Voice Of The Demon (Book 2) (28 page)

Patric glanced at Robert and saw the suppressed smile accompanying the prodding tone. ‘Simple, eh? If it’s so simple, why can’t I do it?’

‘Because you keep trying to rush it. That’s all. Take your time. Practise. Sometimes you can be as bad as Finnlay.’

‘And how long did it take him to ride a horse like this?’

Robert raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips. ‘About an hour – but don’t be discouraged. You’ll learn, eventually.’

‘Sure, after I’ve fallen off another dozen times.’

Robert laughed again as they left the glade. They followed a trickling stream up out of the trees and back on to the open moor. There was warmth in the sun, but the snapping wind whipped it away before it could sink in. Heather rustled in a whispering chime, all purple and brown like a moving carpet. There was not a soul in sight.

‘I think it’s time I was getting back to the Enclave,’ Patric said, bringing his horse to a stop. The view was enormous, empty and yet full, a bleak reminder of his old enclosed life. ‘I do have work to do and if I don’t leave soon, the weather will play against me.’

Robert was silent and when Patric turned to look at him, he saw only a profile. His expression was impenetrable, a look which had appeared with increasing regularity since Robert had returned from Marsay with the news of Ayn. To the casual observer, Robert appeared to be his usual self, but underneath, there was a hardness that had never been there before.

‘What do you know about prophecy?’ Robert’s voice was low, and so quiet Patric could hardly hear it above the wind and the heather.

‘No more than you do.’ Patric kept his gaze on Robert, his tone level. ‘We have hundreds of prophecies, churned out over a thousand years. Prophecies about the weather, the gods, great battles, saints, everything. They rarely come true and when they do, there’s no proof that the prophecy had anything to do with it.’

‘And what about a prophecy given to us by the Key? How many times has that happened?’

Patric didn’t have an answer. This was the first time Robert had broached the subject, but the way he spoke, his tone, the set of his shoulders – he’d already made up his own mind. He just wanted Patric to argue in order to prove to himself that he was right.

‘Well?’

Patric formed his reply. ‘To my knowledge, the Key doesn’t prophesy. But then, I haven’t read all the older books in the library. For all I know, it once could have been a daily occurrence.’

‘Don’t dissemble, Pat. I want the truth.’

‘Very well. I read about one, once. Only one reference was ever made to it – at least, that still survives.’

‘And?’

‘It was very vague. So vague, I can’t even quote the exact line. It had something to do with a particular event that was supposed to happen at a particular time. It never said what it was supposed to be – but from the date of the book and the other references, my calculations indicated the expected event was to happen some two hundred years ago.’

‘And did it?’

‘How should I know?’ Patric said. ‘As I said, there was only the one reference to it. What do you want from me, Robert? I’m not an oracle.’

‘A pity.’ Robert looked up, a wry smile on his face. ‘Tell me what you think our prophecy means, Pat. Your honest opinion, now. Don’t mind my feelings.’

Patric stared at him a moment and shook his head. This man was more changeable than the Lusaran weather. He swung his leg over the horse and jumped to the ground. As Robert joined him, they walked along the hilltop, ignoring the autumn breeze and its chill.

‘I don’t know what it means. Until we find out more, it’s impossible to guess. The Key has never done anything to harm the Enclave, only to protect it. You’re the only one who thinks the opposite.’ Patric paused. ‘I think the Key
wants you to do something that must keep you out of the Enclave.’

‘Well, you’re right, there,’ Robert grunted, making Patric glance at him in surprise.

‘What does that mean?’

Robert didn’t answer, only smiled bitterly.

It was more than Patric could stand. It was time he knocked some of that bitterness out of the old renegade. ‘If you’d stayed at the Enclave, even Stood the Circle, it would mean you wouldn’t be out here in the real world. And if you’re not out here, the Bonding will never happen.’

That wiped the smile off Robert’s face. His jaw became set, his eyes hard as steel. ‘The Bonding will never happen anyway, Pat, regardless of what the Key says.’

‘And why is that?’ Patric stood his ground.

‘If I told you to ride into the nearest town and reveal that you’re a sorcerer, would you do it? If I told you to tell everyone you saw that there’s an Enclave of sorcerers in the Goleth mountains, would you do it?’

‘But what has that. . . ?’

‘Would you?’ Robert snapped.

‘No.’

‘Why not? You said you trusted me. You said you believed in me. If that’s so, then you should, by rights, do exactly what I say. Would you just do as I say without using your own judgement? Would you ask no questions, just take what I say as an irrefutable truth?’

There was no answer to that. Patric dropped his head and played with the reins in his hands. Robert stood close for a few seconds, then turned away, his gaze returning to the horizon.

‘How is Finnlay dealing with living at the Enclave?’

‘Not well. He wouldn’t mind it if it wasn’t forced on him.’

Robert smiled a little. ‘Poor Finn. It’s so at odds with what he’s always loved. What he’s always wanted.’

Patric watched him a moment. ‘But Robert, what about . . .’

‘No, Pat, no more prophecy. I’ll keep fighting the Key.
There’s more than one kind of demon to be fought, Pat, and that one is enough for me.’

Robert moved around his horse and leaped up into the saddle. As Patric scrambled on to his horse, Robert added, ‘Wilf did me a favour, banishing me. It’s better this way. Better that I cut all ties to the Enclave. I know my brother is there and I wish he wasn’t – but wishes have got me nowhere. It’s the only way to reduce the risk of—’ He broke off and turned to face Patric. ‘I’m sorry you have to leave, Pat. I’ll miss you. But if you do go, don’t come back here. Ever.’

*

The smell of fresh hay and dried oats filled the stable with a rich, pungent perfume. The animals within the stalls nestled contentedly in the warmth, their thoughts on physical comfort alone, peace and quiet.

Patric squatted on a mounting stool, his feet dug into piles of sweet hay. He kicked them around as he waited.

Micah finished with the grey stallion and emerged from the stall, a saddle across his arm, bridle over his shoulder. Patric sprang up and followed him down the length of the stable.

‘I tell you, Micah, he’s cutting himself off from everyone. From me, from Finnlay – even his mother. I’m sure he’ll find some excuse to get rid of you too.’

Micah lumped the saddle over a bar, hung the bridle on its hook. ‘He’s already tried once.’

‘Oh?’ Patric came to a halt. ‘Then you agree with me?’

‘How can I not? But what can we do about it?’

Patric slumped against the wall, his arms folded. ‘Not much, I’m sure. It just worries me to see him like this. I have to return to the caves, but I’m terrified of leaving him alone.’

‘He won’t be alone, Patric,’ Micah murmured. ‘We must just pray that something happens to ease this . . . thing that’s going on in his head.’

‘You don’t think he’s right, do you? And what about that business of there being more than one kind of demon? The only demon I know of is the one who took Ayn. Robert’s supposed to be his enemy, not ours. What is he talking about?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘But you don’t seem to be that worried by it all. Do you know something?’

‘Nothing more than what you’ve told me, what he’s told me.’ Micah shrugged. ‘I can only watch from the sidelines. All I know is that he never gives his word about something unless he knows he can keep it.’

‘And where does that leave me?’ Patric said, only a little comforted.

‘Late for dinner.’ Micah grinned. ‘If you want to stay on Lady Margaret’s good side, I suggest you go and wash now.’

Patric nodded and left the stable. There was hot water and fresh linen laid out for him in his rooms, but in his haste, he knocked the water all over his clean trousers. Changing again did make him late and he arrived downstairs, breathless, to find Robert and Lady Margaret waiting for him in the winter parlour. It was still light outside, so there were only a couple of candles lit on the table. Robert wouldn’t meet his gaze, but Margaret did.

‘You didn’t rush on our account, did you?’

‘No, my lady – or rather, yes, I did. Robert is always telling me that my manners are terrible. I’m sorry I kept you waiting.’

‘Please, sit down, Patric. You’re our guest and we wait upon you.’ With that, Margaret smiled and poured him some wine. Plates of steaming longfish were brought in, swimming in a sauce of basil and thyme. Suddenly Patric realized how hungry he was. All that fresh air this afternoon had done real damage to his appetite.

‘I had a letter this morning, Mother, from Flan-har.’ Robert said between mouthfuls.

‘Grant Kavanagh? Why didn’t you tell me earlier?’

‘You were busy. He asked me to pass on his regards and his hopes of your good health.’

‘Oh?’ Margaret didn’t appear impressed. ‘What did he want?’

‘News, nothing more. He’s still annoyed I haven’t been to visit since I came back to Lusara.’

‘Why don’t you? He’s only three or four days’ travel away.
Now that the old Duke is dead, I’m sure you two would be able to enjoy yourselves in peace.’

Was there an undercurrent here, something between the words mother and son exchanged so politely? Who was this Grant Kavanagh and why would the old Duke’s death make a difference – and why did Margaret want Robert to go away for a while?

Patric didn’t have the chance to ask. Margaret was addressing him directly. ‘I apologize, Patric. Has Robert never mentioned his old friend from our neighbouring state? The two of them were quite inseparable at one time. Grant Kavanagh was sent here for a year by his father – supposedly to enhance his education. As the heir, Grant was expected to sit by my husband’s side and learn all he could of courts, assizes and government.’

Margaret paused, waiting for Patric to say something. He glanced at Robert, who continued his meal as though the conversation was not even happening.

‘Should I take it that his education was not improved?’

‘Oh, I’m sure he learned a great many things,’ Margaret replied lightly, ‘when he was around. What he did at other times, I know not. I’m sure my son would be able to enlarge on that topic better than I. What do you say, Robert?’

Without even looking up, Robert replied, ‘Grant has ruled his independent dukedom with wisdom and competence for the last seven years. I can’t see how his year at Dunlorn harmed him in any way. Perhaps I will go and visit him, as you suggest, Mother. If nothing else I can bring you back further news of his exploits.’

If it was intended as a barb, Margaret ignored it. She turned back to Patric. ‘Robert sees little of his childhood friends these days. I am pleased you, at least, have kept in touch with him. You never did tell me how you met.’

Patric paused as another plate was placed in front of him, this one with roasted beef surrounded by thick white almond milk and slices of onion.

‘We met many years ago, Mother. I’m not sure Patric even remembers.’

Patric ignored him. ‘I could never forget it, my lady. Your son knocked me down.’

‘He knocked you down?’

‘Quite by accident, he insists. My teacher, Brother Boniface, was not impressed, however. We were both punished, as I recall. Fortunately, your son was not long at the abbey, otherwise we might have ended up real enemies. As it is . . .’

Margaret was generous enough to smile. ‘This was when you were nine or so? When Robert went to Saint Mark’s?’

‘That’s right.’

‘But you did not stay and take holy orders?’

Patric shrugged, digging into the succulent beef. ‘I had no vocation. I work as a lay brother now, teaching.’

‘And you enjoy it?’

Patric nodded. ‘I prefer to contribute what I can rather than profess a vocation I don’t feel. The little I can do helps inexorably towards the greater wealth. I feel it’s my duty to give back in return for what I received. Who knows what great mind I may help in developing?’

‘An admirable principle,’ Margaret said. ‘And if you found you’d developed a vocation? Would you take vows?’

‘Without hesitation.’

Margaret smiled, but Robert put down his knife and stood. ‘If you will excuse me, Mother, I have something I must attend to.’ He didn’t spare a glance for Patric, leaving the room in complete silence.

With a sigh, Margaret hung her head and murmured, ‘I keep praying for him but nobody seems to be listening.’

Patric reached over to refill her cup with sweetened wine. With as much confidence as he could voice, he replied, ‘Then now is not the time to stop.’

*

Robert took the last few steps two at a time and came out on to the battlement in the remaining evening light. He greeted the guard standing watch and moved along the stone path, a steadying hand against the rampart. The air was cool but fresh, almost welcoming.

‘There you are!’ Robert called to Micah, who was leaning over the edge of the wall. ‘Don’t jump. It’s a long way down.’

Micah straightened up and fought off a smile. ‘But you’re always telling me I should try new things, my lord. What if it turns out I can fly?’

‘And if you can’t, you’ll never get to spend the silver sovereign I owe you.’ Robert joined him on the corner tower. ‘For what use have birds for silver?’

Micah raised his eyebrows. ‘I was right?’

‘Once again, yes. Here, listen.’ Robert reached into his doublet and pulled out the letter from Grant. By the last of the fading daylight, he read, ‘Robert my dear friend, you have, of course, my deepest sympathies on the early and tragic demise of your dear brother. No doubt he will live on in our memories as a passionate but incomplete sorcerer, weighed down by the pressure of the Guilde’s demands. I suspect they will use this as an excuse to go on another pogrom to clean your country of such filth. Do say, my dark angelic friend, if you need the services of an independent army, one which owes allegiance only to me. There are such dividends to be enjoyed in ruling my own state. Perhaps you would consider joining me in that condition? With our borders joined, no King or Guilde would dare cross and we would both be safe to enjoy whatever pleasures we chose.’