Voice Of The Demon (Book 2) (33 page)

‘Can I get anything for you, Alderman?’

‘Yes,’ Nash tossed his gloves down on the table. There was paper and ink ready for use. He picked up a pen, dipped it and scrawled two words on a sheet of paper. He folded it up, sealed it with wax, then wrote the name of a village on the outside. He turned back to the pale-eyed man and held it out. ‘Have a courier take this. He’s to tell no one where he is going. He will bring back the two men with him by morning.’

Forb’ez met his gaze stonily, took the note and bowed. ‘Of course, Alderman.’

As the flap dropped shut behind him, Nash drew off his cloak and tossed it over a chair. He inspected the contents of the flask of wine left beside the bed, then sat down.

So, little Rosalind had run off and taken the brat with her. How very brave of her. And how very convenient. Selar had called him back because of it. Well, a chance was a chance, no matter what guise it took.

But what kind of chance was this? Rosalind would be damned difficult to find. He couldn’t Seek her. She was human and, as such, her aura was the same as all humans: pale, indistinct, impossible to pick out from a crowd, no matter how well he knew it. Seeking would show him nothing.

And he couldn’t even go back to Marsay to question any witnesses. Rosalind could be anywhere by now – being helped by a people held in open contempt by her husband. Her actions would be seen as a direct defiance of the King; there would be plenty who would flock to her side, plenty who
would risk their own lives to shelter her. This would take time – and all his resources.

Well, he could make a start, and perhaps in the meantime, he could get close enough to Selar to make the search for Rosalind unnecessary. Yes, this might work out for the best after all.

With a self-satisfied smile, Nash stripped off his clothes and went to bed.

*

‘I tell you, Governor, this is something the King will want to know about.’

Osbert glanced up at Chancellor Ingram, finished his mouthful and wiped a fine lace cloth across his lips. ‘What would you have me do? Charge into the King’s bedchamber and tell him all his enemies are ready to pounce?’

Ingram threw up his hands and flopped down into a chair pulled out from the table. ‘You’re the only one I can approach, Osbert. I tried talking to Brome, but he’s too afraid of the King to cross something like this. Eachern’s too thick – and besides, he’s off on his own tearing rage now his bride-to-be has disappeared with the Queen. Vaughn’s in Marsay licking his wounds and you’re the only councillor left who can think straight enough to broach the subject with the King.’

Osbert laid his napkin on the table beside his plate and waved the servant away. Ingram was a mousy little man who rarely spoke out of turn, but he played an invaluable part on the council. He’d once been a minor functionary in Tirone’s court, but Selar had noticed how efficient the man was and, before the conquest, had stolen him away. Ingram had worked quietly in the background for the last sixteen years. He was no soldier, but an extraordinary administrator – able to organize the most cumbersome army, the most pompous event or the most delicate negotiations. He was no statesman, but he knew almost everyone worth knowing, and as such he held an even more enviable position.

Osbert pursed his lips. ‘Are you sure of your information?’

Ingram sprang forward, spreading his hands on the table before him. ‘I know you have spies everywhere, Osbert, but
your people aren’t going to notice the kind of things my connections see. Isolated, you can sweep it aside. Together, when viewed from a distance, I have to say I’m afraid of what will happen if the King doesn’t do something.’

Osbert leaned back and steepled his hands together. ‘If Brome knows about this, then he can come with us. Where is the King now?’

‘You know he never rises before midday any more. His pages were bringing water for him to wash as I passed by just now.’

‘Very well,’ Osbert nodded. ‘We’ll collect the good bishop on our way.’

*

Nash lifted the door of his tent and glanced outside. Nobody was paying him any attention. All the better. He turned back to the two men standing in the centre of the room: Lisson and Taymar, brothers. His best men. He would need such quality before this job was done.

‘Lady Valena will receive your message by tomorrow night, master, but I should warn you, Pascoe may be difficult to find at this time.’ Lisson glanced at his silent brother. Only a year apart in age, they were almost identical and were often assumed to be twins. They had an almost uncanny ability to know what the other was thinking. When together, Lisson almost always did the talking.

Nash nodded and crossed the room to finish dressing. As he picked up his jacket, he glanced at Taymar. ‘Pascoe is most likely to be south. The last orders I gave him were to clear up that band harassing Dunlorn lands. They’re wasted there now that I have killed the Enemy. I want that band positioned no more than a league away from this camp. Let me know when they arrive and I’ll come out myself. In the meantime, find out what you can about the Queen. Somebody must be helping her. Somebody very capable.’

Lisson collected Nash’s sword and held it out for Nash to strap on. ‘Is it possible, master, that the renegade Duke of Haddon has helped her?’

Nash chuckled dryly. ‘I think not. Dunlorn is too far south. Rosalind would have been caught by now. Besides, he
made a vow to Selar. He wouldn’t break it for the sake of a woman. He’s well out of the picture. Taymar, you get going. You’ve a lot of country to get under you by tonight.’

‘Yes, master.’ Taymar bowed and backed out of the tent.

‘Stay here, Lisson. Out of sight. I’m off to see the King.’

*

Ingram entered the royal pavilion first. Osbert brought up the rear, keeping Brome within his sights. He’d puffed and dithered at Osbert’s insistence, but eventually he’d given in. There was no doubt that he expected Osbert to do all the talking.

Selar was dressed and eating his first meal of the day – at two in the afternoon. At first glance, he appeared to have had no rest at all, but looking at the red-rimmed eyes and grey skin, Osbert couldn’t help wondering if this was some kind of fever rather than some demon rumoured to plague the King.

There was no doubt at all that Selar’s awesome strength was fading. Osbert glanced at his cohorts. If they’d noticed a worsening since the previous day, they weren’t showing it.

‘Well?’ Selar barked, pulling strips off a wedge of chicken. ‘How many patrols have we lost now?’

This was Osbert’s area. He clasped his hands together and replied, ‘There are five who have yet to report in.’

‘Where?’

‘All over. There’s no pattern, nothing we can chase after. It’s anyone’s guess what’s happened to them.’

‘Guess?’ Selar snapped. ‘Just when did I give you permission to provide me with guesses, Governor?’

‘Forgive me, Sire, I merely?’

‘Don’t grovel, Osbert.’ Selar shoved his plate away.

Grovel? Osbert had done many things in his time, but he’d never grovelled! Nor would he, not even to this half-demented shadow!

‘Sire,’ Ingram stepped forward and Osbert shot him a sharp glance. So he’d found the courage after all?

‘I feel I must pass on some intelligence I have just received this morning.’

‘Has somebody seen that whore?’

Osbert closed his eyes briefly. To address the Queen in such a manner was not seemly – even under these circumstances. Before Ingram could do any more damage, Osbert reached out gently and touched his elbow, drawing him back. Then he turned to the King and put on his most reasonable face. That’s when he noticed Nash. Standing in the corner, unobtrusive as always.

Had Selar forgiven him his alleged crime? So quickly? What had Nash done in the first place and why was he here, now, back beside the King?

‘Are you going to stand there all day, Osbert?’ Selar commanded his attention once more and Osbert took a deep breath.

‘We have received reports from all over the country. Also from Sadlan and Tusina. News of the Queen’s abduction has somehow passed our borders. Our neighbours have heard and have already begun to calculate the damage to your throne. They also speculate who is behind such a gross act. I must also add that they have assumed for themselves that the Prince was with the Queen when she was taken. This in itself has excited their activities. I have word that Borallain of Sadlan has already moved troops through the desert in an approach to our border.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous! How could he have reacted so quickly? Does he have spies in my court?’

‘None that we know of, Sire.’

‘Then look again!’ Selar slammed his hand down on the table and glared at Osbert. ‘What else have you? Anything from Mayenne?’

At this, Osbert glanced again at Ingram. The Chancellor shook his head slightly. ‘Not a word, Sire. I must say, however, that silence in itself is not necessarily a good sign.’

‘Not where my blasted brother is concerned.’

‘Er . . . yes, Sire.’

Selar’s gaze turned steely and he turned his head slightly to address Nash. ‘Where’s Eachern?’

‘About three hours west, Sire.’

‘Get him back here.’

‘But Sire,’ Osbert held up his hands. ‘His Grace is needed in that area. It is not inconceivable that the Queen—’

‘The Queen will go nowhere near the Goleth range,’ Selar snapped. ‘She’s far too superstitious. I want Eachern back here, where I can see him.’

Osbert had no choice but to argue this. There was always the possibility, sitting on Selar’s council, that a man would one day say the wrong thing and end up in prison. Look what had happened to McCauly. Then again, it was his duty to speak. ‘Forgive me, Sire, but surely you don’t suspect Eachern had anything to do with the Queen’s abduction?’

‘I never bother suspecting anyone, Osbert. I just look and know. Eachern has had his plans nipped in the bud. I don’t want him getting ideas about changing sides and running off to my brother. I’ve already had one cousin betray me. I have no intention of chancing another. Eachern hasn’t the intelligence to turn on me – but he does have the motivation now he’s lost his little strumpet.’

Selar came to his feet and put his hands on the table, towering over them all. ‘Anything else?’

Osbert had come this far, he couldn’t leave with only half the job done. He swallowed uncomfortably, but continued nonetheless, ‘Sire, with news of your heir having been abducted, our neighbours getting restless, the sovereignty of your reign will come into question.’

‘My reign . . .’ Selar’s voice trailed off and he frowned. He was silent a long time, then said, ‘Come on, out with it, man!’

‘Secure yourself, Sire. Direct the patrols to cover many small areas. Send all your remaining troops to your borders.’

Brome chose this moment to voice his opinion. ‘We should also round up any known opponents of your reign, Sire. Any dissident roaming free at the moment would only make heavy capital out of your troubles. There should be no alternative, no replacement ready to take your throne. Without an heir to follow you, this is what your opponents will be thinking. If you cut them off now, you confine your problems to a single concern.’

Selar stared at them each in turn, then closed his eyes slowly and dropped his head. He lifted a hand to dismiss
them. ‘Very well, do what you like. Draw up a list of those you would have me arrest. I want to look at it before you do anything.’

‘Yes, Sire,’ Osbert bowed and began to usher the other two out of the tent. Before they could withdraw however, Selar threw one final comment after them.

‘I warn you, don’t even dream of putting Robert Douglas’s name at the top!’

*

Lewis dipped his pen in the ink one last time and scratched his name at the bottom of the letter. Then he folded the paper and dripped wax on to the break. He pressed his ring against the wax and waited for the impression to take.

Nash was back beside the King and still no one knew why he’d been sent away in the first place. They were very quiet, those two, almost secretive.

And now Selar had refused to list Dunlorn as a possible danger. Was Vaughn right? As each day went by, Lewis saw more evidence that there might be some connection between the dark Guildesman and the former councillor.

What could they be up to?

Taking the letter, Lewis rose and left his tent. He summoned the nearest guard and sent the letter on its way to Vaughn.

*

It was the commotion outside his tent that woke Nash from a deep sleep. It was black as the bowels of hell, an hour of night when nobody wanted to be awake. Somebody was whispering violently, urgently. Lisson was arguing back.

‘What’s going on out there?’

‘I’m sorry, master.’ Lisson appeared with a lantern in his hand. Following close behind was Osbert, an embroidered robe thrown carelessly over his nightshirt.

‘You have to come, Nash. Now!’ Osbert hissed, his eyes blinking against lost sleep. ‘It’s the King. He’s drunk and tearing the place down. We can’t control him. We have to get him quiet. If word of this should leak out . . .’

Nash was already out of bed. He threw on some clothes and strode out of his tent. Within seconds he was outside
the door to Selar’s bedchamber. The sound of crashing furniture was loud enough to wake the camp.

Inside, Forb’ez was trying to limit the damage being inflicted by Selar, roaring drunk and stumbling around the littered room like a wounded bear. Nash took one look at him and gestured the others back. He moved forward until Selar could see him and Nash could see his eyes.

Yes. It was there. All of it. The memory, the nightmare, the terror. This was no drunken rage. This was a man slipping into insanity from weeks – months – without proper sleep.

It was time.

‘You can all go back to bed now,’ Nash murmured, keeping his eyes on Selar. ‘I’ll take care of him.’

Forb’ez hesitated until Nash added, ‘By all means, wait outside. The King needs some rest. I’ll give him a tonic and sit with him until he sleeps.’

Slowly they left and Nash was alone with Selar, who was teetering on his feet like a felled tree waiting to crash. Nash moved closer, ready to catch him. ‘Let me help you, Sire. I can, you know.’