Evastany

by Charlotte E. English

  Then again, Dwinal was hardly any better.

  ‘It would have been preferable,’ I informed him severely, ‘if you had approached me in better faith, without the deception you appear to have thought necessary.’

  ‘My apologies,’ he said for the third — or fourth? — time, and I gritted my teeth.

  ‘It would also have been nice if you had not abducted me.’

  Hyarn tilted his head. ‘There was no abduction. You came willingly.’

  ‘Under false pretences.’

  ‘Not at all. I told you where we were going, and I did not lie to you about our reasons for seeking counsel with you.’

  ‘At the same time, you pretended to be somebody else.’

  ‘But you knew I was not Limbane.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘It did not deter you.’

  ‘I had reasons.’

  He blinked. ‘Which were?’

  ‘I came in search of my students, who you absolutely have abducted.’

  ‘Not at all,’ said he serenely. ‘They were invited to train their Lokant abilities, and we provided them with the means.’

  ‘You pretended to be me! You, or one of your people.’

  His faint smile returned. ‘As I implied. People feel more comfortable with familiar faces.’

  And it was easier. I could extract Susa from Angstrun’s academy with the greatest of ease; but imagine the paperwork if Dwinal had sought to do so openly, on behalf of her Library!

  ‘Your behaviour throughout has been highly suspect,’ I informed him. ‘You have been deceitful, manipulative, high-handed and dishonest. Why should I or my organisation have anything to do with you?’

  ‘Because there is much we may do to assist one another. Your organisation will benefit enormously from our help, as you must realise.’

  I did, of course. I have already discussed the many problems we have faced, particularly our lack of suitable tutors. ‘And how will it benefit you? I am nowhere near naive enough to imagine you would assist us out of the goodness of your hearts.’

  He smiled. ‘All this shall be discussed, if you will come with me.’

  I did not trust him, of course, but what could I do? I needed to hear whatever he had to say, even if I knew he would lie and dissemble all the way through it.

  ‘Archivere Dalsy comes along with us,’ I said.

  ‘May I ask why?’

  ‘Because he is not Archivere Dalsy at all. That’s my husband and I want him with me.’

  That earned me a narrow, somewhat displeased look, which only exasperated me further.

  ‘What? If you treat us with deceitfulness, expect the same in return. I had to get your attention somehow, as you had apparently decided against approaching my organisation openly.’

  He sighed, and his lips tightened with annoyance. Oddly, I did not receive the impression that it was directed at me, and I wondered what troubled him.

  It was soon gone, and replaced by… calculation. ‘Tren Warvel,’ he said.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘A sorcerer?’

  That made me wary. ‘Yes.’

  ‘One of the best, I understand.’

  I did not like the direction his thoughts were tending in, at all. ‘Let him out, please.’

  Hyarn smiled radiantly, and bowed. ‘By all means.’

  Oh, dear.

  ‘Hello, darling,’ I said when Tren joined us moments later. ‘You can take off the wig.’

  Tren did so with obvious relief, and I did not blame him. Those things are mighty uncomfortable, so I hear. ‘I take it the game is up?’

  ‘Or rather, abandoned,’ I replied. ‘I have been trying to explain to Hyarn that his typical Lokant attitude of deceit first, dissimulation afterwards and a healthy pack of lies in between is somewhat counter-productive.’

  Tren’s eyebrows rose. ‘Any luck with that?’

  ‘Not a great deal.’

  Hyarn had the grace to look faintly embarrassed. ‘May I suggest we proceed?’

  Tren took my arm, with perhaps a hint of protectiveness. ‘Lead on,’ he invited, but without his customary smile.

  Once outside of our various prisons, Hyarn simply translocated us to another part of the Library. I surreptitiously checked the Map, afterwards, but it availed me little: we were near nothing that I recognised.

  He led us into a spacious room, handsomely fitted up with wood and crystal and enlivened with more colour than was customary. It was a pleasant room, and since my approving nose detected the aroma of cayluch the moment we arrived, I was immediately rendered more comfortable.

  A long, wooden table occupied the centre of the room, and Hyarn led me to a seat at one end of it. Tren he seated opposite. There were two others present, both Lokants, both women. One was of Limbane’s approximate age, rather elderly by appearance, with a wild mane of hair and plain black clothes. The other was somewhat younger, more neatly turned out, with unusually vivid green eyes. Both of them nodded to me.

  ‘Allow me to introduce our Lokantor,’ said Hyarn, confirming my suspicions. He indicated the elder of the two women as he spoke: this, then, was the infamous Dwinal. ‘And Tynara, her aide.’

  Dwinal looked at me, and at Tren, and offered no comment.

  I scrutinised her with some interest. Here was the woman Llandry had described: the grandmother of Gio, who had treated her poor grandson with such a casual lack of concern that I could not think well of her. Like so many Lokants, she saw others as tools to be used, manipulated, lied to at will — even her own family. Here was the woman who had sought the death of Galywis, even if she had not delivered it herself, and who had greeted the destruction of so magnificent a construction as the Library of Orlind with glee.

  Also the woman who had taken a degree of interest in my students that I could only find unnerving. The good treatment Faronni had obviously received mollified me somewhat, but only a little. I was by no means pacified, and I privately resolved not to leave that room until I had learned what she and Hyarn intended to do with their harvest of partial Lokants.

  If I was not satisfied by the end of the discussions, I would be taking Faronni, Susa and all others I could find, and leaving.

  Nobody spoke. I sat sipping cayluch, unmoved, waiting.

  ‘Well, Lady Glostrum,’ said Dwinal at last. ‘I understand you are in need of teachers for your… establishment.’

  ‘Not so much anymore,’ I told her with a bland smile. ‘Most of my students appear to have been recruited to an entirely different school.’

  ‘They could be relocated, under the right conditions.’

  And a number of things fell into place in my mind. We have been much confused by the behaviour of our opponents, have we not? Their tampering with our post, and making a show of searching our building; their absconding with our students; their absconding with me, and Tren, only to abandon us in locked rooms for days thereafter. And now, to offer us back the very students they have gone to such trouble to procure?

  It has been a sustained effort to intimidate; a show of power. We have been shown that the Librarians of Sulayn Phay can interfere with us on every level, and in every conceivable fashion. In short, we and our fledgling bureau are at their mercy, and if we ever expect to establish our school, we must first satisfy Dwinal.

  They are more than capable of manipulating us, to my chagrin. My fine, clever scheme has only landed us right where they wanted us: in Dwinal’s Library, listening dutifully while she offers to ransom our students, and blackmails us into the bargain.

  ‘What conditions might those be?’ I tried to keep my tone neutral, and show little of my irritation. I do not know how well I succeeded.

  ‘If I was satisfied as to the standard of teaching at your school, I would be more than willing to negotiate.’

  ‘Why not continue to teach them here? Then you may be certain that your standards are being met.’

  Dwinal looked me over. Probably she was considering how many lies she could get away with.
‘Have you noticed any common features among those who have been invited to Sulayn Phay?’

  ‘They are of mixed blood. Draykon and Lokant.’

  ‘Indeed. They ought to be trained in both sides of their heritage; whatever skills they possess by way of sorcery or summoning ought not to be neglected. We lack the capacity to offer this kind of training, but you certainly do not.’

  So this was why she needed us. I wondered about that draykon I had heard mention of. Had they tried to acquire a tutor from among the draykoni, and failed? I would not be surprised. They had a history of harvesting draykon bone and putting it to all manner of questionable uses. What draykon would consent to work with them? What draykon would consent to work with them? I, however, was known to possess close links with the very heart of the new draykon world. If anybody could recruit their aid, it would be me.

  ‘You removed Susa from the Sorcerer’s Academy,’ I reminded Dwinal. ‘There she was receiving precisely the kind of teaching you describe.’

  ‘But her Lokant heritage was neglected. Besides, many of your students have been failed by your “Sorcerer” and “Summoner” schools, have they not? Their aptitude is not considered sufficient, or they do not progress quickly enough. They drop out, or they are invited to leave. They deserve better. There needs to be a new kind of establishment: one that nurtures both sides of these students’ heritage, and one which understands the true source of all their abilities besides.’

  ‘Why should any of this interest you? Your concern for the future of my students is touching, but I fail to see why the standard and breadth of their education should matter one whit to you.’

  She gave me that considering look again, and I braced myself. ‘We are planning the inauguration of a new … establishment of our own,’ she said. ‘One which must be peopled and staffed by those such as we have discussed. Men and women with mixed blood, adept at a range of arts previously thought incompatible with one another. Skilled Lokants, trained sorcerers or summoners or whatever you shall come to term these things in future. In exchange for our aid, I wish for you to refer your very best graduates to me. That is all.’

  ‘What kind of establishment?’ I said immediately. Such vagueness could only mean bad news.

  But she was unmoved by my question. ‘It would be difficult to explain it to you.’

  I smiled. ‘That is insufficient, as you must know. Be frank with me, please. I assure you, I can bear it.’

  She inclined her head. ‘Then to be frank: I will not answer this question. The matter is no concern of yours.’

  I wondered whether that meant it was highly suspect in nature, which seemed probable. I could try to give her the benefit of the doubt, I suppose, and believe her to be telling the truth: it probably wasn’t any business of mine, so why should she waste either her time or mine in telling me about it? But these are Lokants, and she’s a Lokantor, and I don’t believe a word of it.

  No matter. If she won’t tell me, I will find out for myself.

  Tren had let me do all the talking up until then, but something was bothering him; I knew from the perplexed frown that he wore, and his silence. He was thinking.

  In due course, he spoke up. ‘What is it that you wish for these sorcerers or summoners to learn?’

  Dwinal gave him the kind of stare that suggested she was wondering why he was alive. ‘Why do you ask?’

  Tren’s lips quirked in a wry smile; he understood the meaning of that look just as well as I did. ‘Let me start by revealing that I am one of the finest sorcerers in the Darklands. I do not say that to boast. It is a fact, and being so, it is likely that I will be having a great deal to do with the training of your fledgling recruits. Therefore, it would not be a bad idea for you to answer my questions.’

  Dwinal acknowledged all of this with a faint, grudging nod.

  ‘Excellent. Well then, I ask because I fail to see why the existing academies are so incapable of satisfying your requirements. Misguided their programmes may be, but they are still the very best at teaching the arts we call sorcery and summoning. Furthermore, their assessment of the students is likely to be accurate. If the Academy of Sorcery in Glour City felt that Faronni Nallay was blessed with only minimal talent and quite without the means to expand upon it, they are, in all likelihood, correct. Why do you think that we will be able to do any better, and in what respect are we to try?’

  Fair questions indeed. I sat back to listen, glad now that I had insisted upon Tren’s being brought along.

  Dwinal was nowhere near so pleased by the question. Her face registered annoyance, or something reminiscent thereof. ‘As I have just said,’ she began coldly, ‘Your schools are out of touch. They are… limited. Of course they are. They are vast, grand, ancient organisations, entrenched in tradition, stuck in their ways. They are following programmes laid down generations ago, largely unchanged, I would wager, for the past century at least. What’s needed here is a new, broader-minded, more flexible approach. Consider. Students deemed inept in the few and limited arts taught at such academies might excel at other, related powers, might they not? But if it is left to your schools to discover these talents, they will forever go undeveloped.’

  All right. So Dwinal is not interested in the usual things that sorcerers and summoners do. In other words, Tren might be one of the finest sorcerers in the Darklands (and he is, no doubt about it), but he is highly skilled at all the regular stuff. The same goes for me. We are both products of precisely the academies she so despises, and have been trained only in the recognised arts.

  Full-blooded draykoni, of course, can do a great deal more than we can. They can shapeshift. They can regenerate themselves, raise others from the dead. Is that the kind of thing Dwinal is talking about? Is she hoping that the likes of Faronni Nallay might suddenly manifest an ability to change shape?

  I highly doubt that will ever come to pass. According to Llandry, those higher arts (I call them higher for the sake of convenience; let’s not argue about the relative value of shapeshifting versus, say, opening portals in the fabric of the world) — those higher arts are accessible only to those with significant draykon heritage. She seems to measure it by a simple rule: if a person can take draykon form, then he or she is close enough to a full draykon to access everything else as well. If a person cannot shapeshift, then…

  … well, then what? I suppose we have been behaving as though these two categories are all there can be; you are either a draykon shapeshifter, or you’re stuck being a mere ordinary sorcerer or summoner. There is no middle ground. But perhaps this is misguided, too. Those with partial Lokant heritage tend to manifest some of the characteristic powers, but not usually all. What if I had only ever been tested on my ability to heal? I would have been written off as a failure, and sent packing from school.

  What if Dwinal is right? What if there is a middle ground? What if someone like Faronni, unable to shapeshift, hopeless at the kinds of things at which Tren excels, might actually be quite competent at other draykoni arts?

  I was electrified by this idea, and so was Tren. We exchanged a long look, and I saw he was as fired up by the idea as I was. Gracious, what if Tren himself can do more than we’ve ever supposed? If he is amazing at everything they teach at sorcerer school, maybe he’s amazing at the things they don’t teach, too. Even if he can’t shapeshift.

  ‘We accept,’ said Tren.

  Dwinal was flatteringly (in my case) or insultingly (in Tren’s) unwilling to take his word for it, and looked to me for confirmation. Confirmation I quickly gave. Why would I not? I mean, I have no intention of placidly handing our best students to Dwinal, not when we have no idea what she intends to do with them. But that’s a problem for later. In the meantime, there are two inescapable points to bear in mind. One: much as it galls me to even pretend to cave under the kind of pressure she has seen fit to apply, we need to get her out of our hair. And two: she is right, about everything.

  ‘Excellent,’ said she, with her first smile of
the meeting. It was the unpromising kind, a bit too wide and much too toothy, but I tried not to let that bother me. ‘Then I will give you Tynara and two others for your school, on temporary secondment. I also give all of our currently enrolled students into your care, provided your facilities are able to accommodate them.’

  ‘How many are there?’

  ‘Eight, so far. There will be more sent to you, as we discover them, and I imagine you will uncover more yourselves.’

  I felt reasonably confident that we could accommodate twenty or so in our current building, which ought to cover our needs for a while, so I made no objection.

  And that was it, the meeting was over. Dwinal, having apparently got everything she wanted, departed soon afterwards with Tynara in tow. Hyarn — who had said nothing whatsoever for the entire meeting, slightly to my confusion — rose to escort us back to our apartments.

  ‘You will have a little time to meet those students you are unacquainted with,’ he assured us. ‘And to see what we have been doing with them thus far.’

  Good, because there were some things I wanted to look into before we left.

  I also needed a little time to think about where to get a few more draykoni from. Hiring tutors from within the sorcery/summoning establishment obviously wasn’t going to be good enough. I’d finally have a use for dear Ori, of course — and what better teacher could I expect to find! He is not only the easiest person in the world to get along with and possessed of endless reserves of patience, he also has just the sort of enquiring mind that would delight in the challenge.

  I can’t expect him to manage the job alone, however. He will need help.

  Which means, we need to go talk to Llandry.

  In the interests of not boring you, allow me to skip over the bit where we toured the school and met all the students. They were much as you would expect of a group of eight disparate people, with nothing in common save a certain accident of birth. We all exchanged nods and pleasantries and they eyed me curiously and I eyed them speculatively and that was that.