BLACK EAGLE RISING

Third Book of Elita

KATE JACOBY

First published in 2000 by Gollancz

This ebook edition published in 2013 by

Jo Fletcher Books
An imprint of Quercus Editions Ltd
55 Baker Street
7th Floor, South Block
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Copyright © 2000 by Mackenzie Oliphant.

The moral right of Mackenzie Oliphant to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

Ebook ISBN 978 1 78206 882 2

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

You can find this and many other great books at:
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Also by Kate Jacoby

EXILE’S RETURN
First Book of Elita

VOICE OF THE DEMON
Second Book of Elita

REBEL’S CAGE
Fourth Book of Elita

TRIAL OF FIRE
Fifth Book of Elita

Acknowledgements

Thanks once again to my family and friends for the endless support and encouragement. Thank you to Karen for reading and answering so many questions. Thank you to Muther and Dad for providing the venues. To Jo Fletcher – thank you again for pushing; please continue to do so. A huge thank you to Jeffrey; I loved this poem the first time I read it and still love it as much now. Thank you for letting me borrow it. Lastly, thank you to Charles because your eyes are open and you know.

… and so it was that in the spring of 1361 everything changed forever. No howling wolves nor mystic seers foretold the shift in Lusara’s fortunes. Rather, it was the rolling consequence of events reaching back many years. To most, the change appeared swift and sudden. To others, it was too long in coming.

But to understand that fateful spring, those years before must also be understood, along with those most closely involved.

In 1341, Selar of Mayenne conquered Lusara with a final battle on Seluth Common, his victory aided by a mysterious old man called Carlan. Immediately after that battle, Carlan disappeared. Selar married the daughter of Duke MacKenna, the beautiful Rosalind, and founded his own royal line with first a girl and then a son to succeed him. He then proceeded to crush any opposition to his rule and punished the whole country for daring to stand against him.

Of the old major Houses, only a few survived with any power. One of these was led by the young Earl of Dunlorn, Robert Douglas. His father had died a hero fighting Selar. Scion of the oldest House and heir to a long tradition of serving Lusara, Robert was forced to hide the secret part of his nature. He was a sorcerer – in a land where such a thing was almost forgotten but eternally reviled, and most certainly outlawed. Robert carried the hopes of his conquered people, but, seeing no other way, he agreed to work alongside Selar. In return for his oath of allegiance, Selar gave Robert the power to help his people. The two men became friends and for some years, a quiet peace lay over a relieved land.

However, this peace was not to last. Jealous of Robert’s influence, the powerful Guilde moved against him. Robert found no support with the King for his defiance and, shattered, he left the court for his home. He arrived to find his young wife, Berenice, pregnant with their first child, horribly sick with a fever. Seeking to ease her pain, Robert applied his powers, but no sooner had he touched her than the power was twisted out of him, beyond his control. Both Berenice and the child died almost instantly. Devastated, Robert left the country, planning never to return.

The first volume of this secret history begins three years later when Robert did return, his most trusted friend, Micah Maclean, at his side. Robert intended only to go home to Dunlorn, but his brother Finnlay demanded Robert act: he should take up the leadership of the secret sorcerers’ Enclave – or, failing that, make a stand against Selar and free their people from tyranny. Robert had his own reasons for refusing, but before he could go much further, he was forced to rescue a young girl being chased by Guilde soldiers. In the excitement, Robert discovered that she was the only girl of the children abducted during the House feuds thirteen years before. Her name was Jennifer Ross, daughter of the Earl of Ross. And she was a sorcerer with very different powers. Against the advice of the Enclave, Robert took Jennifer back to her father’s lands at Elita and continued home.

During Robert’s absence, the Guilde had grown more powerful. When Selar discovered Robert had returned to Lusara, he grew fearful and imprisoned the newly elected Bishop Aiden McCauly in order to gain a firm hold on the wavering support of the Church, placing his own man, Brome, in the top position. The King also had a new friend: the Guildesman Samdon Nash.

Then tragedy struck. Robert’s maternal uncle, the rebel Duke of Haddon, was killed by Selar. Stunned, and tortured by guilt, even now Robert couldn’t break his oath. In an effort to distract himself, Robert agreed to help Finnlay find the fabled Calyx, an artefact of great power, but both were caught in an accident in the hills above Nanmoor. Robert was injured and temporarily lost his memory. Finnlay used his Seeking powers to try finding his brother, but was captured and charged with the heinous crime of sorcery – and word flew across the land. A real sorcerer had been caught at last.

With Jenn’s help, Robert mounted a rescue and returned Finnlay to the safety of the Enclave. During her trip to Marsay, Jenn had sensed another sorcerer present at the capital and the Enclave wanted to send someone to investigate. Robert argued against it. The leader, Jaibir Wilf, demanded Robert go before the powerful talisman, the Key – the very thing Robert had avoided for most of his life. The Key took possession of Robert and told all who were witness part of a prophecy which Robert had known since he was a child: that Robert was Bonded to Jenn and that they shared the lost gift of Mindspeech. They were called the Enemy and the Ally – and against them would come a creature of evil known only as The Angel of Darkness.

Robert was banished from the Enclave for keeping even this shred of prophecy a secret. He was forbidden by his oath to Selar to help his country, but while his honour cried out for action, he was held back, paralysed by something he’d kept concealed all his life. It lay at the heart of the prophecy: the key had told him he could never avoid his destiny. Robert called it: the demon.

*

So who was this Angel of Darkness? For most of his life he was known by the name of Carlan of Bayazit, the old man who had helped Selar conquer Lusara. But Carlan had learned how to use the forbidden sorcerers’ arts and prolonged his life with infusions of blood from vanquished sorcerers. He returned to Lusara a young man, befriended Selar and joined the Guilde, taking on the name Samdon Nash.

To some, his ambition appeared pale, but his goal was something they could never have imagined, and he was prepared to stop at nothing to achieve it. It was he who abducted the children during the Troubles, hoping to find among them the Enemy. He had deliberately taken Jenn from her home, knowing she was the Ally. And there were many other things he had done to secure his plans, including involving the Malachi, evil cousins of the sorcerers of the Enclave.

In 1356 the Guilde sent an investigator south to discover the truth behind the allegations of sorcery levelled at Finnlay Douglas. Governor Osbert met with Robert, but left convinced young Finnlay was dead. He was not to know the body he saw was an illusion Robert had created to hide the truth. Osbert returned to the capital sceptical that sorcery even existed, giving a complete report to his colleague, Nash.

In reality, Finnlay was safely tucked away at the Enclave. He worked to develop a new kind of tandem Seeking, and in the process, he had a vision of Jenn coming towards the Enclave, her teacher Fiona at her side. Jenn had returned to gain insight into Robert’s recent banishment, but Wilf would only accept her presence if she made a vow to Stand the Circle once he was dead, to place herself before the Key as a candidate for Jaibir. Then Finnlay received another vision – of Fiona’s mother, in grave danger; Ayn had gone to the capital, looking for the sorcerer Jenn had sensed. If this strange sorcerer was in fact the Angel of Darkness, only Robert would be able to help.

With news of Ayn’s capture, Robert immediately set out for Marsay. Entering the capital in disguise, he rescued Ayn, but her wounds were great. With neither a name nor face to give to the evil man who had tortured her, she begged Robert to end her life using the ancient sorcerers’ ritual of Convocation. If he did not, the evil one would find them both. Hating himself, Robert did as he was asked and left Marsay to return home.

His sleep plagued by a recurring nightmare of sorcery, King Selar sank closer into madness, taking out his rage and frustration on his wife, the beautiful Queen Rosalind. In an effort to contain Selar’s madness, Nash revealed that he was a sorcerer, only to have Selar banish him from the city.

*

Concerned for her mother, Fiona insisted Finnlay use his new tandem Seeking to try and find Ayn. Unwisely, they left the safety of the Enclave, but while Fiona moved closer to the capital, Finnlay was captured by Carlan. Through countless days of torture, Finnlay never saw the face of his adversary, but he discovered many important things. Carlan believed Finnlay was the Enemy – and voiced his lust for the Key. To prolong his life, Carlan began to take Finnlay’s blood, but before the process was completed, Carlan was recalled to Selar. Finally alone, Finnlay escaped and wandered, dying, only to be rescued by Fiona and taken back to the Enclave.

Queen Rosalind, beaten, terrified and desperate to help her country, absconded with her children. The moment he heard, Selar ordered out the guard for an immediate hunt for his heir. At home at Elita, Jenn was surprised to find the Queen begging her help. Bad weather, sickness and injury forced her in turn to ask for help. She turned to Dunlorn.

Robert was horrified to find the Queen in such straits but concealed them in a secret chamber at Dunlorn Castle before organising a plan to get them all out of the country to safety in neighbouring Flan’har. Robert sent Jenn home under the care of Micah, with a veiled warning of the danger buried within the heart of the prophecy. Even as he pushed her away, he knew that he was in love with her.

Jenn returned home to find her father Jacob had discovered her absence. He threatened to disown her until she told him of Selar’s plan to invade Mayenne, and of the Queen’s escape. A descendant of ancient Kings himself, Jacob forgave her, though greatly wounded at her secrecy. He then told her that the King had arranged a marriage for her to take place in two weeks to the King’s brutal cousin Teige Eachern, Duke of Ayr. Heartbroken and frustrated, Jenn was powerless to do anything to stop it. Jacob hoped to halt the war by sending a wedding invitation to Robert Douglas: he and Selar had once been friends and Jacob prayed the influence of Robert might work for the good.

Selar had his army out looking for the Queen and it was to this that Carlan returned, once again in the guise of Nash. Using a hideous perversion of the ancient Bonding technique, Nash tied the King to him. From that moment onwards, Selar’s nightmares vanished – but he would never be able to deny any order Nash gave. Content with his work, Nash returned home to discover Finnlay had escaped. But not forever. With Finnlay’s aura imprinted on his mind, Nash could Seek him anywhere in the country the moment he left the protection of the fabled Key.

*

Robert could not bring himself to refuse the wedding invitation, but he was unprepared to face Selar’s public humiliation of him. With the demon flaring inside him, Robert left the hall. He was desperate to protect Jenn, desperate to avoid the Bonding. In his heart, he believed he had to avoid all parts of the prophecy in order to prevent the conclusion that haunted him.

Later that night Jenn, restless and alone, sensed Robert’s distress and found him outside the castle walls. Robert admitted his love for her, but insisted it was merely the prophecy at work, and he must fight it. Jenn told him she needed him and, beaten by pain and anguish, he was unable to resist. He kissed her and saw their bodies surrounded by a blue light. He knew what this was. This was the Bonding as foretold in the prophecy.

Later, Micah, guessing what had happened, agreed to stay with Jenn, and watched as Robert rode away from Elita. Heartbroken but unable to do anything else, Jenn married Eachern the following day and went to live at his castle at Clonnet.

*

Eight months later Nash was entrenched at court, with Selar now under his complete control. Visiting Jenn at Ayr, careful to make sure she had no idea who he really was, he found her heavily pregnant. Meanwhile his aide, DeMassey, had finally found Rosalind and rescued Prince Kenrick. In the process, the Queen was killed, but the Princess had escaped. Nash rushed off to meet up with DeMassey and bring the Prince back to his father.

After mindspeaking with Jenn, Finnlay discovered the truth – that Robert was her child’s father – though Jenn swore him to secrecy. Once more he foolishly left the safety of the Enclave, but before he could get too far, he was discovered by Nash. He fought off capture but, seriously wounded, Finnlay rode to Jenn at Elita for safety – with five hundred evil Malachi sorcerers at his heels, disguised as Guilde soldiers. He arrived at Elita safely, but collapsed before he could voice a warning.

*

Lords loyal to Lusara had rescued Bishop McCauly from prison, hiding him in a remote abbey in the Goleth mountains. His attention there was caught by a young man who worked silently, furiously in the garden, in sun or snow. When a fire threatened the abbey, this man risked his life to retrieve Abbey records. McCauly stopped him, calling him Robert.

Over the ensuing weeks, McCauly grew closer to Robert, until he explained the prophecy. At the age of nine Robert was given the Word of Destruction and told he was Bonded to this girl – and that, in the act of salvation, he would destroy that which he loved most. He had believed he was strong enough to withstand this destiny, but he had given into the Bonding, betraying Jenn with his desire. Now he had no choice but to absent himself from life, or he would become the very thing he had fought all his life to avoid.

Then word arrived that Archdeacon Hilderic would be executed if McCauly didn’t give himself up. Robert agreed to go with McCauly, determined to rescue Hilderic, but they reached the town to find news of Finnlay’s escape, the army chasing him – and the direction in which they were headed. Desperate to save his brother, Robert took McCauly to Elita, arriving in time to prepare the castle before the siege.

There Robert saw Jenn – and wondered if the child was his. Before he could ask, the castle was attacked, with the Angel of Darkness outside, driving the soldiers on. Earl Jacob defied them and was killed for his efforts. The shock drove Jenn into labour.

But Jenn was also in danger from Carlan, causing her pain that could kill her. Finnlay begged Robert to help – but there was a problem. If the child was Robert’s, then he would kill Jenn just as his power had killed his young wife. Unable to explain with the truth, Finnlay insisted, believing that Robert’s power had killed Berenice only because they weren’t Bonded. Jenn would be safe because she and Robert were Bonded. Hating himself, but knowing he had no option, Robert reached out with his power and eased Jenn’s pain, cutting Carlan’s power over her. She and the baby survived, but in the process, convinced Robert the child couldn’t be his.

Carlan attacked the castle in earnest, forcing Robert to withdraw everyone inside the main keep. Battered openly by sorcery, Robert found the demon inside him drowning him, driving him to desperate actions. Then Jenn’s son was born and the last piece of damnation fell into place. Blind and deaf to everything around him, Robert reached the top of the keep. Unable to control the demon any longer, he raised his hands and uttered the Word of Destruction.

*

It was not until the following day that Robert was able to see the effects of his power. The castle walls had crumbled and only the keep still stood. For half a league in every direction, the meadow was blackened, trees felled and scorched. The Malachi Guilde had disappeared; everyone inside the keep survived, but all but the most faithful had scurried away in fear of the sorcerer. As Robert and his friends prepared to leave the ruins of Elita, he knew nothing would be the same again. He also knew he had failed to kill the Angel of Darkness.

Carlan, alone and sorely wounded, slipped away from the ruins, knowing at last who his Enemy really was. It would take him time to recover, but his plans had only been halted, not stopped. Armed with more knowledge than his adversary, Carlan escaped knowing it would be only a matter of time before he would finally be in possession of the Key – and Jenn, the Ally.

Robert left Lusara that day, along with McCauly and Micah. He went into his future, leaving Jenn to return to her husband with her son Andrew.

*

For five years Robert lived with his failure to defeat a prophecy already half-fulfilled. The demon inside him reminded him every day that his destiny awaited him, but his days of running away were over. It was the icy winter of 1361 that saw his return to Lusara, breaking into an uneasy peace that had settled about the country, like the rumbling warning of a tempest to come. By that time, the people had almost consigned him to legend, his sorcery little more than fable, his deeds a myth.

But Robert Douglas, Earl of Dunlorn, Duke of Haddon and exiled outlaw, returned not to repeat the mistakes of the past. This time he came back with something else in mind entirely.

Excerpt from The Secret History of Lusara – Ruel

The sky is full of eagles, hawks, and I feel as if I’m one

I must climb high into the bitter cold air.

Higher, higher yet

As the world slips by, silent and deadly,

I see all

Higher, higher yet

My lungs bursting, I scream my defiant rage

And fall, fall to that silent earth

I have failed

But oh, oh, what a glorious failure.

Jeffry A. McNair

Prologue

The night was dark, but nowhere near as dark as it could be. Before the folds of the forest, moonlight drenched a snowy field with winter blue. Long black shadows marked the path of a road leading to the village of Lagganfors and the gate of its Guildehall. Only the yellow oil lamps suspended above the stone walls brought any colour to the scene, but their glow was sickly as the hour grew late.

From within the depths of the wood, the hooting of an owl beckoned the night, and in response rose the cry of wolves to the north. Closer was the murmur of movement within the village, tiny things now as folk climbed into their beds for warmth and sleep. It was a quiet wrapped in winter toil and close companionship, but it brought no peace to the man who paused by his window within the Guildehall, gazing into the night.

Vaughn, Proctor of the Guilde, stood tall and lean, his long face devoid of humour. He had removed the clothes soiled from his journey and now wore vestments of pristine yellow, the colour of the sun, the colour of the Guilde. Manicured fingers held an elegant silver cup of mulled wine, but the Proctor ignored the warmth. Instead, his gaze remained on the fields beyond.

Behind him, close to the fire, stood Ulbert, Master of this Hall. His round face was flushed in the overheated room, his hands nervously picking at threads on his robe. He’d known the Proctor was to come to Lagganfors, but having to be in the same room, having to listen to his words – and, worse still, his silences – was a harsh task at this time of night. Only Vaughn would choose to go on a progress of his Halls in the middle of winter.

‘Tomorrow,’ Vaughn said, without turning from his window, ‘I will view your accounts.’

‘Yes, my lord.’

‘You will therefore have all night to ensure they are an accurate representation and not the comely picture I’m sure you have prepared.’

Ulbert gritted his teeth. ‘Of course, my lord.’

Vaughn remained silent for a few moments longer. Then he took a sip of his wine, swallowed and spoke again. ‘What reports have you heard of raiders in this area? Or of the Outlaw?’

‘Robert Douglas? Why, none, my lord! As for the raiders, we are remote here and being so close to the village

‘None of which is germane to the danger, Ulbert! We are all at risk – except perhaps at Marsay. No blaggard would dare enter my Hall in the capital. And who knows where the Outlaw might raise his evil head?’

‘Indeed, my lord.’ Ulbert caught his fingers together and tried to present a semblance of calm, of confidence. Vaughn’s obsession with the Douglas and his sorcery was well known – even though the man hadn’t been seen for over five years. ‘Even so, we have guards enough here, and the full support of the villagers.’

‘That’s not what I’ve heard.’

Ulbert swallowed as Vaughn turned a slate gaze on him. ‘But, my lord, that was only a small misunderstanding.’

‘Refusing to pay the tithe? Failing to make the required contributions to the upkeep of this Hall? Hiding rebel healers who do not hold the Guilde warrant?’ Vaughn released him and turned back to the window. ‘I expect discipline, Master Ulbert. The people of Lagganfors hold a duty to this Hall. It is your duty to exact it from them. I will not condone negligence. Do I make myself clear?’

‘Yes, my lord.’

‘Take what they will not give willingly. The gods demand their obedience. Remind them of that.’

‘Yes, my lord,’ Ulbert replied with a sigh.

Vaughn once more swept his gaze across the fields where a mist grew out of the depths of the forest. Few people travelled at this time of the year. Instead, they remained at home, obedient to the cold, doing their work, staying within the watchful eye of the Guilde.

‘These raiders, my lord?’

‘Yes,’ Vaughn replied idly, already knowing what the question would be.

‘Have none of them been caught? Is there no trace of who is behind it? And why only Guilde Halls?’

‘Serin only knows, Master Ulbert,’ Vaughn replied, barely moving. ‘And those behind the raids are obviously slaves of the evil god Broleoch. Who else would do such a thing?’

‘But what do they hope to achieve? Simple menace? They kill no one and that one hall which burnt down was as much due to accident as anything else.’

‘Are you making excuses for them?’

‘Of course not, my lord. It’s just that I don’t understand

The mist beyond the fields gathered the darkness, rolling forward like waves on a sea. Vaughn watched, entranced as the snow disappeared beneath the onslaught. Cold ventured forth with the mist, fingers reaching out to him, safe within his warm room. But he wasn’t safe. The icy tendrils stole through the glass and into his heart and he gasped at their touch.

Now he could hear the waves crashing against the field, an ocean of pain and melancholy, salty and sharp. The mist enfolded his entire view and the room was lost to him.

He smelt fear on the air and it clutched at his innards, pounding blood through his body. He was powerless to move, to speak, even to think. Something came out of the gloom towards him. Not a man, but a bird, black and thick with feathers dark as treacle. Its cry pierced the silence, drowning his blood-filled ears with fury and revenge. He turned to run from it, but his terror held him frozen. The bird swooped, but shied away from his stance. In that moment, the feeling came to him, triumphant, sure – so very sure. This bird could not defeat him, could not sway him from his path …

‘My lord?’

The mists faded even as the voice broke in upon him.

‘My lord Proctor?’

A message. From the gods. A vision of a black eagle and of triumph.

‘Please, my lord!’

Vaughn blinked as the field returned to its snow-blue serenity. Ulbert was calling him and he had to respond. But tell him about this vision? No. It was for his eyes alone. But what was he to do exactly?

A crash from below ripped him away from the window. Ulbert was already approaching when another crash rumbled through the building and made him stumble. Now he could hear cries of rage and fear coming from beyond the door. The Guildehall was under attack!

The door was kicked open before them. Two sturdy soldiers waited, swords held ready.

Vaughn stormed forward. ‘I demand to know the meaning of this!’

One soldier grinned and shook his head. ‘Come, Guildesman!’

Before Vaughn could voice further protest, the soldier took his arm, dragged him from the room and through the building. As they moved, the place grew quieter, with only the occasional shout, quickly silenced.

‘Who are you?’ Vaughn demanded of his captor. ‘How dare you attack a Guildehall in this manner! Do you know who I am?’

‘I don’t care,’ the man replied. ‘Come quietly and you’ll not be harmed.’

Vaughn had no choice. The man had a good grip on his arm and the sword was a reflex away from his throat.

Another raid – but this time he was here to witness it personally! If only Selar had taken his requests for help more seriously … but perhaps Nash had stopped him. Yes, perhaps Nash was behind this outrage. And Nash was in league with the Outlaw!

Vaughn emerged into the cloister to find his brethren gathered in a frightened clump in the centre, surrounded by a dozen soldiers. Ulbert followed behind. Swords were brandished but none were immediately threatening. The Guildesmen were being contained, not murdered.

Vaughn pulled his robes about him and turned towards the nearest guard. ‘I demand you desist at once! To attack a Guildehall like this is treason! What do you want?’

‘Your silence,’ the man replied. ‘And your obedience. Just stay quiet, Guildesman, and you’ll live through this night with your throat uncut.’

Vaughn hissed in a breath, but there was nothing he could do. He turned to the man to his left and whispered, ‘How did they get in?’

‘Two men approached the gate, my lord, claiming to have been attacked in the forest. The moment the gates opened, twenty of them invaded. Our guards were overpowered almost instantly.’

‘But who are they?’

‘Rogues, the lot of them. Thieves, no doubt, and probably murderers, too.’

A movement from the corridor made Vaughn turn. More soldiers emerged from the darkness carrying torches. Behind them stood two men. One had his cloak hood pulled back to reveal curly red hair, a short cropped beard of the same colour. In his arms was a bundle of books. But the other … tall and powerful, strong lean lines and eyes an ocean of green …

‘Serin’s blood!’ Vaughn murmured, suddenly unsteady on his feet as a shiver ran down his spine. That face was one he hadn’t seen for a decade, and yet he would know it anywhere. A face that had not been sighted within the borders of Lusara for five long years.

The Duke of Haddon. Robert Douglas. The Great Outlaw.

The sorcerer!

No sooner was the thought complete when the man in question paused and turned slowly to look at the group in the cloister – and straight into Vaughn’s eyes. Vaughn was frozen to the spot, unable to look away, unable even to move as the gaze held him, trapped, imprisoned.

Without taking his eyes from Vaughn, the Outlaw murmured something to the man beside him, took the books, then turned and disappeared into the darkness, breaking the moment.

His companion came into the cloister and stood before Vaughn and his brethren. Tall demonic shadows danced on the wall behind him, eerie against the glowing torchlight.

‘Thank you for your hospitality, gentlemen,’ he said, displaying no shame at his actions. ‘We’ll be leaving now, but please, don’t make the mistake of trying to stop us. Your horses have been scattered and we’ll leave the gate barred behind us. Goodnight.’

In one swift movement, the guards drew back into the corridor, heading for the gate. Vaughn watched them disappear, unable to move a muscle. There were noises of men mounting up and an echo as the riders vanished into the night. Then abrupt bedlam as all his brethren seemed to wake from a dream.

Vaughn remained apart from it, despite urges for him to do something. Instead, he stood staring at the corridor, seeing again that familiar face and the glint of green in the Outlaw’s evil eyes.

So, the Douglas had been behind those raids all along. But why?

The books! By all that was holy – the library! A collection of books from the time when sorcerers wandered freely through the land and worked alongside the Guilde in harmony. The time before sorcerers had betrayed the Empire. There would be many secrets in that library – and the Outlaw wanted them. How was he to know they were now hidden in a place where nobody would ever find them, that Vaughn was the only person alive who knew where they were? He’d gone to great lengths to protect the library from exactly this kind of incursion.

Abruptly, Vaughn started. The vision! That must be …

Turning swiftly, Vaughn barked orders for the gates to be burned down and the horses to be rounded up. He had to get to Marsay – and he had to leave tonight.

*

On a hill overlooking the village, Robert Douglas sat on his horse as the rest of his men gathered around him. He waited in stillness, his gaze never wavering from the Guildehall below, surrounded by the town and the snow-white fields. Only the animal beneath him moved at all, shaking its head lazily and stamping one foot, as if impatient to complete the escape.

A slip of moonlight caught his face, revealing lines of thought. The level eyebrows were drawn together more in surprise than displeasure. An icy breeze caught his dark hair, tossing waves around his cheeks. He paid no attention. Instead, his thoughts were entirely on the memory of Vaughn, his taut lean features, eyes full of fear and hatred. It was not the first time Vaughn had looked at him like that.

And all because Robert was a sorcerer.

He lifted his chin and breathed deeply of the midnight air. The smell of salt had gone back to wherever it had come from. No more could he hear the cry of birds, the crash of waves. He concentrated hard, but already the threads of the vision were leaving him bereft, the memory quickly fading to nothing.

‘My lord?’

Turning his head, he glanced at Micah, waiting on his horse with perfect patience. In the moonlight, his red hair almost glowed, while his blue eyes seemed devoid of colour. But in this moment, it was his patience that spoke most about him. Patience and loyalty – above all, loyalty. Neither Micah – nor indeed any of these men – cared a whit that he was a sorcerer.

‘We should move on, my lord,’ Micah added quietly. ‘I’m sure Vaughn won’t wait until dawn to be on your trail.’

An involuntary smile lit Robert’s face. ‘No, indeed, and I can’t resist the temptation to disappoint him once again.’

‘It’s a pity he was here, however.’

‘Oh, I don’t know, my friend.’ Robert murmured, glancing once more at the village and the Guildehall on its edge. Even now new lights were glowing in the windows and he could almost imagine the activity within, driven by the frantic Proctor. ‘Perhaps it’s time they knew I was back. All of them.’ Especially Jenn.

‘Even the Angel of Darkness?’ Micah whispered, a little horrified.

A small smile drifted across Robert’s face and he nodded slowly. ‘Yes, even him. Come, Micah, let’s be over the border. The Angel of Darkness can wait until another day. These books, however, cannot.’

With a laugh, he turned his horse away and led his men into the night, leaving only the winter to wrap any comfort around the town.

1

A puff of flame bellowed out above the crowd, then quickly disappeared, leaving sighs of amazement in its wake. The onlookers offered applause and an expectant silence, waiting for the next feat. Balancing on top of his pedestal, the fire-eater somersaulted into the air and caught two batons of burning flames before he landed. Instinctively, the audience pressed back, both afraid and fascinated at the same time. The fire-eater spun around in front of them, waving the torches, then, with great ceremony, raised one above his mouth, lowered it – and extinguished the fire completely. The crowd roared with approval.

Archdeacon Godfrey, priest and Guilde Chaplain, stood on the fringes of the group, watching the crowd almost as much as the performers. They were entranced; Godfrey envied them. They really believed the man was eating that fire – they wanted the illusion.

Godfrey turned to another corner, on the opposite side of the castle courtyard, where more cheers split the midwinter night. He pressed his way towards it, glimpsing little more of the tumblers than the occasional figure flying through the air.

It seemed all of Marsay had squashed itself into the enclosure for these Caslemas celebrations – far more than had attended the church services earlier in the day. The King had appeared for mass in the Basilica, but he’d left quickly afterwards and immediately buried himself in these more secular activities. The festival of Caslemas was to honour the goddess Mineah, but any worship of the gods on this most sacred day of the religious calendar appeared little more than perfunctory. Even the winter-green decorations hanging from the castle walls had a pagan touch to them. The people – led by their King – were more interested in the vats of wine and ale which lined the walls, the smell of beef roasting and the tasty sweetcakes sold by bakers near the gate.

A flash of light illuminated the darkness near the tumblers and Godfrey tried to get closer. Only occasionally would anyone notice his priest’s robes and make space for him. He came to a halt behind a group of children who squealed and laughed at the performers. There were a dozen grown men, juggling now. Bottles of green glass and flaming torches were tossed between them, looping and spinning: a display of delicate balance and coordination amidst a flurry of dangers.

‘Good evening, Father.’

Godfrey barely turned at the sound to his right. He would know Murdoch’s voice anywhere, regardless of the crowd noise. ‘You came after all.’

‘There seemed no point staying away. Besides, I love a good show – even if the cost of all this comes directly out of our taxes. Perhaps I could interest you in a cup of ale?’

Godfrey said nothing. Instead, he glanced around to see if anybody at all was paying attention to him. By the time he stepped back from the tumblers, Murdoch was already gone. Godfrey found him again in a quiet spot beside the castle gate, two cups of frothy ale in his hands. Behind him, the shadow of the Basilica and beyond that, the city, stretched down the island hill to stop before the waters of the Vitala River. Murdoch had chosen a good spot, out of view of the royal pavilion to the left and conveniently hidden from the prying eyes of any guards close by – and nobody could get close enough to listen.

‘As cautious as ever,’ Godfrey murmured, taking a swallow of ale.

‘We’ve had a good run, you and I, over the past few years. If anybody has ever seen us talking, they’ve thought nothing of it, and we both know how important it is to keep it that way.’

‘Indeed,’ Godfrey added quietly. He kept his gaze on the crowd before him, but the bulky presence of Murdoch was impossible to ignore. ‘I don’t suppose you have anything new to tell me?’

‘Of Robert? No, I’ve not seen him for six months.’

‘But do you have any idea where he is? What he’s doing?’

‘What? Impatience from you, Father?’

Godfrey glanced aside. Murdoch was watching him from under thick brows. ‘It’s been five years, Murdoch, going on for six. How many times has he been to see you? Perhaps ten? Am I – or your people – any the wiser as to what he plans?’

‘No.’

‘Are the lives of our people any better?’

‘No.’

‘Is there any immediate hope that that will change?’

‘Not that I can see.’

‘Then I think I’m allowed a little impatience.’

‘As are we all.’ Murdoch shrugged and took a good long pull at his ale. ‘His brother and mother especially. They haven’t seen Robert at all.’

Godfrey bit his tongue and looked away. He’d deserved that.

‘I know how it is for you,’ Murdoch continued, softer but no gentler. ‘You live a precarious life, balanced between what you believe in and those you would fight. You know as well as I do that every time Robert comes in secret to Marsay, he risks his life. How much hope would we have if he was caught and executed? Ever since that night at Elita, the whole world has known he is a sorcerer.’

Godfrey flinched and glanced around once more to check no one could overhear them.

‘ … and anyone associating with him would die the same terrible death. You’ve done good work here, passing on information to me, so I can tell my people. It makes a difference, I promise you – especially in light of the fact that you’re a priest. Even if Robert never comes back, you have made things better.’

‘But he has to come back,’ Godfrey murmured, gripping his ale-mug. ‘He has to. Nobody else has the following or the ability to do anything. Even if he is one of you. Even if that’s why he hasn’t done anything so far.’

Murdoch grunted. ‘You place a lot of hope in Robert.’

‘Don’t you?’ Godfrey replied, turning his gaze on the other man.

For a moment, Murdoch said nothing. Then he smiled. ‘And how is the King?’

‘How do you think? If he does much more than spend his days entertaining himself and the prince, I see no evidence of it. He shamelessly spends most nights with his whore, Valena de Cerianne. His council takes on the work of governing the country – and that they do poorly.’

Murdoch was silent for a while as the crowd roared and cheered the tumblers again. In other corners of the courtyard, other activities were going on and the flow of people in and out of the gate seemed unending.

‘I don’t suppose you can tell me,’ Murdoch said finally, ‘anything new about Duke Eachern?’

Godfrey took his eyes from the crowd for a moment, but Murdoch wasn’t looking at him. ‘I still don’t understand why you’re interested in him above anybody else at court. I know he’s Selar’s maternal cousin and he does have some power – but he’s a brainless idiot, useful only when he’s got a sword in his hand.’

‘It’s not the Duke I’m interested in,’ Murdoch replied levelly. ‘It’s his wife.’

‘Jennifer Ross? But why … ’ Godfrey paused. ‘Is she one of you? A … ’

Murdoch frowned. ‘I’m sorry, Father. I know you’ve been Sealed and that protects you from revealing what you know of my people, even under torture – but even so, there are some things it’s safer for you not to know.’

‘So that’s why Father John went to such great lengths to obtain his position at Clonnet? To be near the Duchess?’

Raising his eyebrows, Murdoch almost smiled. ‘Can you tell me anything about Eachern?’

‘No more than you already know. He spends most of his time either here or riding north. I can’t find out why. It’s some big secret I’m not sure even the council knows about. I think Governor Nash could be involved, because he disappears for weeks at a time. He’s due back tonight, I believe. If I tried to find out what was really going on, somebody would notice my curiosity – and that’s an unhealthy trait to have these days.’

Murdoch drained his ale. ‘Then I think we should be going our separate ways, Father. We’ve been standing together too long as it is. I’ll be in for confession as usual next week. Keep your ears open and be careful. If anything happens to you, I’ll have to answer to Robert – and I can’t tell you how that prospect chills me. Goodnight.’

Godfrey shook his head and smiled. ‘Goodnight.’ As Murdoch disappeared into the crowd, he finished his ale slowly. Even now, after so long, he found it difficult to believe he had actually volunteered to work alongside men such as Murdoch.

Sorcerers. Reviled, hated, feared. It was death to be discovered as one. A painful death, burning at the stake, after hands had been cut off and torture inflicted. To be found working with them was perhaps even worse – especially for a priest.

Every aspect of Church doctrine spoke of the evil of sorcery. Many laws and punishments Godfrey had memorised as a young novice. The Guilde itself had vowed to remove every sorcerer from the face of Lusara. The people, with a kind of morbid greed for stories of sorcerers, still shrank away from the reality.

So why did Godfrey find this work so easy? Why did his conscience never bother him? Why had crossing that line been such a simple thing for him?

Because it wasn’t sorcery he was fighting for. Instead, it was something far more important: a release from bondage and tyranny for Lusara. He couldn’t see the end of this fight, couldn’t even begin to imagine it. All he knew was that men like Murdoch and Robert Douglas were all fighting on the same side. Light against the darkness.

Doctrine or no, that was, after all, why Godfrey had become a priest in the first place.

*

Vaughn didn’t wait for his luggage to be brought up to his rooms in the Guildehall. Instead, he followed Godet along the corridor and up the stairs to where a hasty fire was being lit in his study. Serving Guildesmen rushed here and there, anxious to set things straight after his unscheduled return. Vaughn hardly noticed them. He dropped his cloak, ignored the wine poured out and ordered a pot of brew. Then he collapsed into the chair behind his desk and waited for the room to empty.

He sat staring at the wall, at the cool grey stone, the sharp edges and fine gaps between. As Godet closed the door behind the last man, Vaughn turned. Godet handed him the cup of brew and he sipped carefully. Eventually, after a long silence, the young man spoke.

‘Is something wrong, my lord?’

‘Yes.’ Vaughn nodded without looking at him. ‘Very wrong.’

He took another sip but Godet didn’t fidget – one quality amongst others that had earned him his place here. ‘I want you to do something for me.’

‘Of course, my lord.’

‘How long until sunrise?’

‘Six or seven hours.’

Vaughn looked up. ‘Wait until dawn and select a few of our brethren you can trust. Tell them to go out into the town, out of Guilde uniform, and spread the word.’

‘What word is that, my lord?’

‘The Outlaw has returned to Lusara.’ Vaughn was gratified to see the young man’s face go pale. ‘Yes, Robert Douglas is back – not only that, but it seems he has been responsible for the raids on my Guildehalls across the country.’

‘But … how do you know?’

‘I saw him with my own eyes. Now go. Bring me some food, but other than that, I’m not to be disturbed. Wait outside in case I need anything further.’ As Godet bowed and made for the door, Vaughn added, ‘And I know you’ll be discreet.’

Godet paused and threw a smile at him. ‘Of course, Uncle.’

Alone again, Vaughn turned back to the wall, steepling his hands together in contemplation. Then he stood and pressed two fingers against the corner of one stone. He felt something click and he pushed hard. The secret door groaned against the uncommon movement and a rush of rancid air hit his face. Beyond lay a pit of darkness as deep and cold as that in his belly.

Slowly now, he collected a candle from the desk and stepped through the door. For a moment, his eyes struggled against the dimness, his skin crawling at the very thought of what he had to do.

The secret room before him was empty, just as he’d left it. Six years ago, he’d taken the library the Outlaw was searching for and hidden it in a place where no eyes would look for it. Now all that was left in this rancid space was the ghost of what those books contained.

He’d looked once, himself, long ago, when his predecessor had passed the secret on to him. He’d glanced through pages written hundreds of years before, gleaned enough of their content to understand, with horror, what they contained. Instructions for sorcerers. Rules by which they could master their evil art. Arcane tutorials for those who sought to enslave those without power.

These were the very books the Outlaw wanted to possess.

The same books Vaughn would now have to read in order to find what he wanted, what he needed.

A solution.

He knew there was one in there, buried beneath the rhetoric. Such a thing had been hinted at by his superiors when he’d first joined the Guilde as a boy. This library had been put together by both Guilde and sorcerers over the centuries, when each had worked alongside the other, when secrets had not existed between them, long before the Empire had crushed the evil.

Yes, he would find what he was looking for and he would find it tonight – for it was certain that if the Douglas was hunting for these tomes, so too would his minion, Nash. Indeed, in all likelihood Nash too was a sorcerer. If Vaughn was to safely extract the information he needed to begin his war, then he would have to do it before Nash returned to court, before he could find a way to interfere.

Grim and determined now, he left the empty room, pushing the ancient door shut behind him. His journey had tired him, but the taste of victory against evil was fresh in his mouth. He had to move and move quickly. If his actions called down damnation on his immortal soul, then he would make the sacrifice willingly.

With a satisfied ruthlessness, he crushed his natural fear of what he was about to do – for the vision had warned him: the Outlaw was back – and Vaughn had to find something that would rid him of sorcerers once and for all.

*

The slap of water against the stone steps was the only thing Nash could hear above the raucous noise of the city. From his boat, he could see clearly the glow in the sky above the castle, a bland swipe of gold across a black landscape. He’d been able to hear the celebrations all the way down the river, and had been tempted, that whole time, to turn around and head north again.

The oarsman swung and dipped his paddles into the water once more to bring the small boat alongside the stone jetty. Half a dozen men waited for him, all but one in Guilde uniform. Gilbert Dusan held a torch and reached out a hand to help Nash from the boat.

‘Welcome back.’

‘Where’s DeMassey?’

‘Keeping an eye on the Prince, as you ordered. Why?’

‘Has Valena been near him?’

‘Of course not.’

‘Good.’ Nash strode past his men and through the gate in the castle wall. He began to climb the steps, but had to slow as the old pain in his hip and leg began to play the whore with him. By Broeloch’s breath, why couldn’t he rid himself of this last vestige of failure? Would it haunt him to the end?

‘Anything else to report?’ Nash snapped at Gilbert as he strode alongside.

‘Just that Vaughn has come back a month early from his annual progress. He only arrived an hour ago, so there’s been no word of a reason. I guess the peace and quiet is over already.’

‘Typical! Just as I thought he might be gone long enough for me to search the Guildehall. I know that library is in there somewhere. Now Vaughn’s back, I don’t have a hope of finding it before next winter!’

‘But you said Osbert showed you the empty room, the ashes to prove the books had been burned. Are you saying he lied?’

Nash glanced at him, but there was no irony in his face. ‘Oh, those were real ashes, from real books – I’m just not convinced a man of even Vaughn’s limited intelligence would be so stupid as to burn the only weapon he will ever have against our kind. Knowledge is power, Gilbert, and Vaughn knows that as well as I do. No, Osbert may have convinced himself the books have been burned, but I’m afraid I don’t really believe it. That’s why I was hoping to have the run of the Hall this winter, to give me a chance to find them. Now I’ll just have to push Osbert a little, get him to nose around for me.’

‘And if he won’t?’

Nash glanced aside at the tall man. ‘If I push him any more there’s a good chance he might turn and run – and if I’m not around to stop him, he could cause us all a lot of trouble. And before you ask, no, I can’t afford to kill him yet; he’s still too useful.’

He paused and took the travel-stained cloak from his shoulders. A pair of torches lit the gloom, their crackling fire drowned out by the festivities beyond the east wall. Gilbert handed him another cloak, a fur-lined garment of grey, more suitable for a court appearance. With a sigh, Nash ran his fingers through his hair, drew himself up and mentally prepared himself to step back into the public world. Once more he would become the actor.

Leaving Gilbert behind and taking only two guards with him, Nash strode out of the small courtyard into the larger, crowded one. Half the fools of Marsay had squeezed themselves into the main square of the castle and even with the help of his guards, Nash had difficulty making his way to the dais where Selar and his council sat. As usual, Selar greeted him laconically, waving him to his usual seat, to the right. Of Prince Kenrick there was no immediate sign and Nash had to stop himself from asking. The less Selar knew about the activities of his fourteen-year-old son, the better.

Instead, Nash accepted a cup of sweet spicy wine and relaxed back, carefully stripping the lines of fatigue from his face. His position was never so secure that he could afford anyone thinking he had a weakness to be exploited. Besides, who could tell whether the Enemy might one day decide to strike?

He smiled into his wine at the thought. As if the Douglas even knew the identity of his adversary! Ah, prophecy was such a delight to play with.

Conversation wafted around him, muffled by the roars of the crowd. A space had been cleared before the dais where a huge black bear thumped around at the end of a long chain. Two dogs snarled, darting forward to sink their teeth into the bear’s legs. A mighty swipe of its hand sent one of them flying. The dog landed at the feet of its trainer, bleeding profusely and not moving. The other, more wary and much more canny, continued dancing around the bear as it rose to its feet. The crowd applauded and gasped in awe at the size of the animal.

Trinkets thrown to please the moronic mob. Every year they went through this pointless ritual. The mass said in the morning, the prayers sent up to the ears of deaf gods, all the while assuming their lives would go on unbroken by destruction, as if this superficial stability were the only possibility they need consider. As if they had any idea of what lay ahead.

Nash settled back, lacing his hands around his cup, willing the warmth to penetrate his bones. He had spent so much time, so many years, gaining this position here. He had won an important part in all this only to further his own ambitions and yet, these people here thought of him as nothing more than a faithful Guilde Governor. Not one of them knew of the prophecy – or what he really was.

He sipped his wine in silent comfort. He would have to spend an hour or more sitting here, wasting time when there was so much else to do. He glanced around, counting the familiar faces. Bishop Brome was in attendance as usual. His fat face oozed sweat, as if merely sitting was too great an exertion for him. His intellect was at best thin, and having to be spread about so great a girth, only diminished its power more. Other councillors were there, of course, with their ladies. Except for Eachern. He stood alone on the end of the platform. His lady was never allowed this kind of pleasure. Never even allowed to come to court.

And never allowed to know why.

The crowd to his left parted and Kenrick appeared, taking a great leap onto the dais. Selar instantly straightened, his eyes glowing at the sight of his son. Despite his youth, the Prince was already tall and would soon gain the height of his father. But the resemblance did not end there. Kenrick had Selar’s good looks and fair hair, but his eyes were hazel, as his mother’s had been. But while Selar’s ambition and avarice had consumed his life, something else entirely played the same part with Kenrick. Something he kept well hidden, even from Nash’s spies.

‘I see you’ve come back, Governor.’ Kenrick displayed no pleasure as Nash rose to his feet and bowed. ‘Your sport in the north became a little dull, did it?’

Nash portrayed every aspect of the obedient servant. ‘My task was completed, Highness. I return according to your royal father’s wishes.’

‘Then perhaps,’ Kenrick sneered, in open contempt, ‘my royal father’s wishes need to be expanded beyond the sewer.’

With that he turned away, leaving Nash to regain his seat. He drained his wine in one mouthful, burning his tongue. A few minutes more and then he’d be able to leave and get some rest after his long journey. Even so, his gaze remained on the boy-Prince. The child destined, one day, to rule Lusara in his father’s place.

No, it didn’t do to display a weakness in public – especially when danger was as close as the heir to the throne.

*

Godfrey tilted his head back to take a proper look at the incredible ceiling above him, bathed in cool winter sunlight. Only once before had he had an opportunity to see it, and that, briefly. The Guildehall in Marsay was considered sacred ground and only those who had sworn the oath could look upon its glories. However, the Guilde Proctor was permitted to exercise discretion and invite those necessary for a specific purpose, and it was under that aegis that Godfrey now admired the famous vaulting.

The entire hall was dominated by a single stone pillar in the centre, the base for every pointed arch in the ceiling. A maze of arcs and joists, yet somehow, the roof made architectural sense, with this solitary stone brace holding it all in place. On every surface, in the darkest corners even, could be seen figures painted right onto the stone: masons, shipwrights, blacksmiths, weavers and many more, representing the myriad trades which made up the Guilde. The background was a midnight blue and decorated by tiny stars painted with real gold. Other colours could be seen, reds and greens, light blue and white. The overall effect was one of mystery and intrigue, of spaces within spaces, inviting discovery. A lifetime of study would not reveal all the secrets of this ceiling. There was nothing else like it in the world.

Godfrey dropped his gaze and rubbed his aching neck to find Vaughn watching him.

‘Would you have all of Marsay trouping in here to gawp at such a sight?’ Vaughn asked with precision.

No matter which way he looked at it, Godfrey still found his skin crawled whenever his work forced him into contact with this man. He’d long since learned to swallow his distaste, while trying his hardest not to show it. Not an easy task at the best of times.

Now Godfrey folded his hands beneath his surplice and bowed his head in apology. ‘Forgive me, my lord Proctor. I was unaware that I was … gawping.’

If Vaughn detected the ironic edge to Godfrey’s tone, he made no sign. Instead, he turned and wandered a few steps away. ‘As you can see, we have more than enough room for the new season of initiates in here. I understand you would rather witness the oaths in the chapel

‘On hallowed ground,’ Godfrey couldn’t help adding.

‘But our numbers have more than doubled on last year and those were double the year before. The chapel is no longer able to support such numbers.’ Vaughn finished this with a sniff of pride; the Church could certainly not boast such an increase in interest. Godfrey couldn’t even blame it on the fact that the Church was led by an empty-headed buffoon – for was not the Guilde afflicted in the same manner?

Godfrey had to suppress a smile at his silent joke. Vaughn had no sense of humour. ‘I would need access to this room the day before the initiation, to set up a temporary altar, consecrate it and have it ready for dawn the next day.’

Vaughn nodded, watching Godfrey carefully, as though his mind was not fully on the arrangements. He paused for several long moments, then asked quietly, ‘How long have you been Guilde Chaplain?’

‘Eight years, my lord.’

Vaughn nodded again and turned to glance at the ceiling. Godfrey could only wait, as Vaughn had not dismissed him yet. But what was this about? The summer initiation was still almost five months away, and who knew what changes those months could bring? Why, anything could happen. The earth could tremble and shake and bring this magnificent building to the ground. Selar could die and Kenrick could commandeer the place as a new dwelling – or a rebel army could overrun the capital and crush the entire Guilde in its path.

Oh well, one could only hope.

‘What,’ Vaughn asked without looking at him, ‘do you know about sorcery?’

Godfrey’s heart leapt into his throat, but he managed an answer without too great a pause. ‘No more than most men, my lord.’

‘I dare say you’ve had plenty of time to think about it. It is, after all, some five years and perhaps a couple of months. You were, at one time, good friends. How do you stand now on the subject of Robert Douglas, the sorcerer?’

Godfrey swallowed and kept his voice restrained, voicing the lie he’d practised a hundred times. ‘I’ve not seen him since he left Lusara ten years ago. Yes, we shared some friendship during the few years he was at court – but as for supporting him now that he’s … ’ Godfrey refrained from actually saying the word. The less he said on this subject, the fewer lies he would do penance for at his next confession. ‘I’m surprised you even ask me the question, my lord. Have you any reason to doubt my loyalty?’

‘Have you ever looked into the eyes of sorcery?’ Vaughn continued, turning slowly. ‘I have.’

As Vaughn came back across the empty hall, Godfrey folded his hands together, calmed his thumping heart. ‘My lord, I … ’

But Vaughn had moved on already. ‘What would you say to a man who had a waking dream of a black eagle attacking the Proctor?’

Was Vaughn becoming unhinged? ‘I … I’m not sure, my lord.’

‘Would you not feel it was a vision sent from the gods? Does not the presence of the bird suggest to you the involvement of Robert Douglas? The black eagle is the sign of his House, is it not?’

‘Yes, my lord, but

‘I’ve seen him.’ Vaughn’s voice returned to its usual grating tone. ‘The Douglas. He raided the Hall at Lagganfors while I was in residence. I saw his face with my own eyes.’

Robert? Raiding Guildehalls? What was going on?

‘I wish to show you something.’ Vaughn gestured towards a desk set by the door. Godfrey hadn’t noticed it before, but now he couldn’t look away. In the centre of the table was a small object covered by a single white cloth. He approached it warily. Vaughn came to his side, but didn’t touch it to begin with.

‘Five hundred years ago, when sorcerers betrayed the old Empire, the Guilde severed its ancient bonds with the evil ones and swore a sacred oath to their total annihilation. I have dedicated my whole life to that purpose and now, at last, thanks to the foresight of my predecessors, I have the means to begin that work. All along, the great task has been to identify the sorcerers hidden among our number – so that we may execute them for their crimes. This talisman here will give us what we’ve always wanted.’

With no flourish, Vaughn removed the cloth to reveal a round glass bowl, almost perfect in shape. It was filled with a greenish fluid and what appeared to be a small stone rested at the bottom.

‘It’s called a Bresail,’ Vaughn began carefully. ‘The bowl is nothing special, the oil costly and imported from the southern continent. The stone, however, is very special. It’s called an ayarn. It once belonged to a sorcerer and it can find any of its like. When it does, it will glow, alerting us to his presence. As you can see, you have tested well. The stone remains dormant.’

Godfrey took in a long slow breath and let it out noisily. He could hardly begin to absorb what Vaughn was telling him – and he would have to warn Murdoch immediately. Nevertheless, his stomach was full of lead as he took his eyes from the Bresail to find Vaughn watching him again.

‘I know what you’re thinking,’ the Proctor added. ‘Is this talisman not sorcery itself? Am I not endangering my immortal soul by using it? Very probably – but I tell you this, I am prepared to do anything to rid this land of the evil I have seen at its very heart. This is the real reason I brought you here. I need your help.’

‘My help?’ Godfrey was suddenly breathless.

‘Yes.’ Vaughn nodded with the hint of a rare smile. ‘Our war against sorcerers begins this very day – and our first martyr will be Governor Samdon Nash.’