Voice Of The Demon (Book 2) (62 page)

Aiden moved slowly towards it until he saw a familiar shape. He was sitting by the wall, his knees up, his arms around them and his head down. His hair fell around his face so Aiden couldn’t even tell if he was alive.

Gently now, Aiden sank to his knees beside him. ‘Robert? Robert, talk to me. Are you all right?’

For a long time, there was no movement. Then Aiden reached out to touch his arm and Robert slowly lifted his head.

‘Robert?’

He moved, taking Aiden’s hand and holding it before his gaze as though it were the last thing he expected to see. Then, cautiously, he turned his head until his eyes met Aiden’s. Strangely, despite the black night, Aiden could see Robert’s face clearly. The eyes widened and his mouth opened.

‘Are . . . you . . .’

‘What is it? Come, talk to me.’

Robert shook his head, disbelief in every movement. ‘I . . . thought I’d . . . killed everyone. The demon . . . I couldn’t stop it.’

Aiden took Robert’s hands between his own. ‘It’s over, Robert. We’re all safe. Your brother, Micah, everyone inside the keep. Even Jennifer.’

‘Safe? Jenny?’ Robert shook his head, bewildered. ‘How can she be safe? I used it. The Word. How can she still be alive? How can anyone?’

‘I don’t know. Perhaps you were wrong. Perhaps the prophecy was wrong. But we are safe. Come. Let’s go down and you can see for yourself. Finnlay and Micah are worried about you. Finnlay knew immediately what you’d done.’

‘He did?’ Robert glanced up again and slowly his gaze cleared a little. He started to get up, then paused, his hand gripping Aiden’s arm like a vice. ‘The Guilde. The Malachi.’

On his hands and knees, he scrambled to the wall and looked over.

‘I don’t know how you did it, but they’ve all gone. There’s no movement out there at all. We’ll have to wait until dawn to see what happened.’ Gently, Aiden put a hand under his arm and ushered him to his feet. Robert rubbed his hands over his face, as though waking from a long sleep.

‘Come,’ Aiden repeated. ‘Let’s go down.’

*

It was the first rays of light touching Nash’s face that drew him back to reality. Numbed and stiff, he opened his eyes and gazed at the pale sky above, a herald of fresh clouds, yellow and pink. A new day.

He had to move, but his body wouldn’t respond. He could feel a weight on his legs, pressuring him down, forcing him to be still. There was pain, too, in his ankle, his hip, his back, and something that tasted like his own blood in his mouth.

In all his years he’d always been so quick and so absolute in his condemnation of the fools that lived and worked around him. Those people who had neither the wit nor the intelligence to see or understand what was going on right before their eyes. He’d cursed his father and grandfather for not having the will to pursue their destiny, for failing at the last when so much was at stake. He’d scorned the Malachi for their narrow vision and single-minded self-destruction.

And yet, all along, the biggest fool of all was Nash himself.

He’d constantly and consistently blinded himself to the truth. A truth that had been there all along for him to see. And then, as the moment had approached and he’d finally opened his eyes, as he’d felt the build-up of power and saw the man who strode to the top of the tower like a mighty storm about to break, it was too late for Nash to do more than throw up a hasty shield of protection.

Robert Douglas. He was the one Nash had searched for for so long. He was the one who should have been no more than a baby during the Troubles. He was the one who had grown to maturity and developed all the powers Nash had tried so hard to destroy.

And he knew the Word of Destruction.

The Enemy. Alive. More powerful than Nash had ever dreamed. More powerful than even prophecy had foretold.

The Key must have told him the Word. The Key would have recognized him. Yes, the Key.

Nash held his breath and once more tried to force his body to move. This time there was a tremor down his left side, a shadow of some former strength. He strained against the pain, pushing himself up on his elbows. There was something over his legs: a huge tree branch, torn from its home. Nash summoned what power he had left and tried to shift it. It didn’t budge.

The Word of Destruction. The most powerful weapon ever conceived. Created, honed, perfected by his great-grandfather – used to almost kill him. And the damage went far beyond a simple branch. His special senses were gone, too: he was human, helpless for the first time in his life.

With a roar of rage, Nash twisted his body and clawed his hands into the ground, seeking any kind of purchase. Gradually, he began to move forward, his legs emerging from under the log, agonizing and bloody. Only when he was free did he look up to survey the damage.

Gone. It was all gone. There was no one left to help him. Even Lisson had vanished.

Despair threatened to overwhelm him, but he caught himself in time and began hauling his body towards the lake. His arms grew stronger as he worked, even though his legs were useless. He had to get away from this place. Had to get away before they looked outside and saw the movement. He could move in water easier than on land. If he could get to the other side of the lake, he could find help – some kind of help.
Any
kind of help.

He would escape. He would survive. He would find a donor with blood strong enough to rekindle his powers. A hundred donors, if necessary.

It would take time, but he would return.

As his body slid into the water, he cast a last look back at the castle. ‘Ah, Enemy. I have you now.’

The icy water drew in around his body, numbing his
injuries and cooling his anger. Silent and alone, he swam away.

*

Jenn awoke to see a hazy dusk fill her room with a fine incandescent dust. Had it really got so late? She turned her head to see a familiar figure sitting on a chair close by her bed. In the dim light she frowned. ‘Robert?’

‘Sorry,’ Finnlay replied, ‘it’s only me. How do you feel?’

‘How do I feel? I feel just fine – but what are you doing out of bed? I. . .’ Jenn pushed herself up on to her elbows, but her whole body protested the movement and she groaned. Then she noticed the tiny bundle at her side. She stopped abruptly and, with one finger, lifted the cloth covering her son’s face. He was sleeping, his tiny hands screwed up by his chin. A fine down of raven hair framed a face now quite pink. She touched his fingers, his cheek in silent wonder. Was this her child?

Hello, my love.

‘Have you chosen a name?’ Finnlay asked softly.

Jenn nodded, but didn’t speak it aloud. Not yet. She would do that later tonight, at his Presentation. As the coming event grew in her mind, so did the pain it brought back. Swiftly, so as not to disturb the baby, she turned away and looked at Finnlay.

His face was still a mess. The swollen eye was a mass of deep red and purple. He sat stiffly in his chair, as though afraid to move lest he pass out.

‘You should be resting, Finn. You can’t afford to keep getting up and moving around. If you start bleeding again, it’ll probably kill you.’

‘Oh, I’m too tough for that.’ He lifted a hand and waved it in the air. ‘I’m still in one piece despite the efforts of both the Angel of Darkness and the Enemy. I doubt even Broleoch himself could do away with me.’

‘Oh, Finn!’ Jenn had to smile. There had always been something irrepressible about him that no amount of hardship could break. ‘Where’s Bella? And Father McCauly?’

‘Cleaning up, I think. I did hear something about finding food, but I confess I didn’t pay too much attention. I will
warn you – your sister is not happy. But that’s only to be expected.’

‘Micah?’

‘Is with Robert.’

Jenn glanced down and studied her hands. ‘How is he?’

‘Devastated. How would you expect him to be?’

She looked up sharply at that, but there was no reproach in his eyes. ‘But – is he all right? I mean . . .’

‘He’s alive and breathing, if that’s what you mean. He’s surveying the damage of his efforts last night and looks on the surface to be quite his old self. I’ve always marvelled at that public face of his and how easily he seems to put it on. There are, however, those of us not so easily fooled any more.’ Finnlay sighed and laced his fingers together. ‘I think, though, that he’s past the worst. He can’t quite believe he used the Word and didn’t destroy us all. He’s . . . in a lot of pain. McCauly has tried to help. He seems to understand what’s going on in Robert’s head better than any of us but. . .’

‘What?’

Finnlay shook his head. ‘I don’t know. Robert needs you. I’m sorry, but it’s true.’

‘You . . . found a way to prove to him . . . that my son isn’t . . .’

‘Yes.’

‘How?’

Finnlay lifted himself out of his chair and sat on the side of her bed. He took her hand. ‘I used the only means I could. The irony is that that he thinks it proves your son is not his – it actually proves the opposite – but he won’t question it again. He won’t want to.’

Jenn gazed at him a moment. She knew he wouldn’t say more. Instead she turned to the sleeping child.

‘May I?’

‘Of course.’ She moved so Finnlay could see his nephew properly. Finnlay pulled aside the cloth wrapped around the boy until the left shoulder was revealed.

‘He has no House Mark!’

‘No.’

Finnlay looked up sharply at that. ‘But that’s impossible! Unless he’s not Robert’s son.’

‘You’ve already proved he is.’

Finnlay opened his mouth – then shut it abruptly. Eventually he shook his head. ‘This doesn’t make any sense. You must see what he is.’

Jenn swallowed and kept her gaze steady. ‘He’s my son, Finnlay – and for the moment, that’s all he is. Until his Presentation, he doesn’t even have a presence to the gods. He’s an infant, a child, nothing more. I won’t have you or anyone else saying a word about this until he’s old enough to understand for himself.’

Finnlay gave her a sharp glance, but nodded slowly. ‘As you wish. But you know as well as I do that in the end, not talking about it won’t change a thing. Besides, there’ll be others who’ll come to the same conclusion long before he reaches the age of understanding.’

‘Yes, but as long as they believe he’s Eachern’s son he’ll be safe.’

‘Rather than the son of a hero and a sorcerer?’ Finnlay got carefully to his feet. ‘Or the son of two sorcerers? I won’t argue, Jenn. I agree. I’ll go now and let you get dressed. With any luck, Bella might have some food ready for us all.’

*

‘By all that’s holy,’ Micah breathed, spreading his arms wide. ‘It looks even worse from down here!’

He gazed across the remnants of what used to be the courtyard to where Robert stood, surrounded by piles of blackened timber, gravel and dust. Nothing, not a single building nor pile of stone, had survived intact. The ancient walls of Elita, having withstood three centuries of armed conflict, now lay in rubble at his feet. They could see clear across the lake to the forest on the other side. The line of trees marked the edge of the destruction. Scorched grass and flattened bushes filled the distance. Of the attacking soldiers, there was no sign at all. It was as though they had been blown out of existence by that terrible wind.

Only the keep had survived unscathed. It stood in the same place, rattled but unbroken. If only the same could be
said for the people of Elita. Though they had lived to see the dawn of this awful day, one by one they had slipped away, terrified by the power unleashed to save them – and the man who had wielded it. Neil and his wife, Shane, Keagan and Addie were all that was left of this once-thriving castle. Tragic though it was, at least Jacob had not survived to see his beloved home destroyed so completely in such a manner.

‘It’s strange,’ Robert said, ‘but it’s not as bad as I’d expected.’

‘In the name of the gods, my lord,’ Micah gasped, ‘how could it be any worse?’

Robert looked at Micah. ‘You were never one for sparing my feelings, were you?’

‘And what good would that do?’

Robert gave a short laugh. ‘Very little, I admit.’ He wandered over to a pile of burned beams and touched the edge of his boot to the charcoal. ‘I owe you an apology, Micah. I’ve put you through so much. Not just last night, but the last few years. You see, I always thought that because you wanted to stay with me it was all right. I convinced myself that that made it right.’

Micah said nothing as Robert turned around to face him.

‘But your father said something to me.’

‘You spoke to my father? About me?’

‘He said that as an adult, you should’ve been able to see your error in serving me. He said you deliberately blinded yourself to the truth and that was unforgivable. Only you are not to blame, my friend. I am. I blinded you. I never let you see what was really going on. I deliberately let you close enough to care, but not close enough to understand just exactly what you were a part of.’

Oh really? With firm strides, Micah crossed the courtyard until he stood squarely in front of Robert. ‘I made no error, my lord,’ he said quite deliberately. ‘Despite what you say, my opinion has not changed. I regret nothing – not the last few months, nor the last ten years. There was no error and, what’s more, I’ll only accept your apology on one condition.
That from this moment onwards, you cease to blame yourself.’

A quizzical frown creased Robert’s brow. ‘What is this, Micah? Have I gone away for a few months only to come back and find you’ve become your own man?’

‘Take it as you will, my lord,’ Micah remained stubborn. ‘I know what I’m doing, even if you don’t.’

That elicited another laugh from Robert and a smile that almost reached his eyes. ‘I just can’t seem to get rid of you, can I?’

‘Though you keep trying.’

‘Aye. Dare I say another failure on my part?’

‘No.’

‘Ah.’ Robert nodded and glanced away. ‘I thought not. Well, we’ve got a few horses left. Enough to get us all out of here. If my dear brother is fit enough, I think we should all leave tomorrow morning. It wouldn’t do to stay around long enough for the King to hear about this. I’m sure word is already tearing across the country like wildfire.’