Dark Realm: Book 5 Circles of Light series

by E. M. Sinclair

  ‘No she won’t.’ She shook her head, her shock of white hair sticking out like cobwebs in the sunlight. ‘Hag told Cyrek the First Daughter will make an attempt at dawn tomorrow.’

  Nesh studied her. He had been a healer for far too long to miss the panic and fear the herb woman was trying to hide.

  ‘And will the First Daughter succeed?’ he asked gently.

  The fear was obvious now. ‘She must,’ Nenat whispered. ‘She must. I had only a glimpse when Seola tried but never have I been aware of such an endless depth. I am not Dark blood, but I understand the descent the Dark ones speak of. I have shared descents a few times, when they’ve worked a healing. That was frightening enough but what I felt the other day. .’

  Nesh covered her hand with his own. ‘Will we be able to help in any way?’

  Again Nenat shook her head. ‘The First Daughter will have a supporter at her side in the Palace but I think there will be nothing for us to do. Except watch the poor Dragon, and wait.’

  Nenat’s fear had infected Nesh and the two so different healers sat in the sunlight in silence, contemplating what may lie ahead.

  Farn felt so very tired. Where was she? He had called. He had screamed. But she had not answered. He had forgotten where he was so how could he begin to guess where she might be? It was dark, very dark, and he didn’t know up from down. Occasionally, something seemed to approach, to almost brush against him. But he didn’t know what it might be and he could no longer feel his limbs. He’d heard voices at times, voices he thought he might once have known but which he recognised no longer.

  Farn didn’t know if the things he felt, floating around him, meant him harm or not. He didn’t care. He wanted Tika. He needed her. A voice he was sure he’d never heard before had called him and he’d nearly followed its sound. But how could he know which way to go unless Tika called him? He would only answer her now. Was she somewhere in this darkness? He would rest for a little while then he’d call her again. But he was so tired.

  In the Pavilion, Kija watched over her son. A new shift of six healers had just replaced six others. Kija was not greatly skilled at reading the facial expressions of humans, but their exhaustion was obvious to her senses. The shifts were being changed more frequently but still, maintaining the wards round this building could not be kept up indefinitely. She used her Dragon senses to probe Farn’s life signs and fought to keep her wail of anguish from bursting from her. He was weakening rapidly now. Kija watched him, steeling herself for that moment when she would have to break his life thread, and set him free of his pain.

  At dawn in the Karmazen Palace Lerran watched the people entering her chamber, Gossamer Tewk and Shea each carrying packs prepared for them under Corman’s supervision. Peshan and Favrian also had packs hooked over their shoulders. Corman himself, Librarian Chindar and Shield Master Garrol stood to one side. Shea was paler than usual but her face showed a solemn excitement. The hilts of her two new daggers could be seen one each side on a black leather belt. She wore a loose black shirt over closer fitted trousers, and her boots were of the softest, toughest leather the Palace cobbler could find.

  The others wore similar garb, although Lerran noted only two daggers were visible on Gossamer Tewk’s person, and the First Daughter knew she carried four others. Peshan and Favrian both wore their swords, a long knife scabbarded at the opposite hip.

  ‘You are prepared?’ Lerran asked softly.

  Favrian nodded. ‘We are, First Daughter.’

  Lerran opened her mouth but before she could speak, Shea stepped forward.

  ‘If you wouldn’t mind First Daughter.’ Her cheeks flushed at her own temerity.

  Lerran quirked a brow. ‘What is it Lady Shea?’

  ‘Well, I think I should swear to serve you before we go.’

  Lerran frowned then spread her beringed hands before her. ‘Are you quite sure you should do this?’

  Gossamer Tewk surprised them all, but mostly herself, by moving up beside Shea.

  ‘I agree with Shea, First Daughter.’ She glanced down at Shea who nodded vigorously.

  ‘It would make us feel more – right, more that we’re really working with Favrian and Peshan. Erm, Sword Master Favrian and Lord Peshan that is,’ she corrected herself.

  Lerran gave a brief laugh. ‘You can dispense with formal titles child. If this is truly your wish, do you know how to swear to the Dark?’

  Shea looked uncertain. ‘Well, we saw Grent swear – is it the same for us?’

  Corman stepped closer, an unfamiliar smile on his face. ‘I will lead you.’

  He stood so that Gossamer Tewk and Shea could see him clearly then lifted his left hand. His thumb touched his forehead, and Gossamer and Shea copied his action carefully. ‘I swear with my mind.’

  He waited for them to repeat his words before touching his thumb to his lips. ‘I swear with my breath.’ He touched his chest. ‘I swear with my strength.’ Then he swept his hand outwards, palm up towards Lerran and finished the oath: ‘I swear with my life.’

  Lerran had watched closely, rising from her chair to stand nearer to the two. Now she laid her own left hand lightly on Shea’s, then on Gossamer Tewk’s.

  ‘The Dark accepts your minds, your breaths, your strengths and your lives. And may the Dark always have mercy on you.’

  Favrian loosened his sword in its scabbard and drew close to Gossamer and Shea, Peshan doing likewise. A brief word, and they’d gone. Those remaining murmured in unison: ‘Mother Dark, have mercy.’

  The nasty twisting and tumbling sensation didn’t feel quite so awful this time to Gossamer. She wasn’t impressed with where they’d arrived though. A tunnel, burrowing through a sort of grey stone – not a nice looking stone but a sickly oily type. Shea was already on her feet beside Peshan. He and Favrian stood facing in opposite directions, listening intently. Gossamer got to her feet and settled her pack comfortably and securely, leaving her hands free should she need her knives in a hurry.

  She peered round Favrian and saw only a continuation of the tunnel until it turned to the right a short way on. Peshan came up with Shea and Favrian began to walk forward.

  ‘How do you know which way?’ Shea hissed.

  Neither man replied. Gossamer had no idea how long they walked: long enough for her legs to ache a bit at least, which meant Shea must surely be getting tired. Gossamer turned to look at the girl but Shea didn’t appear in any difficulty. There had been no side tunnels, no marks on the walls or the floor, just the strange luminescence from the greasy stone. Favrian raised a hand. They halted. What was it? Had Favrian heard something? Someone?

  Somewhat to Gossamer’s disgust, Favrian simply squatted down, unhooking his pack and rummaging through the contents. Shea was cross legged beside Peshan so Gossamer also lowered herself to the floor. Both men took out flasks and swallowed a couple of mouthfuls. Shea also found a flask in her pack and followed suit. Gossamer was fairly sure Shea’s flask held only water while she suspected her own would contain the blood drink the men obviously had. Shea produced an apple and bit into it, the crunch sounding over loud.

  ‘Do you actually know where we’re going?’ Gossamer asked, her tone genuinely curious rather than sarcastic.

  Favrian shot her a grin. ‘Roughly. It isn’t a matter of knowing the particular direction. It’s more a sort of feeling.’

  Gossamer rolled her eyes. ‘Oh. A feeling. That’s good.’

  Shea giggled. ‘It is a feeling Gossamer. I can feel it, can’t you?’

  ‘No I can’t. Is it a near feeling or a far feeling then?’

  ‘That’s a bit of a problem. Sometimes it feels near and then it almost disappears.’

  ‘Wonderful.’

  Peshan fastened his pack and held out a hand to Shea. ‘Come on, we’ve rested long enough.’

  They continued through the endless tunnel. Gossamer had no idea if they were travelling in a huge circle or actually getting anywhere. The stone on which they walked suddenly rippled, thro
wing them all off balance. Favrian regained his footing quickest, his drawn sword held across his chest. Peshan grabbed Shea’s pack straps and steadied her as Gossamer leaned against the side of the tunnel. But she didn’t lean for long: the stone felt unpleasant, unclean. The floor became still but the wall nearest Gossamer seemed to melt, turning from solid stone to a transparent glassy substance. Peshan pushed closer to Gossamer and they both stared through.

  A man lay on a beach, other men sitting near him. Gossamer’s mouth fell open as a grey Dragon appeared, lowering its face to the man. She had time to see the Dragon had lost an eye, half its face was scarred. Then the stone wall reappeared, almost touching her nose. She turned to Peshan. He shrugged.

  ‘I have no idea. Come on.’

  The trembling of the floor repeated with shorter and shorter intervals in between, each time accompanied by a window appearing in the wall. They saw scenes unrecognisable to any of them.

  ‘How long have we been in here do you think Peshan?’

  He glanced down at Shea then across to Gossamer. ‘I would guess a full day if not a little longer.’

  ‘But then why aren’t we tired? Or hungry?’ Shea persisted.

  ‘Time is different in the Places Between. We already knew this. We’re not completely sure the Splintered Kingdom is Between, or has a separate existence entirely.’

  ‘We don’t seem to be getting any nearer those poor people any more,’ Shea pointed out.

  The two men stared at her with some impatience but Gossamer’s interest was caught.

  ‘What would you suggest then?’

  Shea’s smile was brilliant in the pale murkiness. ‘The woman’s name is Tika, isn’t it? I don’t know the man’s name.’ She looked slightly guilty. ‘I erm heard Hag talking to Corman.’

  Gossamer was mystified. What difference did their names make? But Shea was already drawing breath.

  ‘TIKA!’ She screamed the name five times.

  Gossamer flinched, looking to Favrian. He was checking the tunnel, his sword at the ready. Then he froze and swung round to Peshan. Peshan nodded. Favrian pointed ahead.

  ‘Down there. Hurry!’

  Gossamer and Shea began to jog to keep up with the Dark Lords who strode ahead, swords raised in their right hands, their left hands on the hilts of their long knives. With no warning ripple from the floor, both side walls vanished to be replaced by roaring flames leaping higher than their heads. Shea squeaked and clutched Gossamer’s hand. Gossamer gripped her tight and increased her jog to a sprint, pulling the girl with her. Peshan slowed, turned back towards them. As they drew level, he caught Shea up in his left arm and moved faster after Favrian.

  Gossamer ran on, having to swerve suddenly round an almost right angled bend. Silence. The walls returned. There were no flames crackling hungrily around them. Peshan was slightly breathless but neither Favrian nor Gossamer were out of breath. Gossamer had to admit to herself that being dead obviously meant she would not become breathless, but she eyed Favrian thoughtfully. He was not dead yet showed no sign of having just sprinted a considerable distance. Peshan spun round as the wall behind him blurred into the now familiar window.

  They watched in silence. Another Dragon. This one with deep purple scales and plainly larger than the grey Dragon they’d seen in the first window. It flew over a burned and smoky landscape towards what looked like a cluster of buildings. Then the window became stone again.

  Shea pulled her pack off her shoulders and unfastened the straps. Her fingers groped round a spare shirt, trousers, flask – there! She pulled it free, holding it up for the others to see. A single scale of clear crystal, a gift from Dabray, or so the First Daughter had said. Favrian laughed, searching through his own pack. Soon, all four held similar scales, each longer than their hands.

  ‘Are they supposed to do something? Some magic?’ asked Shea.

  Favrian stared at the scale he held, tilting it to catch the meagre light. Finally he tucked it inside his shirt and crouched down to be level with Shea.

  ‘I don’t think it’s magic, but with Dabray – who knows his thoughts? Only the First Daughter perhaps and I believe she would have told us anything she knew that might help us. You were the one who remembered the scale Shea. What do you think you should do with it?’

  Shea frowned, holding the scale in her cupped hands. Then she smiled, an oddly adult expression. She brought the scale close to her face, hesitated, then raised it higher to touch her forehead with it. She rested it against her lips, and her chest, then brought it back near her mouth. She breathed on the scale, closed her hands tightly around it and whispered the name again. ‘Tika.’

  Chapter Ten

  Corman had a busy day. When he left Lerran he made his way through the labyrinth that was the Karmazen Palace to Coby’s apartments. Coby kept herself to herself, lost in research into the most ancient and arcane of Dark rituals. She had a small property twenty leagues north east, on the coast, which she rarely visited. She’d left her son in charge years ago and lived permanently in the Palace. Corman and Chindar were the closest of Coby’s few intimates so she welcomed Corman’s arrival at her door with a smile of pleasure. Corman refused her offer of a glass of the blood drink – she always kept some for both him and Chindar. She poured a glass of honey coloured wine for herself while Corman plunged straight into what had brought him here.

  Coby listened closely, asking a few pertinent questions to clarify particular points. When he finished, Coby rose and refilled her glass. She stared out of her window, where rain pelted the glass, then returned to her chair. Corman looked relaxed, legs crossed, hands loose on the arms of his chair.

  ‘I am fascinated,’ Coby began. ‘But I am also appalled at what Lerran plans.’ She contemplated the wine in her glass then looked across at Corman. Gold eyes met gold eyes and neither flinched. Coby drew a breath. ‘I believe you would do better to use Harith as supporter. You are absolutely correct. I am not intuitive, I would baulk at an unexpected change of ritual and that could cost Lerran, and you my old friend, most dearly. But I will gladly watch, although as you are using two supporters perhaps it would be wise to invite Alloc to watch with me?’

  Corman nodded and got to his feet. ‘I appreciate your frankness Coby. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go and see Harith.’

  Harith agreed immediately to join Corman in Lerran’s chambers before darkfall. Corman suggested he rest and eat for the remainder of the day – to act as supporter could be as draining as for the one making a prolonged descent to the Dark. Alloc was on his balcony feeding a host of small birds. Corman waited until all the crumbs and seeds had been taken from Alloc’s outstretched hands before explaining his visit. Alloc listened, absently brushing at water droplets on his sleeves and managing to make himself wetter.

  ‘Well of course. You had no need to ask – you need only summon me.’ He flicked his grey beard and seemed surprised that it was so wet.

  Corman took his leave, hesitating at the door. ‘Should I send for you? You won’t forget will you – Lerran’s chambers before darkfall?’

  Alloc sputtered with indignation, thought for a moment and smiled ruefully. ‘Perhaps a reminder might be best.’

  Corman laughed and closed the door behind him. He went to the central kitchen and loaded another tray with a whole cold roast fowl, several meat pies, a heaped dish of vegetables and another of fruit. The kitchen staff watched him in an unnatural quiet and the Palace-Keeper Jenniah emerged from her office to watch as well. She held open the door for him and followed into the corridor.

  ‘Don’t fret Jenniah. The First Daughter knows what she’s doing,’ he told her. Privately, he hoped those words were true. But Jenniah brightened.

  ‘Of course she does. It’s just that we all know that when you feed her like this, she is going into the Dark. And most of us don’t understand so we’re inclined to be fearful for her.’

  ‘I know, and your concern is greatly appreciated.’ Corman started towards the stairs.


  Corman watched as Lerran demolished the fowl and turned her attention to the fruit.

  ‘I’ve had a thought about Veranta’s “expeditionary force”. Would you mind if I summoned Ferag?’

  Lerran paused and then began on a meat pie. ‘By all means summon her. She’s just as likely not to answer, but try anyway. What interest could the Mistress of Death possibly have in the Imperium’s advance though?’

  ‘Well, a lot of guards will die, won’t they – I thought she’d have a definite interest.’

  Lerran regarded her Palace Master, her gold eyes slightly brighter. But she would never force herself into his mind and she could tell nothing from his bland expression. Chindar arrived, a pile of books in his arms.

  ‘I think I’ve found what you asked.’ He put the books on another small table with some relief.

  Corman rose. ‘I’ll leave you to it for now then,’ he excused himself.

  When he returned shortly before darkfall, he nodded in answer to Lerran’s quizzical look. ‘A most interesting and, I think, satisfactory discussion,’ he said.

  Lerran walked to the archway beyond which were her private rooms. She kicked off her slippers and settled on the great canopied bed. She sat up suddenly, head tilted and eyes closed. Harith, Alloc and Coby entered but stood silent until Lerran’s eyes opened again. She smiled.

  ‘I believe they have the woman in the Splintered Kingdom. If they open a gateway back here, perhaps you, Alloc, could oversee their condition?’

  She lay back, propped on several plump pillows. Corman drew an armchair to one side of the bed and Harith did likewise on the other. Lerran stretched her arms to the sides, palms upward. Corman and Harith each took a hand. Alloc and Coby seated themselves where they could see the First Daughter clearly in the light of two small lamps. Lerran relaxed and closed her eyes once more.

  She let herself slide into the Dark. It was as easy and natural for her as for most people to slide into a pool. At the beginning, it was merely a grey twilight, but drifting lower, her surroundings darkened to a pitchy black. Lerran knew the instant she passed the first level, the easiest one to reach. At puberty, Dark blood children made their first descent to that level, and many could never face the terror again. But to Lerran it was familiar, even welcoming.