by Joseph Lallo
Nonetheless, when she watched him leave a couple of hours later, she couldn't shake the feeling that her world was on its way to a disastrous end.
***
Eva sat alone in the private parlour of a wayside inn not far from Westrarc. Having bathed, washed her hair and dressed in clean clothes, she felt considerably improved. Now if only she could eat, she might feel more like her former self.
Her former self. For a moment, she thought longingly of the days - not very far distant - when her job as High Summoner had consisted mostly of administrative and ceremonial duties. She had been free to divide most of the rest of her time between social occasions and her lovers. Or, more recently, social events and her fiance. It all seemed such a long time ago, but in fact it had taken a shockingly brief time for her life to become a succession of disasters, afflictions, dangers, staggeringly difficult problems and fiendishly obtuse mysteries. She didn't really miss her old life - she'd felt herself slowly stagnating in her enclosed world - but this was taking excitement a little too far.
'I suppose I won't be bored,' she sighed, pushing listlessly at the freshwater fish that lay on her plate. It was quite well cooked and the sauce wasn't bad, but she couldn't force it down. The prospect of her return to Glour City weighed heavily on her mind. As soon as she returned she would have to see Numinar Wrobsley; he deserved to know the circumstances that had led to the death of his wife. She would have to alert the city to the impending draykon problem - for doubtless they had not seen the last of those creatures - and it would fall largely to her to find a way to deal with it. That would be a tale difficult to tell.
Worst of all, she would have to tell Ynara Sanfaer what had become of her daughter. This was a task that lay heavily upon her. She had no explanation to offer to Ynara, no theory at all as to how, or why, or even what had really happened during that chaotic hour in the Lowers. This, also, it was down to her to discover.
The door opened, interrupting her reverie. Tren stepped into the room, looking a little shy. He too was freshly scrubbed, his hair curling damply over the collar of his newly-pressed shirt.
'I hope there's plenty of food,' he said lightly, 'or I might be forced to eat one of these chairs.'
Eva turned up the corner of her mouth briefly, waving a hand at the dishes crowding the table. 'I think the innkeeper emptied the village for us. Help yourself.' She pushed her own plate away, abandoning the struggle.
'Not eating?' Tren looked at her with concern.
'I can't seem to face it,' she admitted.
Tren seated himself on her left and surveyed the table. 'Perhaps a poor choice, that's all. Why don't you try some of this white stuff? That looks harmless. Or, look, baked gloren. You could manage that.' He pushed dishes towards her, trying to tempt her, but the mixture of smells was off-putting.
'Are you going to mother me, Tren? I warn you, I am quite unmotherable.'
Tren ignored her, serving out a small piece of baked gloren on a clean dish. He placed it in front of her, together with a new fork and spoon and a napkin.
'Here is the deal,' he said seriously. 'For every two forkfuls that you eat, I get to eat four. I hope you're willing to sacrifice yourself just a little, or I may starve to death before I reach Westrarc.'
'You're not heading back to the City?'
'Not yet. I'm going to see Mrs. Geslin. Start eating.'
Eva wanted to resist, but she couldn't help chuckling. 'Very well.' He smiled as she picked up the fork and took a mouthful.
'I was thinking,' she said after a moment. 'I have no explanation for Griel’s control over those beasts. He was supposed to be a sorcerer, not a summoner. But it's possible that he didn't mean to kill Ed. Or Meesa. You remember he said the whurthags got away from him sometimes? Perhaps his control over them wasn’t always that good.'
Tren glowered at his plate. 'That doesn't excuse it.'
'No, it doesn't. Besides, Ana was bloodthirsty enough for both of them.' She remembered Ana's casual order to kill Tren and shuddered. 'There's one thing that still puzzles me, though.'
'Only one?'
She smiled briefly. 'There are a lot of outstanding questions, yes. I'm thinking of Griel's extra abilities, though, and Ana's absurd strength as a summoner. And her disappearing act. The istore isn't explanation enough - once the draykon woke all of the bones had been restored to the skeleton, but Ana's abilities were still staggering without it. I think their enhanced abilities must be closely linked to spending time in the Off-Worlds.'
'You mean that being in the Lowers amplifies magical ability? That's already confirmed, isn't it?'
'Yes, but I think extended exposure is significant. Years ago, when I used to spend too much time down there, I could feel the change in myself. I felt progressively closer to the fabric of the realm, and I could manipulate beasts with greater skill because I felt increasingly like I was one of them. That's probably the real reason why I alone have a gwaystrel; I was the only one to break the rules that badly.'
'Ha,' said Tren. 'So much for the perfect peeress.' He set down his fork and rested his chin in his hand. 'So if the istore - the draykon bone - offers a similar amplification effect when worn next to the skin, what does that mean?'
Eva didn't need to spell it out. The implications were clear: no other Lowers beast was known to have so powerful an effect on humans who wielded their bones or their hide. If the draykon bone was the sole exception, that suggested they were fully immersed in the Off-Worlds; born of the fabric of those Realms, part of it in a way no human could ever be. Wearing a piece of their bone was like wearing a shred of the realm itself.
'In effect, they are sorcerers too, with strong instinctive abilities. Remember how Llandry-as-draykon vanished in mid-air? She was crossing into a different realm. Perhaps the Uppers, or the Middles. She didn't need a gate.'
That triggered another recollection in Eva's thoughts. When she had touched the draykon, she had seen through the realms and grasped the truth: that they were not layered as their common names suggested but existed in the same space. She opened her mouth to share this thought with Tren, but she was interrupted by voices talking loudly in the hallway outside their parlour. One of the voices was familiar.
'I think the cavalry's here,' she said, with a small smile. The door was flung open and Vale walked into the room.
'Eva!' She found herself pulled out of her chair and roughly enfolded in an embrace. Vale began to scold and praise her by turns, apparently undecided whether she was a heroine or a villain for her reckless behaviour.
'Are you hurt? Anywhere? In any way at all?' He checked her over quite carefully, heedless of the room filling up with his men.
'I'm fine,' she said, pushing him away gently. 'I've an awful lot to tell you.'
He nodded. 'Your carriage is waiting outside.'
'Mine? How did you know I'd be here?'
'Fin told us which way you'd gone. We've been checking every inn, village and wayside tavern we've passed on the way out from Glour City.'
'What if you hadn't found me?'
'Then we were going down after you. I brought sorcs with me, summoners, people who hit things with sticks, the whole lot.'
'So this is a rescue mission.'
'Potentially. Only of course, you don't need rescuing.' He seemed to remember Tren, belatedly, and looked around for him. 'Where's Warvel? I suppose he survived?'
Eva glanced around. Tren's chair was empty. 'Alive and well as of a few minutes ago. He must have slipped off somewhere.'
Tren had hidden himself so thoroughly, in fact, that he could not be found anywhere. Eva smothered her disappointment as she left the inn on the way to her carriage. The filthy clothes she'd been wearing when she emerged from the Lowers had been burned, on her request, and her few remaining possessions had been loaded up already. She had instructed that the books be placed inside the carriage itself, so she could keep an eye on them on the journey home. The air was crisp, so sh
e had hastily purchased a new, thick woollen cloak from the landlady. It was an inelegant garment, but she welcomed the warmth as she crossed the courtyard.
Footsteps rang on the cobblestones behind her and a hand gripped hers.
'Eva, I'm sorry. I didn't realise you were - I mean - of course you would want to get home as soon as possible.'
She didn't. Actually, she was peculiarly dreading it, but she said "yes" anyway. 'Will you be in Westrarc long? I'm going to need your help convincing the Guardian that I'm not crazy.'
'I'll be a few days with Ed's mother, probably. Then I'll be coming home.' He glanced over his shoulder as Vale emerged from the inn and made his way in their direction. 'May I speak with you alone for a moment? Really briefly,' he added, seeing her hesitate.
'Of course,' she said graciously. She smiled at Vale as they passed. 'I'll join you in a moment,' she murmured, touching his hand briefly.
Tren led her back inside the inn, into the private dining room they'd shared. He stood for so long, looking at her without speaking, that she grew confused and a little impatient.
'Tren, it would be rude of me to keep the carriage waiting long.'
'Oh - yes, of course. I'm sorry.' He stared at her again. 'I just... I just wanted to ask. Will I be seeing you again?'
She frowned slightly, uncertain what he was getting at. 'Didn't we just agree on that? I hope you aren't planning to abandon me to my fate. Without your corroboration, I'll be locked up in the asylum within a week.'
'Yes, I... suppose so. But what I really meant was - was -' He stuffed his hands into his pockets and looked at the floor. 'May I visit you? In a purely social way?'
'Oh. Well, yes, if you'd like to. You know where I live, of course.'
He didn't. As she gave him her address he nodded solemnly, eyes fixed on her face as if he was engraving it on the inside of his brain. He didn't say anything else.
'I'd better go, then.'
'Yes,' said Tren. He opened his mouth to speak, hesitated, and shut it again. 'Safe journey home,' he said with a brief smile. Then he was gone, darting through the door as if keen to escape.
When she reached the door herself, he was nowhere in sight. Tucking her hands into the folds of her cloak, Eva walked slowly back out to the carriage where Vale waited to take her home.
***
End Notes
Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed Draykon! Read on for a preview of the second book in the series: Lokant.
Lokant
Tren was staring vacantly at the pages of an open book when the woman appeared.
It wasn’t that he’d given up, precisely. He had been hard at work since soon after moonrise and it was now long after moonset, but as he had nothing better to do and no company at all, he had every intention of continuing with his reading until he couldn’t stay awake anymore.
But some awkward part of his mind had had other ideas, ever since he’d learned that Lady Glostrum was spending the evening with Lord Angstrun instead of studying side-by-side with him as she usually did.
Particularly since he had realised that she wasn’t coming home until the next day. What that meant did not take a great deal of intellect to decipher. When he had heard light footsteps crossing the floor of the study, his grey misery had lifted with the brief hope that Eva had come back after all.
But when he looked up, he saw a complete stranger.
She wasn’t as tall as Eva, but she was larger in every other sense. Her hair was chestnut brown and her complexion was a shade of brown he’d never seen before. She smiled at him and paused before the desk.
‘Forgive my intrusion,’ she murmured. She had a lilting accent that was pleasing to the ear, though he couldn’t place it. ‘I wasn’t expecting anyone to be here so late.’
Tren stood up and bowed politely. ‘I probably shouldn’t be.’
‘Then that makes two of us, for I shouldn’t be here either.’
Tren smiled uncertainly. ‘Are you a friend of Lady Glostrum’s?’
‘I have never met her ladyship. I am looking for some lost property.’ The woman shifted her attention to the desk, still scattered with books, and she actually began searching through them. Feeling a flicker of alarm, Tren closed the book he was reading and stacked it up with a few others.
‘If you’ll grant me your name, I’ll tell Lady Glostrum you called. Perhaps she could help you another time?’
‘Oh, no, no,’ she replied mildly. ‘I don’t need to be helped. Ah, there it is.’ Her hand darted out; she grabbed a book from the middle of Tren’s pile and pulled it out. The rest collapsed and slithered to the floor.
‘Um – wait, those belong to Lady Glostrum, you can’t just –’ He quickly began picking up fallen books, stacking them out of her reach.
‘This one is mine,’ the woman said, leafing through the large book that she held. Then her brow furrowed. ‘Hm. Did you remove these?’
Tren realised she was holding Andraly Winnier’s memoirs. The torn stubs of the missing pages stuck forlornly out of the centre of the book.
‘Certainly not!’
‘I see,’ she said. ‘Thank you.’ She turned away and made for the door, but before she reached it her form became suddenly less solid. He could make out the outline of the door before her.
Then she vanished.
For an instant Tren sat frozen with confusion. Then, remembering that the study overlooked the street outside, he jumped out of his chair and hurried to the window. The streets were dark - the Night cloak reigned overhead, blotting out all sunlight - but the lamplighters had done their work diligently, and the streets were well illuminated with silvery-white light globes bobbing gently in the air. He could discern no sign of the chestnut-haired woman.
Tren drifted back to his chair and sat down, suddenly realising how tired he was. He had probably hallucinated the figure out of pure sleep deprivation.
But the book was certainly gone...
***
Enjoy the preview? Lokant is available now!
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Also by Charlotte E. English:
The Draykon Series
Draykon
Lokant
Orlind
The Malykant Mysteries
The Rostikov Legacy
The Ivanov Diamond
Myrrolen's Ghost Circus
Ghostspeaker
The Drifting Isle Chronicles
Black Mercury
Tales of Aylfenhame
Miss Landon and Aubranael
Fire & Ice
Book 1 of the Icefire Trilogy
By
Patty Jansen
pattyjansen.com
Copyright © 2008, 2011, 2012, 2014 by Patty Jansen
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.
Chapter 1
SOMEWHERE NOT FAR from the edge of the plateau, where the goat-track snaked up the rock-strewn slope, the rain had turned to snow.
Cocooned in his cloak, his view restricted to the swaying back of the camel, Tandor had failed to notice until a gust of wind pelted icicles into his face.
He whipped off the hood and shook out his hair. The breeze, crackling with frost, smelled of his homeland. Oh, for a bath, to wash off the clinging dust and the stink of the prairie lands, of steam trains or the bane of his existence: this grumpy camel.
To his left, the escarpment descended into the land of Chevakia, i
ts low hills and valleys bathed in murky twilight. To his right, the dying daylight touched the forbidding cliff face that formed the edge of the southern plateau, accessible only to those who knew the way.
Something flashed where the ragged rocks met the leaden sky. A tingle went up Tandor’s golden claw, pinching the skin where the metal rods met the stump of his arm. Icefire.
Ruko?
He peered up, shielding his eyes against the snow. Golden threads of icefire betrayed the boy’s presence, flooding Tandor with feelings of relief, of urgency, of panic.
Wait, wait, Ruko, not so fast. Tell me what’s going on.
There was no answer, of course. Ruko conversed only in images, and Tandor needed to be close to the boy to catch those.
But Ruko’s emotions had spoken clearly enough. By the skylights, something had happened while he was away. He flicked the reins to jolt the camel into a faster pace. The animal grumbled and tossed its head, but did as it was told.
Ruko waited at a rocky outcrop to the left of the path, seated cross-legged in the snow. An ethereal form, his skin blue-marbled, his brooding eyes black as a lowsun night. His chest shimmered where his heart should be. A lock of hair hung, dark and lanky, over his forehead; he shook it away in an impatient gesture.
Tandor slid off the camel’s back.
He held out his two hands, one of flesh, the other a golden claw. Come.
Ruko rose, towering at least a head over Tandor.
By the skylights, did that boy ever stop growing? While Tandor had been away, he had discarded his soft childish look for planes and angles.
Ruko put his hand in Tandor’s. The intense cold of it made Tandor gasp, but he steeled himself and sent a jolt of icefire into Ruko’s arm.