Lokant

by Charlotte E. English

  Oh. She thought furiously. Draykon bone amplifies human magic, doesn’t it? That’s why people were so interested in it. I was a better summoner than I’ve ever been when I wore a piece.

  Human magic? There is no such thing. He was arrogantly condescending. It is draykon magic, pure and simple. As far as I can tell, what you grant the odd name of “summoning” is merely a diluted, weak form of draykon empathetics.

  Llandry blinked. We’ve been working draykon magic?

  It can barely be graced with that name in its current form, but yes. I sense nothing about it that is not perfectly compatible with what we are doing.

  But we’re human.

  Are you? You yourself are only a small bit human. You are mostly draykon. Does it not follow that others are mostly human, with a small bit draykon?

  You’re saying that humans and draykons can breed? Her mind reeled at the thought that somewhere back in time, many generations ago, the draykon and human species had somehow, in some way, been combined, and the draykon traits had bred true ever since.

  I cannot say that I have ever tried, he returned. When I was last awake, humans were magicless creatures and we never thought it worthwhile to try to look like one. But I have an idea. His mood flashed from pompously didactic to mischievous. We will both take our human shapes, and then we will mate. If we succeed in producing young, then we will consider the theory confirmed.

  Llandry’s face instantly heated, and she buried it in Sigwide’s fur. Um, perhaps another time. Didn’t you say something about a draykon grave?

  Ah! Yes. Come. He soared overhead and she rushed to metamorphose. Sigwide was restored to his early travelling position and she felt him grip with his claws.

  Good, she told him.

  Food? He replied.

  She began to think that improved communication with her trouble-seeking orting might have its downsides.

  Pensould at last found his draykon grave, but it was not the triumph that she expected. As he circled to the ground ahead of her, she followed with particular care, determined not to repeat her earlier disgrace. But she almost fell out of the air again when she felt his mood change in an instant from excitement to white-hot rage.

  What is this drekric?

  Pensould used an expression completely outside of Llandry’s comprehension, dripping with horror and rage. She made a hasty landing on his left, and instantly she could feel the energy emitted by a cache of draykon bone buried under the moss.

  What? Pensould? What is it?

  For some time he was too busy thrashing his wings and roaring to answer. Then his voice thundered in her head, making her wince.

  Thieves! Bone thieves have been at work, do you not feel it?

  Bone thieves? The term made her tremble, for she too had been a bone thief once. She had not known what it was that she was plundering, but still; now that she did, her remorse was undiminished.

  That said, her actions had led to the resurrection of Pensould. As had the actions of her apparent enemies, the two white-haired sorcerer-summoners who had reassembled Pensould’s skeleton in the Lowers. The thought was an odd one.

  Llandry circled around the other draykon, taking care to avoid his thrashing wings. The ground had been partially dug up, the earth exposed by pulling back the grass and moss. The area had later been covered up again to conceal it, but there was no hiding it from Pensould. Focusing on the disturbed area of earth, Llandry began to see what he meant: the energy of the bones was at low ebb, guttering like a fading light-globe. She raked back the loosely thrown moss and trained her sensitive draykon eyes on the tumbled earth, trying to see the damage.

  Then she felt stupid. What had Pensould said to her? You must stop trying to fly like a human. Perhaps she also stop trying to see like a human.

  Closing her eyes to remove that distraction, she instead reached out with some other sense. She couldn’t say what it was, precisely, but something shifted in her mind and instead of seeing trees and grass and moss with her eyes, she saw the patterns of energy that those living things created, suspended in her mind’s eye view. For a moment she was mesmerised by this new landscape traced in glowing lights.

  Turning her attention downwards she saw a skeletal pattern of draykon bone, emitting a faintly pulsing, ghostly silver light. That light was dimming as she watched, the light bleeding away through the rents in the skeleton’s structure. Many bones had been removed, and some were damaged. She felt the slumbering draykon’s discomfort, spasms of pain wracking its buried consciousness. The realisation made her gasp, sent her out of her trance.

  Is that what I did to you?

  Pensould didn’t answer. He had calmed enough to stop cursing and roaring, though he remained highly incensed. He was stalking in circles, prowling with the graceful menace of a hunter.

  Someone approaches.

  Startled, Llandry felt a moment’s heart-thumping panic. She forced it down disgustedly. She wasn’t an undersized and powerless Glinnish girl anymore; she was a powerful draykoness.

  Who could the intruder be? The most likely answer was that the grave robbers were returning. And if that was the case, Llandry wanted some answers before Pensould ate them.

  Pensould. Human shape and hide. Quickly! She was already shifting as she spoke, her body compacting itself back into her small two-legged form.

  No! They must be punished.

  They will be punished, but not yet. We need to know who they are and what they’re doing.

  Pensould roared his frustration in her mind, but he didn’t utter the cry out loud. She ran to him, grabbing his arm as he took on his other shape, and dragged him out of the clearing. She wormed her way into the centre of a cluster of bushes, dragging Pensould mercilessly behind her.

  Careful, I am not as small as you.

  Stop talking.

  A woman swept into the clearing, head high, her posture and gait arrogant. She was speaking, addressing the stream of men who trailed behind her in lofty, authoritative tones. Llandry was shocked to see that many of the men bore Glinnish wings.

  ‘The bones are delicate, so I expect you to use extreme care. You have one hour to get them out.’

  There was something wrong with her head. As the woman came closer Llandry realised she was wearing some kind of mask or headdress that covered most of the top half of her face. The contraption had large lenses that completely hid her eyes.

  One of the men spoke up tentatively. ‘Couldn’t the bones be removed from in the Lowers, ma’am? I thought you said they’ve a presence in all worlds.’

  ‘Idiot,’ she replied. ‘Would I do it this way if it were that simple, with this cumbersome monstrosity?’ She tapped the headgear that she wore as she spoke. ‘The corresponding location in the Lowers has been claimed by a pack of worvilloes. I don’t particularly feel like fighting my way through those, do you?’ When she turned to address her men, Llandry noticed that her hair was bright white.

  ‘I, um, no ma’am.’

  The woman turned away from him. ‘Get on with it, please. This stupid hat-thing hurts.’

  Her accent was strange. Llandry realised with a start that she had heard it before. She had heard that voice before. The white hair... it was the woman she had met in Draetre, the one who had tried to buy her istore pendant. Llandry had refused, but soon after that encounter Llandry had found herself the target of attempted robbery and abduction. She had no doubt that this woman had something to do with it.

  She relayed this to Pensould silently, her thoughts turning. She had the nagging feeling she had seen the woman again since then, though she couldn’t remember where.

  I know her, Pensould returned grimly. She is the thief, the restorer. The irritating buzz in my mind when I slept.

  Yes! That was it. Convulsed with pain and confusion, Llandry had been barely aware of her surroundings when Pensould had awakened and she herself had discovered her draykon form. But distantly she recalled that voice, talking and then later, screaming.

 
Why didn’t you kill her?

  I tried. The other one intervened.

  The other one?

  Pensould showed her an image of a tall white-haired man, whurthags at his heels. She did not remember seeing him.

  I will kill her now.

  No. What if there are others? We must find out where they are taking these bones.

  Pensould was not swayed. They can plunder no more graves if they are dead!

  We need information, not bodies. Do you not wish to know why they are doing this?

  Pensould subsided, muttering. Llandry kept a close eye on the white-haired woman, wondering how she intended to effect the transfer of the bones. If she allowed her consciousness to blur, Llandry could detect the warm energy of the realm of Glinnery only a heartbeat away, and the shadowy realm that her people thought of as the Lowers. Moving from one to the other was not a matter of travel at all, not really; she shifted through the worlds with no more than a thought.

  But this ability had come with her discovery of her draykon shape. This woman was no draykon; she would have to convey the bones the human way, by opening a gate through to the Seven and then another to the Lowers. The process of crossing gates was always hard on the human body, leading to pain and nausea. She didn’t see how this woman was going to accomplish the task quickly.

  As her workers set to, the woman began to pace. Llandry realised she was nervous, her body radiating tension. Some minutes passed and Llandry could see no reason for it - until, without warning, another pale-haired figure, a man, appeared beside her. Llandry sucked in her breath. His tall, spare frame and his lined face were instantly recognisable. He was the man who had tried to abduct her not long since. Remembering the way he had seized control of her will, she forced herself to make no sound that could give her away.

  His manner was menacing as he turned to the woman. She, however, radiated as much anger as fear and spoke to him with chilling coldness. Their words were lost on Llandry, spoken in an alien tongue; but it was obvious that the man was in charge, that he was angry with the woman, and that she resented everything about their situation.

  Llandry could understand that. The man terrified her, too.

  Their conversation over, the man glanced at the woman’s lackeys, who redoubled their efforts when they noticed his eyes on them. Then, to Llandry’s relief, he disappeared.

  She frowned. That trick continued to bother her. He gave little warning of his movements, no tell-tale shift in the atmosphere and certainly none of the clumsy rending at the fabric of the worlds that sorcerers were guilty of. It all added to his ability to frighten her. She wouldn’t have any way of knowing when he was near.

  Pensould shifted beside her, his restlessness unabated. She laid a hand on his arm, uselessly, and resigned herself to an uncomfortable hour. She could feel the pain the men were inflicting on the slumbering draykon throughout, and her resolved frequently wavered, but she stuck to her plan. With considerably greater difficulty, she kept Pensould to it as well.

  Llandry puzzled over the matter as she lay on her stomach in the moss with her legs and arms slowly turning numb. This woman had already woken one draykon, and it had availed her nothing; she had merely made an enemy of Pensould. Why would she seek to do it again? And her connection with Llandry’s would-be abductor was worrying as well. Pensould had said that Llandry’s presence had a great deal to do with his full awakening; was she supposed to have something to do with the repeat performance as well?

  At last the men had finished. Llandry flexed her limbs experimentally, aware that she may have to be ready to move at any moment. But before she had prepared herself to emerge, the man appeared again. The workers had laid the bones out onto a large sheet of fabric, carefully placing them in some sort of order. Their careful work didn’t seem to interest their employer very much, for he gathered up the fabric and the bones together into a messy bundle.

  Pensould, time to move.

  Llandry began to worm her way out of the undergrowth that concealed her, taking care not to lose sight of the pale-haired man and woman and their bundle of stolen bones. The female directed her winged workers out of the clearing and they trotted dutifully away. Llandry supposed they must have a gate waiting nearby to take them back to Glinnery.

  All right, we –

  She stopped in astonishment. The man vanished as he had before, taking the bones with him. To her surprise and dismay, the woman flickered briefly and disappeared in the same manner.

  ‘Oh, no.’ She ran to the spot where they had been standing moments before. No clue remained to indicate where they had gone.

  ‘I’m sorry, Pensould. I thought she would leave the same way she came, through a gate or something. Did – did you know she could do that?’

  ‘Apparently the disappearing is not unique to the colourless man.’ Pensould’s tone was clipped and cold, his posture stiff with indignation.

  You should have let me eat her.

  Llandry said nothing. She couldn’t entirely disagree.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Eva arrived home to an empty house. Her footsteps rang sharply on her tiled hall floor, echoing in the silence. Nobody waited to greet her. Nobody except Rikbeek, that is, and he didn’t count. Being bitten did not qualify as social interaction. Not when the biter was a gwaystrel, anyway.

  Even Milyn had the evening off and had gone out. In her current mood, Eva would have welcomed the sight of Tren sitting at her desk, deep in a book, or even Vale ensconced in the rocking chair in the conservatory. A pang of loneliness hit her, sharp and cutting. It’s as I deserve, she couldn’t help thinking. She had brought it on herself.

  True, the day she had had didn’t help. She may not be an official member of the Council anymore, but Vale had been right: she’d been summoned to the meetings anyway. It had taken up most of her time for days as the Council and assorted experts, consultants and otherwise interested parties debated the draykon issue with far greater fervour than they ever had before. But to little effect. She had no new information to offer and it was patently obvious that the Council was at a loss. The best they had been able to do in the end was form yet another research team, led by Professor Mayn of the city’s university. Eva knew they would meet with little success.

  The sight of a large box resting atop her parlour table drew a flicker of interest despite her depressed spirits. The label was stamped with the name Lawch & Son. Excellent: the light-globe manufacturers only sent her unsolicited shipments when they had something wholly new to share with her. And having given them a considerable investment for development a few moons ago, she had hopes that their newest products would be magnificent indeed.

  Eva opened the box. Contained within many layers of packaging was a large light-globe, larger than any she’d seen before. It rested inside a patterned metal cage, and as she lifted it out it was already glowing.

  Glowing pink. The shade was startlingly similar to the pink glow that had suffused Ana’s abominable daefly garden in the Lowers.

  A letter was tied to the cage with string. She released the globe, letting it drift upwards to hover over her head, and quickly read the letter.

  ...your representative, Mr Pitren Warvel, encouraged us to offer you this advance sample of our new product...

  Eva blinked. Tren? What did Tren have to do with Lawch & Son?

  She checked the date on the letter. Four days ago... So Tren had been in Westrarc this week.

  For a moment she couldn’t think how he could possibly have known about Lawch & Son. It wasn’t something she was likely to have mentioned to him in conversation. But then she recalled the words of his message to her. Any urgent correspondence may be left with Mrs Geslin in the meantime.

  So he had been able to guess where the Geslin family’s stroke of good fortune had come from. Eva hoped he wouldn’t despise her for it. Why had he put his name to the globe? Was it to tell her that he knew about her actions, and if so was it a gesture of approval? She felt a brief and wholly unfa
miliar flicker of nerves at the possibility that he might not approve.

  These doubts were so uncharacteristic that, for a moment, she hardly recognised herself. She quickly squashed them and turned back to the globe. The matter of Tren’s personal opinions could wait: the globe represented a more pressing question. Why had Tren sent this to her? The design was unusual, but besides that there was nothing about the globe that seemed-

  It changed colour.

  She blinked as the pink faded away and was replaced by a soothing blue glow. She had seen globes that changed colour autonomously, but those operated via mechanics and tinted glass and they required gas and chemicals to function. This was definitely a sorcerer’s globe. And it had - presumably - been packed in the box for four days without interference. How could a sorc globe hold a fluctuating enchantment for that long?

  She found the letter and perused it again. She’d been distracted by Tren’s name on her first reading; now she focused on the rest of the text.

  ... new type of glass developed with the help of an Ullarni inventor... think there is a clear market for these among high society such as your ladyship’s associates... hope that your ladyship might draw attention to the sample ahead of the product’s launch next moon...

  Eva dropped the letter with an exasperated sigh. That the man could think so much of sales when the functionality was the remarkable thing! Grabbing the globe, she brought it back down to eye level and examined it closely. Most globes were made from clear glass, but this one was not entirely transparent. A glossy sheen covered the surface, and beneath the blue light were hints of other colours.

  The metal cage bore a hinge on one side and a clasp on the other. She opened it and took the glass out, running her hands over the surface. It was perfectly smooth, but now that she held the globe in her bare hands she noticed a faint buzz of energy warming her skin. It was an echo of a sensation she had felt before...

  Remembering, she almost dropped the globe. She had owned an istore ring once, until it had been stolen. She had worn such a thing again later, in the Lowers. Those rings had been crafted to allow the stone to rest directly against her skin; wearing them had given her a feeling of strength and vitality and she had later learned that the stone - or draykon bone, as it proved to be - amplified her magical capabilities as long as it remained next to her skin. This glass held a whisper of that same feeling.