Voice Of The Demon (Book 2) (66 page)

He sipped his wine in silent comfort. He would have to spend an hour or more sitting here, wasting time when there was so much else to do. He glanced around, counting the familiar faces. Bishop Brome was in attendance as usual. His fat face oozed sweat, as if merely sitting was too great an exertion for him. His intellect was at best thin, and having to be spread about so great a girth, only diminished its power more. Other councillors were there, of course, with their ladies. Except for Eachern. He stood alone on the end of the platform. His lady was never allowed this kind of pleasure. Never even allowed to come to court.

And never allowed to know why.

The crowd to his left parted and Kenrick appeared, taking a great leap onto the dais. Selar instantly straightened, his eyes glowing at the sight of his son. Despite his youth, the Prince was already tall and would soon gain the height of his father. But the resemblance did not end there. Kenrick had Selar’s good looks and fair hair, but his eyes were hazel, as his mother’s had been. But while Selar’s ambition and avarice had consumed his life, something else entirely played the same part with Kenrick. Something he kept well hidden, even from Nash’s spies.

‘I see you’ve come back, Governor.’ Kenrick displayed no pleasure as Nash rose to his feet and bowed. ‘Your sport in the north became a little dull, did it?’

Nash portrayed every aspect of the obedient servant. ‘My task was completed, Highness. I return according to your royal father’s wishes.’

‘Then perhaps,’ Kenrick sneered, in open contempt, ‘my royal father’s wishes need to be expanded beyond the sewer.’

With that he turned away, leaving Nash to regain his seat. He drained his wine in one mouthful, burning his tongue. A few minutes more and then he’d be able to leave and get some rest after his long journey. Even so, his gaze remained on the boy-Prince. The child destined, one day, to rule Lusara in his father’s place.

No, it didn’t do to display a weakness in public – especially when danger was as close as the heir to the throne.

*

Godfrey tilted his head back to take a proper look at the incredible ceiling above him, bathed in cool winter sunlight. Only once before had he had an opportunity to see it, and that, briefly. The Guildehall in Marsay was considered sacred ground and only those who had sworn the oath could look upon its glories. However, the Guilde Proctor was permitted to exercise discretion and invite those necessary for a specific purpose, and it was under that aegis that Godfrey now admired the famous vaulting.

The entire hall was dominated by a single stone pillar in the centre, the base for every pointed arch in the ceiling. A maze of arcs and joists, yet somehow, the roof made architectural sense, with this solitary stone brace holding it all in place. On every surface, in the darkest corners even, could be seen figures painted right onto the stone: masons, shipwrights, blacksmiths, weavers and many more, representing the myriad trades which made up the Guilde. The background was a midnight blue and decorated by tiny stars painted with real gold. Other colours could be seen, reds and greens, light blue and white. The overall effect was one of mystery and intrigue, of spaces within spaces, inviting discovery. A lifetime of study would not reveal all the secrets of this ceiling. There was nothing else like it in the world.

Godfrey dropped his gaze and rubbed his aching neck to find Vaughn watching him.

‘Would you have all of Marsay trouping in here to gawp at such a sight?’ Vaughn asked with precision.

No matter which way he looked at it, Godfrey still found his skin crawled whenever his work forced him into contact with this man. He’d long since learned to swallow his distaste, while trying his hardest not to show it. Not an easy task at the best of times.

Now Godfrey folded his hands beneath his surplice and bowed his head in apology. ‘Forgive me, my lord Proctor. I was unaware that I was … gawping.’

If Vaughn detected the ironic edge to Godfrey’s tone, he made no sign. Instead, he turned and wandered a few steps away. ‘As you can see, we have more than enough room for the new season of initiates
in here. I understand you would rather witness the oaths in the chapel

‘On hallowed ground,’ Godfrey couldn’t help adding.

‘But our numbers have more than doubled on last year and those were double the year before. The chapel is no longer able to support such numbers.’ Vaughn finished this with a sniff of pride; the Church could certainly not boast such an increase in interest. Godfrey couldn’t even blame it on the fact that the Church was led by an empty-headed buffoon – for was not the Guilde afflicted in the same manner?

Godfrey had to suppress a smile at his silent joke. Vaughn had no sense of humour. ‘I would need access to this room the day before the initiation, to set up a temporary altar, consecrate it and have it ready for dawn the next day.’

Vaughn nodded, watching Godfrey carefully, as though his mind was not fully on the arrangements. He paused for several long moments, then asked quietly, ‘How long have you been Guilde Chaplain?’

‘Eight years, my lord.’

Vaughn nodded again and turned to glance at the ceiling. Godfrey could only wait, as Vaughn had not dismissed him yet. But what was this about? The summer initiation was still almost five months away, and who knew what changes those months could bring? Why, anything could happen. The earth could tremble and shake and bring this magnificent building to the ground. Selar could die and Kenrick could commandeer the place as a new dwelling – or a rebel army could overrun the capital and crush the entire Guilde in its path.

Oh well, one could only hope.

‘What,’ Vaughn asked without looking at him, ‘do you know about sorcery?’

Godfrey’s heart leapt into his throat, but he managed an answer without too great a pause. ‘No more than most men, my lord.’

‘I dare say you’ve had plenty of time to think about it. It is, after all, some five years and perhaps a couple of months. You were, at one time, good friends. How do you stand now on the subject of Robert Douglas, the sorcerer?’

Godfrey swallowed and kept his voice restrained, voicing the lie
he’d practised a hundred times. ‘I’ve not seen him since he left Lusara ten years ago. Yes, we shared some friendship during the few years he was at court – but as for supporting him now that he’s … ’ Godfrey refrained from actually saying the word. The less he said on this subject, the fewer lies he would do penance for at his next confession. ‘I’m surprised you even ask me the question, my lord. Have you any reason to doubt my loyalty?’

‘Have you ever looked into the eyes of sorcery?’ Vaughn continued, turning slowly. ‘I have.’

As Vaughn came back across the empty hall, Godfrey folded his hands together, calmed his thumping heart. ‘My lord, I … ’

But Vaughn had moved on already. ‘What would you say to a man who had a waking dream of a black eagle attacking the Proctor?’

Was Vaughn becoming unhinged? ‘I … I’m not sure, my lord.’

‘Would you not feel it was a vision sent from the gods? Does not the presence of the bird suggest to you the involvement of Robert Douglas? The black eagle is the sign of his House, is it not?’

‘Yes, my lord, but

‘I’ve seen him.’ Vaughn’s voice returned to its usual grating tone. ‘The Douglas. He raided the Hall at Lagganfors while I was in residence. I saw his face with my own eyes.’

Robert? Raiding Guildehalls? What was going on?

‘I wish to show you something.’ Vaughn gestured towards a desk set by the door. Godfrey hadn’t noticed it before, but now he couldn’t look away. In the centre of the table was a small object covered by a single white cloth. He approached it warily. Vaughn came to his side, but didn’t touch it to begin with.

‘Five hundred years ago, when sorcerers betrayed the old Empire, the Guilde severed its ancient bonds with the evil ones and swore a sacred oath to their total annihilation. I have dedicated my whole life to that purpose and now, at last, thanks to the foresight of my predecessors, I have the means to begin that work. All along, the great task has been to identify the sorcerers hidden among our number – so that we may execute them for their crimes. This talisman here will give us what we’ve always wanted.’

With no flourish, Vaughn removed the cloth to reveal a round
glass bowl, almost perfect in shape. It was filled with a greenish fluid and what appeared to be a small stone rested at the bottom.

‘It’s called a Bresail,’ Vaughn began carefully. ‘The bowl is nothing special, the oil costly and imported from the southern continent. The stone, however, is very special. It’s called an
ayarn
. It once belonged to a sorcerer and it can find any of its like. When it does, it will glow, alerting us to his presence. As you can see, you have tested well. The stone remains dormant.’

Godfrey took in a long slow breath and let it out noisily. He could hardly begin to absorb what Vaughn was telling him – and he would have to warn Murdoch immediately. Nevertheless, his stomach was full of lead as he took his eyes from the Bresail to find Vaughn watching him again.

‘I know what you’re thinking,’ the Proctor added. ‘Is this talisman not sorcery itself? Am I not endangering my immortal soul by using it? Very probably – but I tell you this, I am prepared to do anything to rid this land of the evil I have seen at its very heart. This is the real reason I brought you here. I need your help.’

‘My help?’ Godfrey was suddenly breathless.

‘Yes.’ Vaughn nodded with the hint of a rare smile. ‘Our war against sorcerers begins this very day – and our first martyr will be Governor Samdon Nash.’