Voice Of The Demon (Book 2) (32 page)

‘He either couldn’t take me because I was too old – or didn’t expect me to be . . . well, me. Was that why he took the other boys, thinking that his enemy would be among them? How disappointed he must be. And that leaves us in a very interesting position, doesn’t it? He knows about the prophecy. He knows who you are, what you are – but he’s done nothing about you – yet. On the other hand, he must know I exist – who else could have snatched Ayn away from him? – and yet, he has no idea of my identity. And then you
promised to Stand the Circle. Either way, Jenny, it’s just like the Key said. You’re the Ally, I’m the Enemy. We’re on opposite sides. Don’t you find that amusing?’

‘Yes, very!’ Jenn snapped and pulled her hand away. ‘So what are you going to do about it?’

‘Nothing, what else? Why should I need to do anything? After all, I’ve done nothing over the last year and all these things have happened nonetheless. If this demon wants me, he can come and find me. Apart from that? I don’t really care any more.’

Jenn remained where she was for a moment, no longer mesmerized by his gaze. She would have reached out to him again, would have tried to ease that pain which ran so deep – but he would never allow that. She could see it in his eyes. Even as they drew her in, they pushed her away. Stubborn to the last.

Softly then, she said, ‘You wouldn’t have turned Rosalind away. An oath to a King is just as much an oath to his Queen, his heir. You swore to protect them all. The fact that you were protecting one against the other was never the question. You would have done all this and more whether I was here or not.’

Robert nodded. ‘Yes.’

‘Then why are you so angry with me?’

‘Angry?’ Robert laughed, short and ironic. He shook his head, turned back to the wine and poured some more. ‘Oh, I’m not angry, Jenny. Trust me, this is not what I look like when I’m angry.’

‘Then what are you afraid of?’ The question came out without thinking and instantly she regretted it.

When he looked at her again, the bitterness and the self-loathing were written all over his face, marring his looks in a way that, again, made her want to reach out to him. Then he smiled, ugly and menacing. ‘What the hell do you think I’m afraid of, you fool?’

Jenn took a step back, frowning, shaking like a leaf. Talking to him was pointless. He didn’t want her here; she was a thorn in his side, involving him in things he would rather stay out of. Now she couldn’t even tell him her idea
about Bonding and mindspeech. He would never listen. He’d shut the door on her and he would never open it again.

‘I’m sorry, Robert,’ Jenn murmured, backing away. Desperately, she held back tears. She wouldn’t give him that satisfaction! ‘I’m really sorry. I’m sorry I ran into you in Shan Moss. I’m sorry I turned out to be a sorcerer. I’m sorry I’ve caused you so much trouble over the last year. I’m sorry I came here and ruined everything for you. I . . . I’m sorry.’

With that she turned and fled. He called after her as she pulled the door behind her, but she couldn’t stop. She didn’t want to hear any more. She threw herself down on her bed, closed her eyes and took in great gulping breaths. She couldn’t afford to let go just yet. There was still so much to do. Later, yes. Much later. For now, try and sleep. Forget Robert. Just go to sleep.

*

Why had he tried to call her back when he’d just spent the last hour trying to get rid of her?

As the door slammed shut behind her, Robert hung his head, closed his eyes and took in a dragging breath. It didn’t do any good. The knife was still there, buried inside him, driven deep by the look on her face as she’d run away from him. A wound as grievous as the one he’d inflicted upon her.

Robert left the table and opened the chest under the window. Lying there before him, still wrapped in the cloth Jenn had given him, was the silver rod he’d found in those mountain caves. He took it out, lifted back the cloth and held the rod up to the candlelight.

Robert sighed and shook his head. With a brisk movement, he wrapped the rod back in the cloth and returned it to the chest. Instead, he pulled out two maps and took them back to the table. With a wave of his hand, three candles flared into life and he spread the maps out in their light.

Work. That was his only tonic, his only salvation. He had to keep working. So, if it had to be work, what was the easiest way to hide a Queen?

The camp was already well established by the time Nash rode in with Forb’ez at his side. A dozen pavilions surrounded a larger one; camp fires stretched out into the darkness throwing flickering light over soldiers eating and bedding down for the night. The sky was a haze of woodsmoke, laced with laughter and shouted commands. Among them were the blazes of at least twenty lords that Nash could recognize at a glance, not to mention a large contingent of Guilde soldiers.

Was this the hunt? Is that why Selar had brought him back? So it had started already.

Forb’ez had said there’d been developments, but he’d refused to be more specific on the journey here. Now, as they dismounted before the royal pavilion, Nash couldn’t help noticing the guarded looks in his direction, the abrupt pauses and heavy silences.

‘You are to wait in here, Alderman.’ Forb’ez lifted the tent flap and ushered Nash inside. This was just the antechamber, devoid of furniture, with nothing more than a brazier in the middle of a brown, mud-stained carpet. He was left alone.

This was not quite what he’d had in mind. If Selar had brought him here only to arrest him for sorcery, then why wasn’t he in chains?

Well, if he had to wait to find out, then he would do so.

*

A wind from the north whipped against the walls of the tent. The flapping grew louder as the night wore on. All he could hear were distant voices and the occasional booted feet as they marched past the door. Finally, just as the night watch called midnight, the flap opened and Forb’ez reappeared. At a gesture, Nash followed him out and around to the larger pavilion. Forb’ez held the door open for him, but stayed outside.

Selar was waiting for him.

He was reclining in a tall chair, throne-like and regal. He
was dressed like a King, a formal cape arranged over his shoulders and stretching out beyond his feet in a sea of blue. A gold circlet sat on his fair head and he held a jewelled goblet in his right hand, the rubies glinting in the same candlelight as the ring on his thumb. He could have been ready to receive a royal deputation from a visiting envoy.

But even with all this show, Selar couldn’t hide from Nash the black circles around his eyes, the sickly white of his skin, the purple hue of his lips. He was unwell – but this was a disease of the spirit rather than the body. The commanding power was still there, but gone was the will to wield it. The change was so subtle it might take weeks or months for anyone around Selar to even notice. Selar was walking close – very close – to the edge.

Without ceremony, Nash bowed, kept his head low and waited.

Deliberately, Selar left him there long enough to get seriously uncomfortable.

‘I should have you executed.’

The words came out easily and softly. He might be falling apart, but his mind was working just fine.

Nash took a chance and straightened up, clasping his hands before him.

‘Why?’ Selar’s mouth barely moved. ‘Why did you tell me?’

‘To serve you better, Sire.’

Selar gestured, the contents of his goblet flying over the cyan rug. ‘Don’t try that on me, Nash!’ he hissed. ‘I want the truth, damn you, or I will order your execution. The guards are still outside that door. One word from me will bring them inside. They’ll strike off your head before you have a chance to use a single evil word!’

Nash didn’t move. He didn’t dare. In this particular situation, it was possible that Selar could succeed with such a threat. ‘What am I to say?’

‘Why did you tell me? What do you want from me?’ Selar’s voice rose, his eyes twitching with tightly contained fear.

‘Sire,’ Nash began, keeping his voice steady, ‘I have already
told you the truth, but you are unwilling to hear it so I must say nothing more.’

‘The truth!’ Selar spat. ‘You really expect me to believe that you revealed a secret you’ve obviously kept all your life – just so you can serve me? I’m not a fool, Nash! Don’t treat me like one.’

‘If I thought you were a fool, Sire, I would not be so willing to serve you.’ Nash tried not to flinch as he said it, but instead kept his gaze on Selar, his breathing steady. He had to appear servile, subservient, humble.

Selar stared at him for a long time, then slowly he arose from his seat. He left Nash waiting while he poured some more wine and took a long drink. Nash watched him in profile. Now that the first flush of anger was gone, what would replace it?

‘You want to serve me?’

‘Yes, Sire.’

‘Just as you’ve done so far?’

‘Yes, Sire.’

‘Is that all?’

‘It is all I can do, Sire.’

Selar chuckled harshly at that. ‘So very humble, aren’t you? But don’t think I’m duped so easily. I haven’t got this far by being fooled by men like you. Is it not also true that you told me because you don’t want Vaughn’s men going out into the countryside rounding up all your friends? You hope to get me on your side in order to protect your fellow sorcerers. Isn’t that what this is all about?’

No. Selar wasn’t a fool. ‘Sire, my concern about Vaughn’s activities only reaches to those who would be falsely accused. To my knowledge, there are no other sorcerers in Lusara.’

‘And that,’ Selar said, ‘is a blatant lie! You’ve never been concerned about the people before. There are more sorcerers. That business in Kilphedir proves it.’

‘But Osbert vowed it was a hoax.’

‘You could have convinced him otherwise. In return for some favour.’

‘Sire, Osbert takes his duty very seriously, as I am sure you know. That duty is the same as for all in the Guilde, a sacred
duty to rid the land of all sorcerers. It’s been our duty since the Battle of Alusia.’

At this, Selar smiled, ugly and insincere. ‘Then what are you, a confessed sorcerer, doing among the ranks of the Guilde?’

‘How better to serve my King, Sire?’

Selar laughed outright, drained his cup and refilled it again. Now he came back across the room. ‘Your answers are all prepared, aren’t they? You knew I’d ask that question – and all the others. I gave you enough time to think about it. You’re so very calm in the face of my anger. Every other man in this country would be shrivelled up in terror. But not you. Is it because you have all these powers? Or is it because you’re so damned arrogant you don’t care?’

Nash took a deep breath. This wasn’t going entirely well. ‘Sire, I know my revelation was a great shock, but I assure you, the truth is as I have said. My only desire is to serve you in whatever way you wish.’

Raising his eyebrows, Selar said, ‘So you keep saying. But I wonder just how far your service would go. Would you serve me – in any matter – regardless of the consequences?’

‘As long as there would be no harm to your person, Sire, yes.’

‘Even if it conflicted with your oath to the Guilde?’

Ah, the trap! Selar too had been prepared for this interview. If Nash said yes, then Selar would say he couldn’t trust him. If he said no, then Selar still wouldn’t trust him. Either way he was damned.

He had to take a chance. One single chance on which everything rested. He sank to his knees, raised his hands in supplication. ‘Sire, I beg you to believe me. I come from an inconsequential family of small means. I wished to serve my King and joining the Guilde was my best means. My oath to the Guilde was always, in effect, an oath to you. I read our histories of how sorcerers once stood at the side of mighty Kings during the days of the old empire. I desired nothing more than to serve you in such a way. That was in the beginning. Now, however, over the last year I have also grown to love you as a friend and was glad of your friendship
in return. I am now and always will be your servant to command as you wish – in whatever capacity you choose.’

Selar said nothing. Nash had to lift his eyes to see what the effect of this speech was. The expression on Selar’s face was entirely unreadable. He was silent a long time. Then he placed his cup down on the armrest of the great chair and took a step forward. ‘My friendship is not so easily bought. You have lived a lie and led me to believe it. I won’t trust you so easily again. I’ll take you back, but you’ll need to prove yourself to me. I have something I want you to do. Something a man with your unique talents should have no trouble performing. If you fail, you die. It’s as simple as that.’

Nash wanted to smile. It seemed the irony of the situation had eluded Selar. He’d been thrown out because he was a sorcerer – but he’d been brought back for exactly the same reason. ‘Tell me, Sire.’

‘The Queen has absconded, taking my son with her. My men can’t find her and her band of traitors anywhere. I want you to find her and get my son back to me alive.’

Involuntarily, Nash’s eyes widened. Selar raised his eyebrows in mock horror. ‘Yes, sorcerer. I want you to use your powers to get my heir back for me. I don’t care what you do with that whore I married. I don’t care what methods you use. I don’t even care how many of your friends you employ on the venture. I just want my son. Can you do that for me, sorcerer?’

Nash let out a pent-up breath. Selar was asking the impossible – and knew it. Still, if there was no other way . . .

‘Yes, Sire. I can do it. But you’ll need to call off Vaughn’s hunters.’

‘I have already. They’re all out searching for the Queen instead. But let me warn you – a search for a Queen could easily be returned to a search for a sorcerer, should I find you’ve lied to me again.’

The cast, the tone – everything was the Selar of old. Except that behind the menace was not the usual ruthlessness, but fear. Real, terrifying, killing fear.

Nash rose to his feet and bowed again. ‘I am your servant,
Sire. With your permission, I shall retire and begin my plans.’

*

Selar had known he would agree, damn him. The moment Nash had stepped outside the royal pavilion, Forb’ez led him to a tent especially set aside, comfortably furnished, with a real mattress on the portable cot. Nash wandered around the room, pulling his gloves off. Forb’ez waited in the background as though he knew exactly what was going on. Well, perhaps he did.