his hands resting lightly on the papers laid out before him. All of his councillors were there, intent on the discussion, but Robert’s attention strayed as he gazed around the familiar room. It had once been a royal bedchamber, sixty years ago when King Edward’s grandfather had spent a summer at Dunlorn. Robert had long ago removed the bed and in its place had put this long ebony table.

The grey stone walls were hung with tapestries, one depicting a battle fought three hundred years ago in which a Douglas had been victorious. Beneath the twinned windows was a long wooden chest, carved in relief and dark with age. Beside the table lay the blue and gold carpet given him by Oliver as a wedding present. And over the fire—

The sword: resting on ornate oak arms within a scabbard of oiled black leather and gleaming silver. Trevor had died with that sword in his hand. Robert had fought the Sadlani in the north with that same blade. He had placed it, hilt-first, before Selar in vowing his allegiance. And when Berenice came he’d placed it over that fire, swearing it would not come down again except for battle – or to put in the hands of his son.

‘What a mess,’ he breathed.

‘My lord?’ Deverin paused and looked at him with a frown.

He’d spoken aloud – and now they were all looking at him, waiting for him to speak. But he had nothing to say. He couldn’t even remember what they’d been discussing. But Deverin’s frown abruptly dissipated and he nodded.

‘I agree, my lord, it is a mess. In the last month, there’ve been only two sightings of raiding parties within our borders. The first was high on the moors in the northwest. Two weeks ago, they were seen again, this time in the south. If it is the same party, they’ve been travelling fast.’

‘Any casualties? Damage?’ Robert gave himself a mental slap and tried to focus on the subject; it was, after all, very important. At that moment, the door at the end of the chamber opened and silently, Micah slipped in. He said nothing, just stood by the door with his hands folded in front of him, his expression – for once – entirely unreadable.

Something was wrong.

‘None reported, my lord,’ Deverin continued with a glance in Micah’s direction. ‘These men may have just been passing through. I have had word from other places, however, where they continue to burn farms and villages. None of your manors have been touched. On the whole, I believe the problem is getting worse rather than better. That one success we had is the only one I’ve heard of. Nobody else has got close enough to find out where these men come from. They could just be the usual robbers and thieves roaming the countryside, but with more organization. I’m afraid I have no further ideas about what we can do.’

‘Nor have I,’ Robert replied grimly. ‘Unless they strike again, we’ve nowhere to look. Keep up the patrols, Deverin, and let me know of any further movements.’

‘Of course, my lord.’

‘Any more business?’ Robert glanced down the table but to a man, his council shook their heads. ‘Then thank you all for your attendance.’

Chairs scraped on the stone floor as they all rose and filed out, murmuring to each other about the business of the day. As the last one left, Robert turned to Micah, his eyebrows
raised in question. Micah raised a hand, motioning Robert to follow him.

They went out into the corridor and along to the spiral staircase at the end. Up one flight and they were at the door of Robert’s study. Still Micah had said nothing. What was going on?

Micah opened the door and ushered him in. ‘I’m sorry to do this to you, my lord, but it was necessary.’

‘What was necessary?’

Micah almost smiled. ‘You have a visitor.’ With that he turned and indicated the chair by the fireplace. Sitting there was—

‘Patric?’ Robert bounded forward. ‘By the gods, what are you doing here?’

Patric struggled to his feet, but he was obviously in some pain and immediately Robert pushed him back down.

‘I’m just fulfilling a promise, my friend,’ Patric replied with a smile. ‘I swear though, by the look on your face, you didn’t believe my word.’

Shock swept away Robert’s earlier dark thoughts. ‘No, I admit it. But . . . how did you get here? And what happened to you? Didn’t you even ride?’