Voice Of The Demon (Book 2) (48 page)

*

As the firelight grew stronger, DeMassey got to his feet and stretched out his tired muscles. The camp was quiet now that the boy had taken the sleeping draught. Still, they’d have to keep him tied up for most of the journey. It wouldn’t do for the brat to go running away.

‘How long will it take for your message to reach Nash?’ Gilbert asked from across the fire.

‘A couple of days.’

‘Are you going to tell him where we found Kenrick?’

‘Why should I? I doubt he’d be interested, anyway. You know how narrow his vision is.’

Gilbert nodded, but said nothing more. He’d been unusually quiet since they made camp at sunset.

‘Well,’ DeMassey yawned and stretched again, ‘I’m going to bed.’

‘Not yet.’

He glanced back at Gilbert with a frown. ‘What?’

Gilbert rose to his feet and touched his boot to the prostrate form of Felen, who lounged before the fire like a sleeping lion. ‘Get up.’

Felen raised his head, his eyes half-closed from dozing. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Just get up.’

Felen sighed grievously and made a show of climbing to his feet. The moment he did, however, Gilbert raised his hand with lightning speed and delivered a blow to Felen’s jaw which sent the man crashing to the ground. He stood over Felen, daring him to get up again, his pale eyes glaring.

Felen waited long enough to prove he wouldn’t strike back, then scrambled to his feet and out of sight.

‘What the hell did you do that for?’ DeMassey demanded.

Gilbert didn’t even look at the him. ‘He killed the woman. There was no need.’

‘And there was no need to make an enemy of Felen. You wait until he’s licked his wounds. He won’t take a humiliation like that without thought of revenge.’

Gilbert turned to him with a grim smile. ‘I know. Don’t worry about it. He can’t hurt me. I’m going to bed. Goodnight.’

*

George sat in the corner and watched Kavanagh stride up and down the hall, bellowing orders one minute and pausing to ask questions the next. He filled the room with his enormous presence, yet at the same time, there was a deceptive quietness about the man that George had come to appreciate. After a while, Kavanagh dismissed his aides and wandered over to George’s quiet corner. He pulled up a chair and sank into it, making the wood groan under his weight.

‘I can’t tell you how sorry I am,’ Grant began, shaking his head in dismay. ‘I have no idea how they got across the border without being seen – nor how they could come upon you without even your guards being aware. I swear, I put my best men on to the job.’

George nodded and lifted his cup to his mouth. The wine tasted like sand, but still he drank.

Grant gazed at him a moment, then added, ‘I’ve arranged for you to head south tomorrow night. The girls should be fit to travel by then. We have to get you on a ship before
word of this can get out. Who knows what Selar will do to get his daughter back – or his hands on you.’

‘He couldn’t care less,’ George murmured. ‘Galiena was always useless to him, Samah just a pawn he could use in his power games and Rosalind …

Taking in a deep breath, George forced himself to continue, ‘Rosalind was his means for revenge upon a country that had dared to put even the smallest resistance in his way. I know my cousin, Grant, and he won’t even flinch at the news that his Queen is dead.’

Grant must have heard something in his voice because he reached out and put his hand over George’s arm. ‘You’re not going to do anything foolish, are you?’

‘Me?’ George turned to look at him. ‘Not at the moment, no. I’ll go with the girls and keep them as safe as possible. But when the time comes, I’ll return. There’s something I have to do.’

‘So have I.’ Grant expelled a breath and got to his feet. He spread his arms wide in supplication and lifted his head towards the ceiling. ‘Robert is going to kill me!’

It was impossible to tell where the mountain ended and the sky began. Both were laden with the same ghost-white, incandescent and unfathomable. Finnlay could have made it much easier on himself by sending his senses up the steep slope to feel with his mind exactly how much further it was to the top. But that would be cheating.

Gathering his strength for another assault, Finnlay lifted his left hand out of the snow and stretched hard. Powder rained down on his head and his face, nearly blinding him. He shook it away and sank the hand deep below the surface snow, searching for the next hold. He clutched at a rock, bound in place by ice, tested it, let his weight hang from it.
Only then did he move. More snow skittered down, dropping far below him. His gloves were frozen now, his fingers unfeeling stumps. His leather jacket was solid and encrusted with layers of ice, like glass. Diamond-sharp spikes stung his face, then numbed it as the cold gripped. Great clouds of breath sat in the air before his face.

He moved upward, his knees sinking again and again into the drifts of snow covering the last ridge. His feet stuck on things he could only imagine, for he could feel no substance. Then the sky began to darken.

‘Hell!’ he breathed, squinting up. ‘Don’t snow again now. Can’t you wait just a few minutes longer?’

The sky answered with a rumble, growing even darker. The cloud sank towards him, purple and threatening. At least he could now see the edge of the ridge. Only a few more feet to go.

Controlling the desire to rush, Finnlay struck upwards again until his hands fell on solid rock. There was only a fine layer of snow here and some very slippery ice. He dragged his body on to the rock and lay there a moment, catching his breath. Then he felt the wind.

Fearful now, he sat up, straining his neck to see over the edge of the Goleth ridge. It was a mistake. A gust whipped up the other side and sent a sheet of snow into his face, covering his whole body. He stood quickly, almost slipping off the rock. This was getting very dangerous, but he wasn’t going to give up now, not when he was so very close to the top. At least he could walk now.

Stumbling on the icy surface, he buried his chin in his chest, screwed up his eyes to little slits. All he could see was the blinding white snow beneath his feet, the grey encrusted stone patches here and there laid bare by the driving, icy wind. He pushed on, pressing, bending into the wind as it tried to drive him off the mountain.

He slipped and landed on his knees, his head into the wind. He lifted his eyes, but he was isolated by grey. He didn’t dare move. The grey went on for ever, dismal and defiant. But then, abruptly, the wind gusted and for one
single, split second, the cloud cleared, revealing the most breathtaking sight he’d ever seen.

The cliff dropped below him; the height was dizzying, but all he could see was an endless expanse of snow-capped mountains, black cavernous ripples and yawning valleys. Blinding white, the pristine view splashed itself before his eyes and was gone. The cloud sank around him again and once more the wind beat heavily. He’d done it. Made it to the top of the Goleth, the highest mountain in Lusara – and he’d done it in snow!

It was time to go back, but he didn’t dare try standing again with that wind. On all fours, he slipped and slid down the top of the ridge until he was out of the gale. Then, his muscles aching, his whole body exhausted, he began the steep descent. He went slowly. It wouldn’t do to gain too much speed or he would land at the bottom a broken mess.

The first part was the worst. He grew more and more exhausted with every step. It was so steep he could hardly keep his balance, but as he lost height, the cloud lifted and he could finally see where he was going. Out of the wind, his movement was just enough to keep him from freezing to death. Stumbling down the last stretch where the slope flattened out, he fell again. This time he laid there a moment, catching his breath. It was done. Finally.

‘Finn?’

The voice seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere. A dead echo, drenched in snow and pale memory.

‘Finnlay? Where the hell are you?’

It was coming closer, accompanied by long crunching steps in the snow.

‘Damn it, Finnlay Douglas! Answer me! It’s too cold out here to be playing games. Where are you?’

Finnlay tried to raise his head, but it was just too difficult. Instead, he waved his hand ineffectually.

The laboured steps halted by his head and he looked up to see the face belonging to those feet. Brown hair capped by a woollen hat, encrusted with driven snow and ice. A pair of icy blue eyes, a long nose and a mouth set thin with disapproval. ‘What kind of idiot climbs the Goleth straight
after a week-long snowfall? I thought you said you were just going for a short walk.’

Arlie stuck out his hand and grabbed hold of Finnlay’s. Staggering together, both men stumbled in the snow until they came upright.

‘What’s wrong, Arlie? Were you worried about me?’ Finnlay’s mouth wasn’t working properly and he stretched his jaw to loosen up his frozen muscles.

‘I might have known you’d pull a stunt like this,’ Arlie growled, throwing an arm around him to help him along. ‘Just because it’s your birthday doesn’t mean we’ll send out a rescue party if you fall off the cliff.’

‘Then what are you doing here?’ It was still a little hazy, but things were beginning to take shape. For instance, he could now see the black opening before him, the tunnel leading down to where it was warm and dry. ‘Why did you come looking for me?’

‘I just thought you might like to know.’ Arlie let go of him as they reached the tunnel mouth. Sheltered from the wind and snow, it was suddenly very quiet. ‘Patric’s just returned. I thought, in my foolishness, that you might like to talk to him. I hadn’t realized you were so intent on ending your otherwise futile existence!’

‘Oh, that’s nice!’ Finnlay ducked his head and studied the crusts of ice still stuck to his jacket. He’d probably ruined it. Goose fat. That was the answer. Lots of rubbing to loosen up the leather again. It might take a couple of days, but he’d do it in the end.

‘Sometimes, Finn, you really try my patience. Come on.’ Arlie grabbed his elbow and spun him around into the tunnel. After the glare of white outside, the tunnel seemed unusually dark. The torches along the wall were little more than pinpricks of light, little voices in a whole chorus of shadow. ‘What were you doing up there? Serin’s breath, you didn’t even tell anyone you were going! What if you’d fallen, eh? And what was the point to it? Why don’t you just climb the pinnacle in summer like everyone else? You didn’t even pick a nice day, did you? No view, even.’

‘Oh, there was a view.’ Finnlay’s head was clearing a bit
now. So was the rest of him. Down here, in the tunnels, it was warm, stuffy, in fact. So warm that his frozen fingers were coming to life – painfully. And he was dripping water all over the tunnel floor.

‘And you didn’t see Patric coming up?’

‘Patric?’ Finnlay came to a halt and shook his head. Arlie’s hair was stuck to his face like a frame of wet feathers. ‘Patric’s back? When?’

‘A couple of hours ago. I’ve been looking everywhere for you. By the gods, Finnlay, will you please pay attention!’

‘I am paying attention,’ Finnlay snapped back, all fogginess abruptly dissipating. ‘But what you’re saying doesn’t make any sense. How could Patric get up the mountain in this kind of weather?’

Arlie resumed walking and Finnlay hurried to keep up with the older man’s long strides. ‘Apparently our unseasonable snowstorm has only wiped out our section of the Goleth. The east ridges are quite passable. It was only bad for the last hour.’

‘Well, where is he?’

‘Not before you get changed. I’ll not have you coming down with a fever. Martha would kill me – and I won’t even think about what Fiona would do.’

Finnlay nodded slowly. ‘There’s no need to shout, Arlie. I got back in one piece, didn’t I?’

‘Did you get to the top?’ Arlie asked grudgingly.

‘Yes.’ Finnlay couldn’t help smiling.

If he’d thought the pain of entering the warm caverns was bad, it was nothing compared to the hot bath Arlie forced him to have. He bellowed his rage at the injustice of it all, but Arlie still brought in fresh pails of steaming water to refill the tub. Satisfied with his work, Arlie finally left him alone. For a while Finnlay sat there, aching in knees and elbows, but slowly, eventually, he began to laugh.

With the fire crackling away before him, he climbed out of the cauldron and stood on the rug, rubbing his body dry with a swathe of fleecy linen. Then, only because it was his birthday, he pulled on a shirt of fine fabric, lace at the collar. His breeches were mahogany brown and his sleeveless jacket
forest green. He ran a comb through his wet hair, then shook it out, spraying the walls with droplets of water. He pulled on soft leather boots, gave the fire a quick stab and strode out of his rooms, completely refreshed. It wouldn’t last long, he knew, but for the moment, he felt great.

Patric wasn’t alone. Martha was with him, holding the baby. Little Damaris was peacefully asleep, but even so, her tiny face was full of character. Finnlay often found himself staring at her for long seconds, hoping she’d wake up. Martha had caught him once, but she’d not said anything.

‘I thought you’d given up the dangerous life, Finnlay!’ Patric said in greeting.

‘Welcome back,’ Finnlay laughed, giving Patric a brief hug. ‘That was very game, coming up in this weather. You weren’t to know the range was passable.’

‘Oh,’ Patric shoved him into a chair, pressed a cup of spicy hot wine into his hand, ‘it wasn’t so brave. I didn’t know anything about the snow until I got too close to stop. The rest of the country is well into spring. It’s only you folks up here who have had the chills put on you. I could have waited a bit, I suppose, but I didn’t want to miss your birthday. Here, I have a gift for you.’

Patric hauled a saddlebag on to the table. He fished around inside for a moment, then brought out a tiny cloth-wrapped bundle. He handed it to Finnlay and stood back, a hesitant smile on his freshly tanned face. ‘I hope you don’t mind.’

Finnlay unfolded the cloth. Lying in the palm of his hand was a silver ring, the Douglas eagle in ebony across its face.