Voice Of The Demon (Book 2) Read Free

deliver it yourself. I trust you to give him a faithful copy.’
    ‘Of course, Archdeacon.’ John rose to his feet, gathering his things with trembling hands. Hilderic had as much as signed his own death warrant.
    He was outside in the corridor again before he dared glance at the words he’d scrawled. He couldn’t give Brome a letter like this! But John didn’t have the authority to change it.
    Taking a deep breath, John turned and walked down the passage until he reached the tiny chapel of Saint Catherine.The door was open and inside, seated on a chair before the altar, his head in his hands, was Godfrey.
    John should have moved on. It wasn’t polite to disturb a brother’s prayer – but he couldn’t. There was something of desperation in Godfrey’s demeanour, worn frustration and weariness. For someone so competent and brilliant, Godfrey looked to be facing the end of his world.
    After a moment, John moved and Godfrey glanced up. Their gaze met for a long minute, then, straightening up, Godfrey waved John into the chapel.
    ‘How bad is it?’
    Without hesitating, John held the page out and watched Godfrey read. The Deacon reached the end of the page, then came to his feet. He crossed to the votive candle suspended above the altar and touched the paper to the flame. As it took light, Godfrey glanced back at John. ‘The first draft is never the best, is it, Father?’
    ‘No, Deacon.’ John sighed with relief. ‘Never.’
    *
    The Guilde Hall echoed with the clamour of a hundred voices. The noise rose to the vaulted roof and rattled around, gaining strength, before descending again. Vaughn raised his hands and came to his feet. Slowly the noise diminished as all attention focused on the dais. Vaughn clasped his hands together and gazed across the vast room at all the faithful faces turned towards him. They were afraid and shocked and completely unready for what faced them – but face it they would.
    ‘It should come as no surprise to you that we might find sorcery again within our shores.’ Vaughn lifted his voice above their heads, clear and full. ‘Five hundred years ago we stood alongside the old empire and battled against the evil that had worked its way into our lives. We won that war, defeating our enemy. We chased them across two continents and dedicated our sacred duty to the complete eradication of all those who dabbled in the arcane. Why do you find the prospect of a similar battle horrifying? Have we grown weak over the centuries? Is our sacred duty less than that of our ancestors?’
    Vaughn put his hands on the table before him and leaned forward. ‘The Guilde never made the assumption that we were successful in our bid to destroy every single sorcerer. Certainly the people believed it, but we’ve all heard the stories of reputed sightings a century and more ago. Hope would have us believe that there are no more sorcerers – but simple sense insists we must expect some survivors, perhaps even a whole community of them!’
    The Hall erupted. Guildesmen rose to their feet and cried out, but Vaughn didn’t hear the words, just the sentiment. This time he raised only one hand and allowed them to see a smile. And why shouldn’t he smile? In weeks, perhaps even days, he would have the evidence he’d been waiting years for. Evidence so he could prove to everyone that sorcery was real – and that Robert Douglas was guilty of the most awful of crimes. How delicious, too, that young Finnlay should be the one to be discovered, that he should be the instrument of his own brother’s downfall. Years before, when Robert had been on Selar’s council – already an enemy – Vaughn had paid particular note of young Finnlay as he visited his brother in Marsay. It hadn’t taken Vaughn long to work out that he was a sorcerer, but Robert had stopped him before he could do anything about it and cast some evil spell on him. Vaughn had found himself unable to speak of the incident since, which only fuelled his