Dark Realm: Book 5 Circles of Light series

by E. M. Sinclair

  ‘Hello m’dear.’ A weather-beaten face peered up from beneath a very odd piece of headgear with a smile which quickly changed to a frown when the man saw Cyrek and Seola.

  Fenj reclined close to the man and propped his chin on the strange hat.

  ‘These are friends who have come to help dear Farn. The Lady Seola and the Lord Cyrek.’

  The man struggled to get to his feet but was unable to move under the weight of Fenj’s head.

  ‘And this is Grib, Gardener to the Lady Emla.’

  Cyrek sat down near the Dragon. There was no mistaking the affection in Fenj’s mind voice.

  ‘I have discovered that gardeners are splendid fellows,’ Fenj continued. ‘Loyal and trustworthy.’

  Seola and Cyrek both marked Grib’s expression of deep discomfort. Fenj’s prismed eyes whirred, their colour that of shadows on snow. His tone became confidential.

  ‘Grib makes the most wonderful restorative. Not quite as good as dear Lorak’s, but close.’ Fenj removed his chin from Grib’s head. ‘I’m sure you could find a tiny taste for our guests.’

  Grib scowled but Cyrek smiled broadly.

  ‘If Fenj recommends it, I’m sure it must be beyond compare.’

  Seola looked puzzled but sat down next to Cyrek. Muttering under his breath, Grib disappeared into the shed. He came out with three bowls and a flask. He poured a small amount for Seola and Cyrek and then retreated to lean against Fenj with the third bowl. Cyrek raised the bowl, sipped, and froze. Dark have mercy! He glanced at Seola. Tears rolled down her cheeks which had gone a deep pink. Cyrek sipped again, got his breathing back under control, and nodded towards Grib and Fenj.

  ‘Truly beyond compare,’ he agreed solemnly.

  Chapter Eight

  Shield Master and Armourer Garrol climbed the many stairs to the First Daughter’s chambers, a long, cloth-wrapped bundle beneath his arm. Peshan greeted him and waved him inside. The First Daughter smiled at her Shield Master’s formal salute, left thumb to brow, lips and chest, and then his palm offered to her. Matching his formality, she rose from her great chair to touch his hand.

  ‘And how do you shield, Shield Master?’

  ‘With my mind, with my breath, with my strength and with my blood.’

  ‘Do you freely shield me?’

  ‘I do First Daughter, now and always, in the name of Mother Dark.’

  Lerran sat again. ‘Why so formal Garrol? Surely we are the oldest of friends.’

  Garrol sat opposite, on the long bench screened from Lerran’s permanently blazing fire.

  ‘Whenever you request weapons First Daughter, it is a very formal occasion in my eyes.’

  Lerran nodded in understanding.

  ‘You had what I requested?’

  ‘Yes. You well know I only keep a few items of this quality by me – they take so long to forge. I will start replacing the ones you choose now.’

  He unwrapped the bundle on his knees. The first sword he lifted was a two handed sword, double edged with the plainest of down swept quillons. The handle was black wood with a large jet set in the pommel. The blade was black; it drank the light from Lerran’s fire when Garrol half-drew it from its scabbard. Garrol slid the blade gently back and smiled across at the First Daughter.

  ‘Favrian was due for a new sword - the one he wears now was one of the first I ever made, forty years past.’

  The second sword was shorter, a single handed blade with straight, narrow quillons. The pommel held a ruby of the darkest red. Garrol handed it almost casually to Peshan, who took it with surprise and reverence.

  ‘I am honoured Shield Master. It is an excellent blade.’ Peshan drew the sword fully and tested its weight and balance. He saluted Garrol before letting the blade touch his left thumb. Blood welled. Peshan smoothed the blood along the flat of the blade where it vanished, absorbed by the metal. He resheathed it and sat down, the sword laid across his lap.

  ‘I brought several knives First Daughter. The woman, Gossamer Tewk, has considerable expertise. She already carries three knives but they are of greatly inferior manufacture. And the young girl obviously needs something more suited to her size.’

  He spread the thick cloth wide and displayed eight knives of different lengths and widths.

  ‘I would leave the choice entirely in your hands Garrol. Will you have any chance to teach the child more than not to cut herself?’

  Garrol laughed. ‘Gossamer Tewk can work with her – whenever opportunity arises. It doesn’t take long to run through the elementary exercises. The girl is quick – I’ve seen that – physically and mentally. Always a good sign.’ He moved the knives with a thick forefinger. ‘I would like the girl to have two of these, the woman three or even four.’

  ‘You know best in such matters Shield Master.’

  Garrol stood up. The first sword he laid gently on the bench along with five of the knives. He rolled the remaining three into the cloth and bowed to Lerran.

  ‘I trust the Dark blesses these blades well First Daughter.’

  They listened to the sound of Garrol’s boot heels fading in the distance then Peshan raised his sword again, admiring the glittering ruby in the pommel. He went across to the bench where the other sword rested beside the knives. He saw that each knife had a stone in its pommel, each stone a different type. Peshan raised a brow at his sister.

  ‘Did you provide these jewels?’

  She stared into the heart of the fire. ‘Dabray,’ she said softly.

  Peshan frowned. Dabray rarely involved himself in such things. He understood the seriousness of this attempt to enter the Splintered Kingdom, but he had not realised that Dabray had been consulted.

  ‘I will speak with Gossamer Tewk and Shea tomorrow – would you inform Corman for me? I need to give some help to Seola and Cyrek – their task has turned out far worse than I’d anticipated.’

  ‘Help?’ Peshan sat down again, leaning forward, elbows on knees.

  Lerran turned her gaze from the fire to her brother. ‘The young one who screams is far down in the Dark, further than Seola can go. It took many others to call her back to the living world. Yet this young Dragon is even deeper and I believe his mind is reclaimable.’

  Peshan’s face was bloodless. ‘Deeper than Seola can reach?’ he repeated in horror. ‘But she’s the strongest of us now.’

  ‘She is not stronger than I am,’ Lerran corrected him gently.

  Peshan stared. ‘But have you gone, deep into Mother Dark, in the last centuries even? We would all have known – you can’t conceal the sensations when any one of us goes to our limits.’

  Lerran shrugged one shoulder. ‘If it is Mother Dark’s will, I shall go. If it is her will that I survive, I shall survive.’

  Silence fell between them except for the sibilant hiss of the flames.

  ‘When would you attempt this?’

  Lerran hesitated before replying. ‘It must be soon to have a chance of regaining the Dragon’s mind with a hope of restoring him fully. But I do not want you to go into the Splintered Realm without my presence here.’

  Peshan felt sick. Lerran had doubts about reaching so far into the Dark. He had never before heard a word of uncertainty with regard to her abilities. Lerran gave him a fond smile.

  ‘Chindar will stand in for me in the event I am – unavailable.’

  Peshan swallowed. He had accepted the considerable level of risk involved in his participation in the venture into the Splintered Kingdom, but he had not contemplated the enormous danger his sister could now face. Lerran stared into the fire once again.

  ‘Two days,’ she said. ‘Two days from now you will make the gateway into that place. You should go at dawn. I will wait until darkfall of that day before I descend. Two full days for Gossamer Tewk and Shea to be drilled hard.’ Lerran smiled suddenly at her brother. ‘Gossamer is changing hourly, have you noticed? Dabray asked to speak alone with her yesterday morning.’

  ‘Dabray?’ Peshan thought Dabray communicated
only with Lerran over these last years. But Lerran nodded.

  ‘Corman guided her there and waited for her. He reported that she was extremely quiet, shocked, he thought.’

  ‘But what would Dabray have to talk about with a half dead?’

  Lerran laughed aloud. ‘I have no idea, but I do know Dabray. His wisdom is far greater than mine. I may be First Daughter but Dabray is First Lord for good reasons, brother.’

  ‘Do you wish me to work with Gossamer Tewk and Shea?’

  ‘No. Garrol and Favrian’s captains can do that. I spoke with Favrian earlier – he has gone home, as you must do. Spend this brief time with Marla.’

  Peshan bent over his sister, resting his cheek against her thick white hair. Straightening, he picked up his new sword, formally saluted the First Daughter and went quietly from her presence.

  After a while, Lerran moved to the bench where the other sword and the knives lay. She lifted one of the longer knives and returned to her great chair. Loosening the blade in its plain leather sheath, she studied the half exposed blade. The black metal drank in the firelight, as always with good blood metal. She realised she had never thought to ask how much blood an Armourer of Garrol’s skill needed to drain for his work. She knew it must be quite a lot. Blood metal took so long to forge because of the quantities of blood needed in the quenchings. The Armourer would not bleed himself to the point of debilitation – it took months therefore, to take enough.

  Lerran stooped to push more wood into the fire, and sat, as so often, staring into the flames. Since Dabray had been lost to the half death she had spent what must add up to many years just sitting alone, remembering her long past and trying to pierce the shadows of the future. But all her beloved had told her was that events were so delicately poised and balanced, one against another, that peril was closer than since the Dark had first retreated to this small Realm. The Dark had ruled the whole world but, with no overt challenges to its strength, had grown complacent. Now the Dark, once Mother of all, clung to this tiny foothold behind the Barrier Mountains, hidden and secret.

  Lerran hear Corman approaching, although no one else would have noted the Palace Master’s footfalls. He set down a tray on the long sideboard and then moved a table close to Lerran’s chair. He fetched the tray and put it beside her.

  ‘You must eat,’ he chided her. ‘You know you must for what you plan.’

  He picked up a crystal decanter, the liquid within almost black, and filled two goblets. He touched the goblets lightly to warm the contents and placed one beside a dish of meat. The other he took himself and sat in an armchair, his eyes fixed on the First Daughter. He raised his goblet to her and took a deep swallow. Lerran pulled the tray closer and peered at the plates and dishes. She took a fork and began to eat.

  ‘An awful lot of meat here,’ she commented.

  Corman merely smiled. ‘And you will eat all of it.’ He watched, making sure she did continue to eat. ‘Who else will support you when you descend?’

  ‘Surely you will be with me – who else could I need?’

  ‘Sarcasm is beneath you, Lerran.’ Corman frowned, crossed his legs and rested his goblet on the arm of the chair. ‘Chindar must keep clear – you have named him should anything go awry. I suggest Coby. She suspects what you plan and she is equal to Chindar in strength. I have worked with her many times. We know we can trust each other.’ He finished his blood drink and removed the now empty tray.

  When he returned he still bore the tray, heaped afresh. Placing it by Lerran again, he grinned. ‘You see, your body understands what lies ahead and is eager to store energy in plenty.’

  Lerran looked a little surprised to realise she had in truth consumed all the food Corman had first brought her. And yes, she still felt hungry. She began to eat again, gnawing flesh from a bone while she considered Corman’s suggestion. He had indeed worked often with Coby and Coby was deemed almost as knowledgeable as Chindar in matters of Dark ritual. A thought occurred.

  ‘Coby – is she not a stickler for the correctness of all ritual? Would she be able to handle something inexplicable or even contrary to what she has believed correct?’

  Corman poured more of the blood drink for both of them while he gave Lerran’s question careful thought.

  ‘I believe so,’ he said at length. ‘It is something I should clarify with her though. And if I have the slightest hesitation or doubt, who else will we ask?’

  ‘Is Treska still here? He would be capable.’

  ‘No.’ Corman’s reply was instant and blunt. ‘Treska is capable yes, but not stable enough to undertake a prolonged supervision. He would get bored and lose concentration – which could be fatal for us all. And this will be a prolonged descent will it not?’

  ‘I’m afraid it may well be. What about Alloc?’

  Again Corman took his time reviewing Alloc’s suitability. Eventually he nodded.

  ‘Of the two, I would prefer Coby, but if I doubt her flexibility, I would choose Alloc. In fact, whoever does not act with me as your supporter should still be present. In case of emergency.’

  Lerran sat back, nursing her drink. ‘On further thought, I think Harith might do better than Treska, in whichever role you decide: supporter or watcher.’

  Corman nodded slowly. ‘I believe you’re right. Treska is a dear fellow and utterly loyal, but his mind has butterfly tendencies, as he himself has said often enough.’

  ‘You will speak to them tonight?’

  ‘At once.’ Corman collected the tray, noting with approval that all the food had been eaten again. He headed towards the door. ‘I’ll bring you more to eat later, and I’ll tell you what I’ve decided about Harith and Coby.’

  Lerran swallowed the last of the blood drink and rested her hands on her distended belly. She had often wondered just how her body knew it had to gorge before a major dealing with the Dark. She accepted that a short or long Dark working resulted in a frightening loss of body mass. A shiver trickled up her spine when she remembered the time, a full millennia past, when it had taken over half a year for her to regain her strength. That cold finger on her back confirmed her feeling that this descent would be as bad.

  Grent had moved to share the quarters allocated to Waxin Pule now his master had been discharged from the infirmary. Gossamer was sitting in her room, beside the window, watching the stars glitter above the ocean. She had been deeply shocked to meet Dabray deep below the Karmazen Palace. Corman had said not a word when he led her down, lower and lower. Neither had he spoken when she emerged from that strangely vast chamber.

  He had given her a glass of the warmed blood drink and let her sit for a while when they’d returned to his offices. For which she was grateful. He’d busied himself with stacks of papers until she’d finished the drink. He got up and opened the door, waiting patiently until it dawned on Gossamer that he intended to take her somewhere else. She found herself brought to a deeply shadowed colonnade beyond which the sun beat down on a spacious yard where soldiers exercised. Energetically.

  Gossamer stared back at Corman in horror but he merely grinned, rather unpleasantly she’d thought. Corman nodded as Shield Master Garrol approached. Garrol had a companion, dressed in uniform and who Gossamer could only have described as a strapping female. She felt panic rising when she realised Corman had done his vanishing into the shadows trick and left her alone. Garrol smiled, his eyes seeming very blue in his dark face.

  ‘You are to have weapons drill,’ he began.

  ‘I am? Who says?’ Gossamer demanded.

  Garrol blinked. ‘The First Daughter’s orders,’ he replied. ‘And this is Sergeant Essa. She specialises in knife work, as you do I believe.’

  Sergeant Essa smiled down at Gossamer, who had never before thought of herself as a small woman but now felt sorely undersized. Gossamer rolled her eyes when she saw that Sergeant Essa’s teeth were a pale purple and filed into points, reminding her of Drengle List.

  ‘There’s a smaller practice area round the
corner. Quieter. I thought you might prefer that.’ Garrol nodded briskly. ‘I’ll see you later.’

  Essa strode towards a square building, part of the barracks Gossamer surmised, and Gossamer strolled reluctantly after her. There followed an extraordinarily unpleasant and, to Gossamer, unnecessarily prolonged, period of time. She spent much of it sailing over or under Sergeant Essa. Eventually Garrol reappeared. After watching for a while, he expressed himself satisfied. For now.

  Garrol took her back to the colonnade, handed her over to the waiting Corman and left. ‘We’ll just run through some of those drills later,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Come back about the fourth hour. Sergeant Essa will be here.’

  Gossamer Tewk limped along behind Corman. When they reached the spiral staircase Gossamer recognised as leading to the rooms she shared with Shea, Corman left her.

  ‘It really isn’t that difficult to find your way in the Palace. Especially now that your brain is functioning at a better rate.’ Corman left Gossamer Tewk glaring at his back. She hauled herself upstairs and spent some time soaking her bruises.

  The afternoon exercise was as bad as the morning, but Gossamer had some satisfaction in knocking Sergeant Essa flat on her back, twice. Thinking back on it, Gossamer recalled the Sergeant’s wider smile both times she’d been felled. She also remembered the subsequent pounding she’d got in reply. Shea was summoned to the First Daughter after dinner and Gossamer had come to sit by her bedroom window. Shea had stuck her head round the door a short time ago on her return but the child seemed subdued. After only a brief conversation, Shea had gone off to her own bed.

  Gossamer studied the backs of her hands in the faint light from the night sky. After the exertions today the skin should have begun to deteriorate again. But it hadn’t. In fact, the knuckles were scraped quite heavily on her left hand and had bled. Now scabs crusted them, looking several days older than they should have. Although both Corman and Dabray had explained much to her, Gossamer found it nearly impossible to comprehend. She knew she had been murdered: a needle dipped in a particularly fast acting poison had pricked her arm as she worked through a gathering of merchants.