Voice Of The Demon (Book 2) (19 page)

‘We have to get her out of here, Robert. There’s no telling when Valena will come back. We’ve been lucky so far, but we can’t afford to push it.’

‘I agree,’ Robert nodded, his eyes still searching Ayn’s face. Her eyes were still closed and she was rambling, not making any sense. He brushed the side of her face again to comfort her and she was quiet again.

With gentle hands they lifted her from the bed. She was so light and frail Robert was afraid they would break her.

‘I’ll carry her,’ Murdoch murmured, putting one arm beneath her shoulders, the other under her legs. ‘You take care of the menace in the next room. You’re better qualified.’

Robert nodded, but as they came to the door, the boy was ready for them, his sword raised to come down on Ayn—

The demon rose. Full-blooded, stretched taut against Robert’s control, seething fury and hatred. Robert’s hand shot up and a bolt of blinding white light blasted across the room. It hit the young man and smashed him back against the wall, dead.

‘By the gods, Robert!’ Murdoch hissed. ‘How did you do that?’

Horrified, Robert stumbled across the room and fell to his knees beside the body. He gulped in air, but nothing could stop the tremor in his hands. It was gone now, the demon. Vanished with the life of this boy.

‘Robert, come, we have to move.’

‘Yes . . .’ The boy was dead, there was no denying that. There was a gaping wound across his chest, burned and blackened. His blue eyes stared through a fringe of blond hair. He couldn’t have been more than seventeen.

‘Murdoch, come here. Does he look familiar to you?’ So familiar . . . in the same way Jenn had when he’d first met her . . .

Robert reached down and tore the shoulder of the boy’s shirt open. There, as though etched in blood, was the Mark. A House Mark. Campbell.

‘By all that’s holy, what have I done?’

‘Robert, please,’ Murdoch insisted. ‘I can’t hold her for ever. We must get out, now.’

‘Yes, yes.’ Robert swallowed his horror and came to his feet. He turned away from the body of Keith Campbell and led Murdoch up the stairs. The moment they were back in the street, they turned up the hill to where John waited.

‘She’s alive?’

‘Yes, but she’s very sick. We have to get her to a Healer.’ Robert glanced back down the street, then ushered them
around the corner. They had to keep moving away from the house.

‘We’ll never get her all the way across town without being noticed,’ John said, frowning up at Robert. ‘Murdoch’s place is too far away. I know somewhere close.’

‘Is it safe?’

‘Safer than these streets.’

John led them higher up the hill, turned down a short alley where the end was blocked by a wall. A wall that looked oddly familiar. In the centre was a door. Without pausing, John pulled out a key and opened the door. He showed them through, down a short passage and into an empty cloister.

‘Wait here,’ he whispered. ‘You shouldn’t be seen. This part of the abbey is kept for visiting clergy. I have to go and get a key for one of the rooms. I won’t be long.’

The bells of the Basilica struck the half hour as John disappeared. Had it really only taken that long to go into the house, find Ayn and get her out? Had it really been so quick a task to go in and lose control of the demon?

Keith Campbell. Dead. Latham Campbell’s grandson, abducted during the Troubles – just like the McGlashen boy killed with the band of raiders. Just like Jenn.

Murdoch was eyeing him warily. ‘How many times have you done that?’

‘What? Killed?’ Robert replied dryly.

‘No,’ Murdoch frowned, unamused. ‘Used that. . . power?’

Robert shook his head and looked away. ‘Too many times.’ Far too many. But always before he’d used it in full control. Never before had it just leaped out of him. Never before had he simply struck out of rage.

Was the Key right after all, would his anger win in the end? Was this demon so strong that he would never be safe – and how many more people would he kill before the Key’s demands were satisfied?

John appeared suddenly out of the shadows, a smile of triumph on his face. He led them to a door, unlocked it and ushered them inside, closing the door behind them. Murdoch laid Ayn down on the bed while John pulled rugs out of a
chest. Robert knelt down beside her, lifted a cup of water to her lips. She took a few drops and swallowed noisily.

‘How do you feel?’ Robert asked, trying desperately to See her wounds.

‘Doesn’t matter,’ Ayn whispered, her eyes still closed. ‘You must get out of here, Robert. All of you. It’s not safe. He will come for me again. He’ll find me. He knows me now and he will find me.’

‘Who? Who took you? Was he Malachi?’

‘No. Not Malachi. The woman, yes. Not the demon.’

Demon? Who was she talking about? Why had she used that name?

‘Tell me about him, Ayn. Do you know his name? What he looks like?’

‘Evil. He looks like evil.’ Ayn tossed her head about, her breathing going ragged. ‘Please, he will come for me. You must leave me and go.’

‘We’re safe here, Ayn. I won’t let anything happen to you.’

Ayn’s hand abruptly reached out and grabbed his sleeve. For all her injuries, there was still some strength there. ‘Robert, please. You must listen to me. It’s you he wants.’

Robert shook his head. ‘It’s all right. . .’

‘No! You don’t understand. I can’t remember his face, can’t even remember what he said to me. All I know is that he is the spirit of Broleoch and he is looking for you.’

‘But why?’ Robert glanced at Murdoch and John. Both were equally mystified.

Ayn let her head rest on the pillow, her lips opening in a painful smile, ‘You, my dear, sweet, Robert, are his enemy. Remember? The Key told us. You are the Enemy. But not the enemy of the Enclave. You are the demon’s Enemy – and he knows it. He just doesn’t know who you are. As long as he doesn’t know, you are safe.’

She lapsed into silence then and Robert coaxed a few more drops of water between her lips. ‘John, how long can we stay here before somebody notices?’

‘You’ll have to leave before dawn. You could stay the whole day in here, but I would never get a Healer in without being seen. I think she needs help urgently.’

‘I agree. Murdoch, can you arrange horses and a litter? If we can get her to Parly’s farm, we can nurse her in safety. It’s only a league from the city walls. If we go slowly she should be all right.’

‘No, Robert!’ Ayn found his hand, forced her blind eyes open. ‘You must listen – the demon will find me anywhere I go. I can’t even go back to the Enclave. If you’re with me he’ll find you, too. I’m dying, Robert. I know. Please, leave me and go. I cannot bear to be responsible for your destruction. We need you too much. Only you are strong enough to fight him.’ She paused long enough to take a ragged breath. ‘Give me Convocation.’

Robert snatched his hand away. ‘No! Never.’

‘You must, Robert. You cannot refuse. Though no oath binds you to the Enclave, you are still one of us, subject to the same laws. You have no choice. This is the only way all of us can be safe from the demon. Give me Convocation, Robert. I ask out of pity and of love. It must be your hand and no other.’

She was right. He had no choice. Once asked, Convocation must be given. He dropped his head and nodded. He took her cold fingers between his and squeezed gently. ‘Very well. I give you Convocation with the love and honour I owe you. May your gathering be all you richly deserve.’

‘Thank you, Robert,’ Ayn breathed, relief removing the frown from her lined face. ‘Go in peace with the gods.’

With that, Robert leaned forward and kissed her forehead. Then he set her hands together and sank back on his heels. He could hear John murmuring a prayer in the background. Murdoch came close, kissed Ayn’s bruised cheek, then stepped back against the wall, his hands folded together in front of him.

Robert reached out with his left hand and traced a triangle on Ayn’s forehead. Then he touched the point between her eyes, summoning up the power from deep within himself, a power wholly unlike that which he’d used to kill the boy. He held it tightly in his hand and waited for it to merge with Ayn’s dwindling reserves. A filmy blue light appeared as his hand moved down to her shoulder and followed across to
the other, two sides of the trium. As his hand moved to complete it, Ayn smiled. His finger touched her forehead again and the triangle was complete, the merging finished. Under his control now, he twisted and snapped. Ayn stiffened, let out a breath – and vanished.

Robert stared at the empty bed for a long time. All that was left of her was a narrow line of ash on the clean linen, the remnants of a long and rich life.

A hand squeezed his shoulder and John’s voice came to him. ‘It was her choice, Robert. She’s with the gods now. With Marcus. These ashes are but the remains of her body, no more. I’ll scatter them under the oak that stands within the cloister, on hallowed ground.’

‘Thank you.’ Robert’s voice was a harsh whisper. Empty and void, he came to his feet but he couldn’t bring himself to look at Murdoch.

‘John’s right. Convocation was her choice. Much better she go like that than at the hands of this demon.’

From one demon to another. Was there really a difference?

Robert didn’t argue. There was no point. They wouldn’t understand what he was talking about.

‘We’d better go, Robert.’

He heard John turn for the door, heard it open – then heard John gasp.

‘I hope you have a very good explanation for taking the keys, Father.’

That voice . . . so very familiar. Robert stiffened and didn’t dare turn around – but he had to, slowly, until he faced the door and the man who stood within the frame, his clerical robes falling to the floor like the wings of an avenging angel. Yes, it was Godfrey. He was frowning, extremely unhappy. He looked from John to Murdoch and then to Robert. His eyes glanced over the disguise without recognition and returned to John.

‘Well. . .’ his voice trailed off and slowly his gaze came back. The frown deepened, his mouth opened and he took a step forward. ‘Is that . . . Robert? Is it you?’

It was so good to see a friendly face, Robert couldn’t help smiling. He pulled his cap off and nodded. ‘I’m afraid so.’

Godfrey strode into the room to give Robert a quick violent embrace. Shock made his voice shudder, but his mind was working just fine. ‘I know I probably shouldn’t ask – but what are you doing here? And within the cloister?’

‘Would you believe I’m thinking about entering the priesthood?’

‘Then it’s time I left it. And I suppose Father John was giving you instruction?’

‘Unwillingly.’ Robert met Godfrey’s even gaze. ‘I wish you hadn’t found us.’

‘And you want me to say nothing about your secret return to Marsay, is that it?’

‘I’m afraid so.’

‘And you won’t tell me what you’re doing here. Do you plan to stay?’

‘No, I’ll be out the city gates the moment they open at dawn.’

‘I see.’ Godfrey glanced at John, then back at Robert. ‘I don’t suppose I could convince you to remain? Even for another day?’

‘The gods themselves couldn’t make me spend another night in this city, my friend.’

‘Very well.’ Godfrey nodded. ‘In that case, I’ll let you go. But I warn you, next time I won’t be nice about it. We have a lot of catching up to do. I heard about Finnlay. I’m very sorry. How is your mother?’

Robert swallowed. ‘She’s well enough.’

‘Perhaps I’ll come and visit you one day,’ Godfrey said, standing back to let him go. ‘I’ve missed you.’

From nowhere, Robert produced a chuckle. ‘Then you’re getting soft in your old age, Deacon. Missing me is easy – having me back is the hard part.’

The doubled guard changed at midnight and patrolled the walls of his castle. They were wary and jumpy – and why not? Hadn’t they been told by the Guilde Proctor himself that the country was full of sorcerers?

Selar sighed and gazed down into the courtyard from his bedroom window. Only the night guard was awake now. And the King. Another night without sleep. Another perilous night battling a shade he could neither forget nor forgive.

And now Nash was gone, too. Banished in the flesh more easily than the sorcerer in his dreams.

But he’d even admitted it! Calmly. Without so much as an apology. No hesitancy, nothing. Just: I am a sorcerer, Sire – as though he were remarking on the quality of the horses!

Lies. Damned deceit, betrayal, and all of it coming from that all-pervading evil.

Would Nash come back?

Had he even left?

No. Vaughn would find him; hunt Nash down without ever knowing that it was one of his own beloved Guilde who broke their sacred laws with his hell-born powers. Serve them both right!

Selar turned away from the window and paced up and down again as he had so many nights recently, a prisoner in this waking hell.

And Carlan? Selar had never even guessed that he was a sorcerer. Just like Nash. Not until that awful moment by the river. Only then had the truth come out. Only then had Selar understood how he had been used, fooled, duped – almost consumed. Would Nash have done the same thing? Would Nash . . .

Exhausted, Selar fell to his knees. The rich carpet beneath him felt like straw, his soft robes like hessian. No penitent pilgrim had ever suffered like this, plagued by something he
could not stop, could not even control. People would notice soon and then his power would begin to fade.

By the gods, why could he not shake off this shade?

With a groan, he reached for the nearest table, where a bowl and jug of water had been laid for him to wash in. He grabbed the jug and up-ended it over his head. There was no refreshment.

He lifted his head and bellowed. ‘Forb’ez!’

The door opened instantly and his servant stuck his head in. His ghostly white hair and colourless eyes accompanied a face as immaculately composed as ever. ‘Yes, Sire?’

Selar stared at him for a moment, then grunted, ‘Bring me some wine. Not that sickly stuff from Banderyn, but the stronger one. The dark red from last night.’

‘Of course, Sire.’

As Forb’ez vanished, Selar was alone again. Alone with a distant memory and a terribly close present. It seemed there was to be no rest again tonight, just the nightmare – without even Nash’s potions to ease the hours by.