‘Merely spiced’ Glynn said, and the older man made a gesture to the younger who darted out and returned with two stone jugs of let milk. Glynn guessed from this that the pair had wheeled the food in on a big trolley, which meant they had probably come through the front entrance to the apartment. She had hoped for a servitors’ way.
‘I heard bells in the night,’ she said in the hope of opening up a more general conversation. Then she realised too late that she had dreamed of a bell ringing! Before she could withdraw her words, comprehension infused the features of both servitors.
‘That was the Edict bell,’ said the elder servitor. ‘The escaped poisoner was seen in the citadel close to the piers.’ He hesitated a moment and Glynn sensed him deciding how much he should say. ‘It is said he returned after murdering the visionweaver in the wilderness.’
Glynn tried to look as thrilled and scandalised as was clearly expected, but she was remembering how, in her dream, Solen had instructed his companions to circulate a rumour that the missing Fomhikan had been seen in the citadel. Absently, she buttered another thick slice of bread with a savoury-smelling paste.
‘I wonder that he would dare to enter the citadel,’ Glynn said mildly.
‘He intended to try to board a ship,’ said the elder servitor.
‘Surely no Vespian would carry an assassin who made an attempt on the Holder,’ she said, pretending to be engrossed in adding the final touches to the platters she would take to the draakira’s table.
‘Some say that the Vespians are in league with the soulweavers in this treachery,’ the younger servitor said eagerly, and the older gave him a warning look.
‘So I have heard it said,’ Glynn said easily. Her feinna-enhanced hearing detected approaching footsteps and swiftly she turned to carry the platters she had prepared to the table by the window. She had returned for the third time to the buffet table when the servitors withdrew and Glynn used the moment alone to wrap some fruit, cheese and bread and slip them into her tunic pocket for the feinna. She was just bringing jugs of let milk and juice to the table when the senior draakira made their appearance in a chattering group. There was a slight hiatus in their talk as they noticed her, but Glynn adopted the dullest expression as she set the jugs down. Returning again to the buffet table, she positioned herself beside it as servitors did in the haven and fixed her eyes on an indeterminate point. The senior draakira quickly lost interest in her and began eating.
Other lesser draakira drifted in and came to the buffet table, their talk predominantly concerning their beds, their aches and pains and their loathing of sea travel. They paid no attention to her and the senior draakira were now bent close discussing something intensely. Glynn was about to try enhancing her hearing so that she could learn what they were talking about when the feinna spoke inside her mind, strongly enough to make her gasp.
Coming soon?
Soon little brotherling, she thought back to him. Verysoon.
The youngling gave the equivalent of a sigh and withdrew.
‘You! Girl!’ a voice barked, and Glynn started violently. The speaker was one of the draakira whom the Prime had designated to be second watch, a woman called Raslek.
‘Do you wish me to prepare a platter for you?’ Glynn asked meekly.
‘Come with me,’ Raslek snapped, turning on her heel. Glynn had no choice but to follow.
10
‘The second time he segued in the Void, my brother looked with his spirit
eyes which could see the true nature of things, for they had opened when
his flesh eyes saw no more, and he saw that he would never free the
Unykorn. Then did he trace all the strands of destiny, in search of one
who might succeed where he could not. This took many long years, and
the laughter of the Chaos spirit mocked at his despair. In the end my
brother came to believe that only one not made by the Song would have
the power to reach the Unykorn. And I asked my brother: “Where shall
such a one be found.” He answered that there were worlds that lie beyond
the spirit veils and if a portal could be forged, then one from another world
might be brought here to aid us. “Have you the power to build this
portal,” I asked him then, but he did not answer.’
THE ALYDA SCROLLS
As she followed Raslek across the entrance to the apartment, even the fear that the Draaka had wakened did not prevent Glynn drawing in a breath of appreciation. Kalinda’s light slanted through the dome of coloured glass to spotlight the water, and as it shifted and glittered it cast darts of light in a multitude of colours all about the foyer.
‘Make haste, girl,’ Raslek snapped, oblivious to the beauty of the display. The other draakira guarding the door watched them pass, looking both bored and disgruntled, and Glynn wondered how it was possible for them to be unmoved by their surrounds. It was as if they did not see.
They passed all too quickly into the dim passageway on the other side, though of course it only seemed dark because of the radiance of the foyer. Before Glynn’s human eyes had time to adjust, her feinna vision activated and it struck her that the feinna enhancement of her senses was happening far more quickly than on the previous day, which suggested that she might be right about her human body and mind still adjusting to their new capabilities.
Again Glynn wondered if the new abilities were permanent or merely a temporary side effect caused by the birth bond to the feinna. She could not begin to imagine what it would be like to go back to her own world with such powers. They seemed less incredible here in a world where people had many abilities that were unknown on her world outside of science-fiction stories. She felt the He-feinna questing at her, prompted by her thoughts of it, but she rejected the approach gently but firmly, knowing that she could not face the Draaka with the little animal inside her mind distracting her.
The feinna seemed to understand her apologetic rejection, for Glynn felt its presence dim. Immediately she became aware of the fulminating resentments overflowing from the draakira in front of her. Fortunately her anger was not directed at Glynn. It was a pity that her ability to read emotions had not extended to allowing her to read the thoughts provoking the emotions.
The draakira stopped by the door to a long, lovely salon with pale, heavy furniture and long graceful windows offering narrow views of the citadel. She did not remember the room from her search the previous night, but it was possible that she had passed through it. There were draakira seated about on low benches along the walls, poring over scrolls or heaps of chits, and also a number of people in Acanthan and Fomhikan attire, who were clearly waiting for an audience. This seemed to confirm that the Draaka had awakened. It also meant that this salon was a waiting room, which explained why neither the Draaka, the Prime, nor any of the senior draakira were about.
Raslek ordered Glynn to wait and then marched the length of the room, vanishing through a set of doors at the far end. Glynn tried to relax, but her heart was racing because, although she had decided on her story, she had no real idea at all what would happen once it had been told. Of course, Wind had often said it was actually better to accept that one was almost inevitably under-prepared for anything because too much preparation led to rigidity and complacency. Certainly competition bouts and life had shown her that, no matter whether you thought you had imagined every possibility, another was sure to arise to confound you. To go into the ring with a perfect plan or even a series of alternative plans, was to go carrying heavy weights that would slow her down. Rather than lamenting her lack of strategy, she ought to accept it as an advantage that would allow her to be more open to events as they unfolded.
Glynn thought suddenly of the advice given in her dream by Wind.
‘Search for harmony within yourself, Glynn. Find connection with the flow of events and people around you while maintaining your own stillness and balance. Only then will you find the answers you
need.’
As often before bouts, her mind became capable of strange leaps and mental connections and another memory unspooled itself, of Wind telling her that true understanding of a thing came only after surrender to it. It struck her with shock that if this was true, then the only way to follow Wind’s advice to understand Keltor was to surrender to it! This gave her pause because hadn’t she been doing the opposite? Despite all this world had given her, she had resolutely held herself apart, constantly reminding herself that she was a stranger from another world, and refusing to be involved.
Was that why she had made so little real headway in her quest?
The door at the far end of the salon opened again and Raslek emerged. She beckoned impatiently to Glynn.
Having girded herself to face the Draaka, Glynn was almost taken aback to find draakira and Iridomi servitors in the room beyond the doors, scurrying about making measurements, laying out red drapes of silk and the black dyed aspi furs that had adorned the audience chamber of the Draaka on Acantha. The only thing that looked finished was the dais and an ornate seat where the Draaka would obviously sit to receive supplicants. It took a moment for her to locate the Prime, who was standing by another enormous window that offered a view of the sea beyond the city.
‘The … the Draaka wanted to see me,’ Glynn said softly.
The Prime turned, lifting her brows into chilly arches. ‘I sent for you, girl. Do not imagine you are of any importance to the Draaka.’
Glynn gabbled that she had not thought that at all, but the Prime snapped at her to hold her tongue. ‘I have summoned you to perform an errand. You will discover the whereabouts of the general kitchens within the palace and ask the over cook for a small live animal.’
Glynn blinked stupidly at the older woman, wondering how she was supposed to leave the apartment when Kalide had expressly forbidden any of them to do so, even leaving legionnaires guarding the door to ensure it! Was this some sort of test? Or was the Prime merely wanting to see her reaction?
‘A flyt might be best,’ the Prime continued. ‘I think they have some small docile sort here. That will do nicely.’
‘I … but what if they don’t have any live flyts in the kitchen?’ Glynn stammered.
‘Obviously live beasts will not be roaming and fluttering about the kitchens, you idiot of a girl,’ the Prime snapped. ‘There will be pens within the palace for kitchen use. You will wait until the animal is procured and then bring it here.’ Mercifully, the draakira did not seem to expect any sensible response from Glynn, for she went on, ‘And if you have any idea of discrediting the delegation, the Draaka will use your precious feinna as a sacrifice instead of the flyt.’
Glynn felt the blood drain from her face. The thought of bringing some poor hapless creature to be sacrificed in barbaric draakan rituals sickened Glynn. Yet she was horribly aware that she would do anything to keep the feinna safe. The ferocious instinct to protect the youngling rose from the part of her that was connected to the feinna, but knowing this did nothing to comfort Glynn. Her human self was aghast at the thought of sacrificing one thing to save another, though her feinna sense found this reasoning absurd. One preferred one’s parents, brothers, sisters, babies and lovers, to other human beings. One would not slay wantonly, but one would inevitably choose one’s own over unknown babies or children, men and women, if circumstances demanded it. One would kill if necessary.
Unable to bear the peculiar discord of this internal battle between the human and feinna parts of her mind, Glynn forced herself to deal with the more reasonable objection to what had been ordered. ‘The … the legionnaires will not let me pass.’
‘Obviously the geis against leaving these quarters was not intended to apply to servitors,’ the Prime snapped. ‘I do not relish trusting this matter to you, girl, but you might be grateful for the opportunity to prove your worth. Now go and do as I have told you and remember: if it occurs to you to make any trouble, the feinna will do as nicely for a sacrifice as a flyt.’
Chilled to her soul, Glynn turned back to the door cursing herself. She could so easily have taken Solen’s offer of help but she had been determined to get to the soulweaver as fast as she could that she had failed to consider the risk to the feinna. Of course the Prime would use her obvious attachment to it against her. Coercion was a way of life for the draakan cult. By the time she had passed through the waiting room, Glynn had pushed away her anger at herself, realising there was no sense in lamenting what was done. The brief interview with the Prime had yielded up some important facts, the main one being that she had freedom of movement about the palace, unlike the rest of the delegation. The second being that it was unlikely the Draaka was awake, if she had not been summoned to speak of Bayard’s death, and no sacrifice would be made of anything until she woke. Indeed, given Bayard’s death, perhaps not even then, for surely another channeller would have to be found and perhaps even trained. Obviously it was the Prime’s idea to procure a sacrificial animal in readiness. Perhaps she wanted something to divert the Draaka’s anger when she wakened to learn that she was the virtual prisoner of a hostess who had yet to present herself to her guests.
Whatever the intent of the Prime and her mistress, Glynn realised that her first consideration must now be to get the feinna to safety. But how, for clearly if the feinna was to be used as a hostage, she would not be permitted to take it out of the apartment.
A servitor clad in red livery bustled past Glynn as she reached the foyer, and she wondered suddenly if the officious-looking man had carried with him the coveted invitation to the Draaka to present herself and her party to Tarsin. She prayed not. Adopting a cringing manner she stepped out into the foyer. Raslek was again in position at the door, and she and the other draakira watched Glynn’s approach with an expression of contempt. However they both promptly stepped aside when she was before the doors, which meant that they had been warned that she would go out, or they had expected it. She slipped between them and turned, only to find herself at the business end of two sword tips. In her agitation about the feinna, she had forgotten for a moment about the Iridomi legionnaires that Kalide had left to guard the doors. Her training told her that she would have had a good chance of disarming the two men, but mindful of her role, she simpered.
‘Where do you think you are going?’ asked the taller of the legionnaires, a hawkish-looking fellow with cold eyes and a sneering curl of a mouth.
‘It is a pretty little flyt trying to escape her golden cage,’ said the other legionnaire, a handsome man with hugely muscled arms, and shoulders and legs bowed as if he had been riding horses since birth.
‘I … I serve the Draaka,’ Glynn stammered, unnerved by how close the man came to the truth in his taunting, for wasn’t she a bird trying to escape her cage?
‘You must be the Fomhikan servitor. Well where are you going?’ the taller legionnaire demanded again, now looming threateningly over her.
‘I … I have been sent to fetch something from the kitchens for my mistress,’ Glynn said. She had to resist the urge to draw herself up to her full height and glare. The big man was like every bully she had ever faced on her own world, and there was only one way to deal with them. But now it suited her to behave as if she were cowed, especially since neither man had mentioned her looking like a myrmidon.
The other legionnaire stepped between Glynn and his tall comrade. ‘If your mistress wants something to tempt her appetites, perhaps I can serve her?’ he said in a suggestive whisper. ‘Better still, I could serve you.’ The implication was unmistakable and as Glynn’s feinna empathy dipped automatically into the man’s emotions, she was forced to drop her gaze to the ground to hide the almost uncontrollable feinna rage that rose up in her in response to the barrage of lewdly sadistic images that flowed into her mind.
‘I do not know the way to the kitchens,’ she managed to mutter, desperation prompting her to use her feinna abilities to push a feeling of boredom at the man. This made the numb part of her mind
ache acutely and a feeling of weary lethargy flowed over her.
‘I do not know why you trouble yourself for such low meat,’ the taller legionnaire said with such fierce contempt that his comrade stared at him. Glynn realised she had overdone it again. Instead of making the legionnaire bored, she had pushed her own revulsion at him.
‘Meat, but not so meagre,’ the legionnaire said, and turned back to Glynn. ‘To get to the kitchens, you go to the main entrance to the Iridomi enclave, but instead of going out the front door, there is a passage to the left. Take it and go to the end. You will find a path which runs along the edge of this level. Go along it and take any set of steps down to the garden level. Cross it and you will find more steps that will bring you to the kitchen level. Your nose will lead you the rest of the way. Now fly away little Fomhikan, but come back soon and I will find you a perch and something to nibble.’
Glynn fled, and the big legionnaire’s mocking laughter followed her. But she was not afraid so much as trembling with a fury that she dared not show or act upon. She did not slow down until she had reached the entrance hall to the Iridomi complex, and the short-lived feinna anger had faded. Her human anger was deeper and Glynn thought that in the long run it was a lot more dangerous. But feinna anger was a strong force which did not like being repressed. Her hands ached from being balled into fists and she knew that if the encounter had gone on much longer, it was unlikely she could have stopped herself flying at the throat of the big legionnaire!
No one even looked at her as she crossed the entrance hall and entered the passage that the legionnaire had described. She was careful to match her pace to that of other servitors, noting with interest that, although most servitors wore Iridomi green, there were others wearing red, blue, yellow and brown, which confirmed that servitors did indeed have the run of the citadel. There were also a number of servitors who, like Glynn, wore grey. She guessed this meant that a servitor was working for a master who was from another sept.
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