Voice Of The Demon (Book 2) (65 page)

Godfrey flinched and glanced around once more to check no one could overhear them.

‘ … and anyone associating with him would die the same terrible death. You’ve done good work here, passing on information to me, so I can tell my people. It makes a difference, I promise you – especially in light of the fact that you’re a priest. Even if Robert never comes back, you have made things better.’

‘But he has to come back,’ Godfrey murmured, gripping his ale-mug. ‘He has to. Nobody else has the following or the ability to do anything. Even if he is one of you. Even if that’s why he hasn’t done anything so far.’

Murdoch grunted. ‘You place a lot of hope in Robert.’

‘Don’t you?’ Godfrey replied, turning his gaze on the other man.

For a moment, Murdoch said nothing. Then he smiled. ‘And how is the King?’

‘How do you think? If he does much more than spend his days entertaining himself and the prince, I see no evidence of it. He shamelessly spends most nights with his whore, Valena de Cerianne. His council takes on the work of governing the country – and that they do poorly.’

Murdoch was silent for a while as the crowd roared and cheered
the tumblers again. In other corners of the courtyard, other activities were going on and the flow of people in and out of the gate seemed unending.

‘I don’t suppose you can tell me,’ Murdoch said finally, ‘anything new about Duke Eachern?’

Godfrey took his eyes from the crowd for a moment, but Murdoch wasn’t looking at him. ‘I still don’t understand why you’re interested in him above anybody else at court. I know he’s Selar’s maternal cousin and he does have some power – but he’s a brainless idiot, useful only when he’s got a sword in his hand.’

‘It’s not the Duke I’m interested in,’ Murdoch replied levelly. ‘It’s his wife.’

‘Jennifer Ross? But why … ’ Godfrey paused. ‘Is she one of you? A … ’

Murdoch frowned. ‘I’m sorry, Father. I know you’ve been Sealed and that protects you from revealing what you know of my people, even under torture – but even so, there are some things it’s safer for you not to know.’

‘So that’s why Father John went to such great lengths to obtain his position at Clonnet? To be near the Duchess?’

Raising his eyebrows, Murdoch almost smiled. ‘Can you tell me anything about Eachern?’

‘No more than you already know. He spends most of his time either here or riding north. I can’t find out why. It’s some big secret I’m not sure even the council knows about. I think Governor Nash could be involved, because he disappears for weeks at a time. He’s due back tonight, I believe. If I tried to find out what was really going on, somebody would notice my curiosity – and that’s an unhealthy trait to have these days.’

Murdoch drained his ale. ‘Then I think we should be going our separate ways, Father. We’ve been standing together too long as it is. I’ll be in for confession as usual next week. Keep your ears open and be careful. If anything happens to you, I’ll have to answer to Robert – and I can’t tell you how that prospect chills me. Goodnight.’

Godfrey shook his head and smiled. ‘Goodnight.’ As Murdoch disappeared into the crowd, he finished his ale slowly. Even now, after so long, he found it difficult to believe he had actually volunteered to work alongside men such as Murdoch.

Sorcerers. Reviled, hated, feared. It was death to be discovered as one. A painful death, burning at the stake, after hands had been cut off and torture inflicted. To be found working with them was perhaps even worse – especially for a priest.

Every aspect of Church doctrine spoke of the evil of sorcery. Many laws and punishments Godfrey had memorised as a young novice. The Guilde itself had vowed to remove every sorcerer from the face of Lusara. The people, with a kind of morbid greed for stories of sorcerers, still shrank away from the reality.

So why did Godfrey find this work so easy? Why did his conscience never bother him? Why had crossing that line been such a simple thing for him?

Because it wasn’t sorcery he was fighting for. Instead, it was something far more important: a release from bondage and tyranny for Lusara. He couldn’t see the end of this fight, couldn’t even begin to imagine it. All he knew was that men like Murdoch and Robert Douglas were all fighting on the same side. Light against the darkness.

Doctrine or no, that was, after all, why Godfrey had become a priest in the first place.

*

Vaughn didn’t wait for his luggage to be brought up to his rooms in the Guildehall. Instead, he followed Godet along the corridor and up the stairs to where a hasty fire was being lit in his study. Serving Guildesmen rushed here and there, anxious to set things straight after his unscheduled return. Vaughn hardly noticed them. He dropped his cloak, ignored the wine poured out and ordered a pot of brew. Then he collapsed into the chair behind his desk and waited for the room to empty.

He sat staring at the wall, at the cool grey stone, the sharp edges and fine gaps between. As Godet closed the door behind the last man, Vaughn turned. Godet handed him the cup of brew and he sipped carefully. Eventually, after a long silence, the young man spoke.

‘Is something wrong, my lord?’

‘Yes.’ Vaughn nodded without looking at him. ‘Very wrong.’

He took another sip but Godet didn’t fidget – one quality amongst others that had earned him his place here. ‘I want you to do something for me.’

‘Of course, my lord.’

‘How long until sunrise?’

‘Six or seven hours.’

Vaughn looked up. ‘Wait until dawn and select a few of our brethren you can trust. Tell them to go out into the town, out of Guilde uniform, and spread the word.’

‘What word is that, my lord?’

‘The Outlaw has returned to Lusara.’ Vaughn was gratified to see the young man’s face go pale. ‘Yes, Robert Douglas is back – not only that, but it seems he has been responsible for the raids on my Guildehalls across the country.’

‘But … how do you know?’

‘I saw him with my own eyes. Now go. Bring me some food, but other than that, I’m not to be disturbed. Wait outside in case I need anything further.’ As Godet bowed and made for the door, Vaughn added, ‘And I know you’ll be discreet.’

Godet paused and threw a smile at him. ‘Of course, Uncle.’

Alone again, Vaughn turned back to the wall, steepling his hands together in contemplation. Then he stood and pressed two fingers against the corner of one stone. He felt something click and he pushed hard. The secret door groaned against the uncommon movement and a rush of rancid air hit his face. Beyond lay a pit of darkness as deep and cold as that in his belly.

Slowly now, he collected a candle from the desk and stepped through the door. For a moment, his eyes struggled against the dimness, his skin crawling at the very thought of what he had to do.

The secret room before him was empty, just as he’d left it. Six years ago, he’d taken the library the Outlaw was searching for and hidden it in a place where no eyes would look for it. Now all that was left in this rancid space was the ghost of what those books contained.

He’d looked once, himself, long ago, when his predecessor had passed the secret on to him. He’d glanced through pages written hundreds of years before, gleaned enough of their content to understand, with horror, what they contained. Instructions for sorcerers. Rules by which they could master their evil art. Arcane tutorials for those who sought to enslave those without power.

These were the very books the Outlaw wanted to possess.

The same books Vaughn would now have to read in order to find what he wanted, what he needed.

A solution.

He knew there was one in there, buried beneath the rhetoric. Such a thing had been hinted at by his superiors when he’d first joined the Guilde as a boy. This library had been put together by both Guilde and sorcerers over the centuries, when each had worked alongside the other, when secrets had not existed between them, long before the Empire had crushed the evil.

Yes, he would find what he was looking for and he would find it tonight – for it was certain that if the Douglas was hunting for these tomes, so too would his minion, Nash. Indeed, in all likelihood Nash too was a sorcerer. If Vaughn was to safely extract the information he needed to begin his war, then he would have to do it before Nash returned to court, before he could find a way to interfere.

Grim and determined now, he left the empty room, pushing the ancient door shut behind him. His journey had tired him, but the taste of victory against evil was fresh in his mouth. He had to move and move quickly. If his actions called down damnation on his immortal soul, then he would make the sacrifice willingly.

With a satisfied ruthlessness, he crushed his natural fear of what he was about to do – for the vision had warned him: the Outlaw was back – and Vaughn had to find something that would rid him of sorcerers once and for all.

*

The slap of water against the stone steps was the only thing Nash could hear above the raucous noise of the city. From his boat, he could see clearly the glow in the sky above the castle, a bland swipe of gold across a black landscape. He’d been able to hear the celebrations all the way down the river, and had been tempted, that whole time, to turn around and head north again.

The oarsman swung and dipped his paddles into the water once more to bring the small boat alongside the stone jetty. Half a dozen men waited for him, all but one in Guilde uniform. Gilbert Dusan held a torch and reached out a hand to help Nash from the boat.

‘Welcome back.’

‘Where’s DeMassey?’

‘Keeping an eye on the Prince, as you ordered. Why?’

‘Has Valena been near him?’

‘Of course not.’

‘Good.’ Nash strode past his men and through the gate in the castle wall. He began to climb the steps, but had to slow as the old pain in his hip and leg began to play the whore with him. By Broeloch’s breath, why couldn’t he rid himself of this last vestige of failure? Would it haunt him to the end?

‘Anything else to report?’ Nash snapped at Gilbert as he strode alongside.

‘Just that Vaughn has come back a month early from his annual progress. He only arrived an hour ago, so there’s been no word of a reason. I guess the peace and quiet is over already.’

‘Typical! Just as I thought he might be gone long enough for me to search the Guildehall. I know that library is in there somewhere. Now Vaughn’s back, I don’t have a hope of finding it before next winter!’

‘But you said Osbert showed you the empty room, the ashes to prove the books had been burned. Are you saying he lied?’

Nash glanced at him, but there was no irony in his face. ‘Oh, those were real ashes, from real books – I’m just not convinced a man of even Vaughn’s limited intelligence would be so stupid as to burn the only weapon he will ever have against our kind. Knowledge is power, Gilbert, and Vaughn knows that as well as I do. No, Osbert may have convinced himself the books have been burned, but I’m afraid I don’t really believe it. That’s why I was hoping to have the run of the Hall this winter, to give me a chance to find them. Now I’ll just have to push Osbert a little, get him to nose around for me.’

‘And if he won’t?’

Nash glanced aside at the tall man. ‘If I push him any more there’s a good chance he might turn and run – and if I’m not around to stop him, he could cause us all a lot of trouble. And before you ask, no, I can’t afford to kill him yet; he’s still too useful.’

He paused and took the travel-stained cloak from his shoulders. A pair of torches lit the gloom, their crackling fire drowned out by the festivities beyond the east wall. Gilbert handed him another cloak, a fur-lined garment of grey, more suitable for a court
appearance. With a sigh, Nash ran his fingers through his hair, drew himself up and mentally prepared himself to step back into the public world. Once more he would become the actor.

Leaving Gilbert behind and taking only two guards with him, Nash strode out of the small courtyard into the larger, crowded one. Half the fools of Marsay had squeezed themselves into the main square of the castle and even with the help of his guards, Nash had difficulty making his way to the dais where Selar and his council sat. As usual, Selar greeted him laconically, waving him to his usual seat, to the right. Of Prince Kenrick there was no immediate sign and Nash had to stop himself from asking. The less Selar knew about the activities of his fourteen-year-old son, the better.

Instead, Nash accepted a cup of sweet spicy wine and relaxed back, carefully stripping the lines of fatigue from his face. His position was never so secure that he could afford anyone thinking he had a weakness to be exploited. Besides, who could tell whether the Enemy might one day decide to strike?

He smiled into his wine at the thought. As if the Douglas even knew the identity of his adversary! Ah, prophecy was such a delight to play with.

Conversation wafted around him, muffled by the roars of the crowd. A space had been cleared before the dais where a huge black bear thumped around at the end of a long chain. Two dogs snarled, darting forward to sink their teeth into the bear’s legs. A mighty swipe of its hand sent one of them flying. The dog landed at the feet of its trainer, bleeding profusely and not moving. The other, more wary and much more canny, continued dancing around the bear as it rose to its feet. The crowd applauded and gasped in awe at the size of the animal.

Trinkets thrown to please the moronic mob. Every year they went through this pointless ritual. The mass said in the morning, the prayers sent up to the ears of deaf gods, all the while assuming their lives would go on unbroken by destruction, as if this superficial stability were the only possibility they need consider. As if they had any idea of what lay ahead.

Nash settled back, lacing his hands around his cup, willing the warmth to penetrate his bones. He had spent so much time, so many years, gaining this position here. He had won an important
part in all this only to further his own ambitions and yet, these people here thought of him as nothing more than a faithful Guilde Governor. Not one of them knew of the prophecy – or what he really was.