Vagrants: Book 2 Circles of Light series

by E. M. Sinclair

‘I sense a great weariness still in you. You should sleep again.’ He waved at Thryssa. ‘Even the High Speaker worries over you child so sleep the morning away. We will visit again next time you wake.’

  Even as he spoke, he used power to relax Elyssa further and cause her eyelids to droop. She snuggled back against the pillows and yawned, forcing her eyes open to focus on Thryssa.

  ‘Thank you for letting me stay my lady.’

  Thryssa still remained silent as Elyssa’s lids finally closed over her silvered eyes.

  Kwanzi drew the door closed softly behind them and the three made their way back in the direction of Thryssa’s study.

  ‘But what is it Lashek? What has happened to the poor child’s eyes?’

  Lashek patted Thryssa’s shoulder although a frown had replaced the jovial expression he’d worn for Elyssa.

  ‘Once before I have seen this – when I was a child my cousin awoke one morning with his eyes changed.’

  ‘And?’ Kwanzi demanded.

  ‘He was quite insane. He died soon afterwards.’

  Kwanzi and Thryssa both stopped in their tracks, turning horrified faces to Lashek. He shook his head at them reprovingly.

  ‘This girl is older than my cousin. She is clearly talented and strong. And she was no more mad just then than you or I, now was she?’

  ‘But what is it? Did no one find out why your cousin’s eyes changed so?’

  ‘No.’ Lashek said regretfully. ‘It was all kept rather quiet – no one likes madness in their family. I will see if there is any record of it though.’ He laughed quietly. ‘One thing after another of late, is it not?’

  He reached to open the study door and the building trembled. It was as though the entire Corvida just – quivered slightly. They were still staring at each other in confusion when a distracted maid flew round the corner.

  ‘If you please my lady, there’s someone in the Chamber of Harmony,’ she squeaked, and fled back the way she’d come.

  ‘Now what?’ Thryssa growled and strode on along the passageway.

  Kwanzi rushed to get ahead of her and blocked the doorway.

  ‘Do not be foolish Kwanzi. Open the door and let me pass.’

  Lashek nodded and Kwanzi opened the door but stepped through still in front of Thryssa.

  The Chimes hung motionless in their corner, but on the inlaid mosaic circle lay two bodies. Lashek murmured something and Kwanzi left the room at a run.

  ‘Guards and healers my dear.’ Lashek shrugged at Thryssa’s questioning look. ‘Either might be useful right now.’

  Booted feet could be heard approaching along the outer corridor as the two figures slumped on the circle began to stir. The smaller one pushed itself up to its knees, blonde hair spilling over the edge of the dark blue cloak. The head came up groggily and round blue eyes stared at Thryssa, Kwanzi and Lashek.

  Lashek moved forward, bending to help the small figure upright. A girl, wearing trousers and a sword he had time to notice, before she jerked away and staggered to the other figure. The blue eyes, filling with tears, turned back to Lashek.

  ‘Oh please sir, help my lady!’

  Thryssa joined Lashek as he gently turned over the second figure. A long thin beautiful face was revealed as the cloak was pulled aside and dark lashes fluttered faintly against the pale cheeks. Lashek beckoned to the two healers who had arrived behind the six guards.

  ‘Who are you child?’ Thryssa asked softly, putting her arm around the blonde girl’s shoulders.

  ‘My name is Shan and this is the Golden Lady of Gaharn, my mistress Lady Emla. Oh please, make sure she is unharmed!’

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  In the power-wrought tower south east of the town of Return, Rhaki lay. He was still incapacitated by the enormous effort he had expended in the building of his tower. Work continued on the adjoining buildings under Serim’s watchful eye.

  Serim was becoming concerned over his master’s protracted weakness. He had expected him to sleep long and deeply, as he had, but Serim was perturbed by Rahki’s lingering exhaustion. Rhaki had scarcely the strength to raise a cup to his own lips and despite Serim’s application of balms and salves, Rhaki’s skin still cracked and flaked at each movement.

  Serim knew that Rhaki was conscious more frequently in spite of the fact that he lay so motionless, eyes firmly closed, and he guessed that his master was trying to heal himself from within. When Serim attended him, Rhaki would open his eyes and attempt a smile. He observed that his master’s eyes were growing more bloodshot rather than less, but he put that fact down to the tremendous physical and mental strain Rhaki had been under in the final stages of constructing his tower.

  Rhaki was by now in command of his mind again, and he knew the exact state of his surroundings. He was aware of workmen, masons and carpenters, who worked on the annex below. He had begun to widen the channel worn by the spring which led from beneath where he lay to the cave a rough five hundred paces away.

  Each time Rhaki truly slept, he fell into a deep darkness which was increasingly filled with threads of flashing red, and he felt a warmth and comfort such as he had never experienced. He knew instinctively that this redness could only help him, as the red worm of rage – so like these flashes – had helped him before.

  He was also aware of Serim’s constant presence within the tower, which gave him cause for some amusement. He had not the strength yet to take in the details of Serim’s past but he recognised that this odd little man was his devoted follower, committed totally to his service. The reasons for this single-mindedness could wait until Rhaki had recovered further. Meanwhile Serim guarded Rhaki’s time of mending and Rhaki felt completely secure with such a watchdog protecting him.

  North of Return, Hargon and his armsmen were riding down through the forested slopes from the hunting lodge. The sunny brightness of the early morning had given way to a dullness made worse by the crowding fir trees. They were still a league or so from the way station when the first fat raindrops fell through the branches. Hargon booted his konina to a faster pace, despite the steepness of the track. His elder son Bannor rode slightly behind him and Navan was yet further behind with his younger son Bartos.

  Hargon’s head ached. He was having to think rather harder, faster, and on more complicated issues than he had ever done before. The slave girl Chena, now called Lady Tika if you please! And called so by a Lord of Gaharn! This business of speaking in someone’s mind still smacked suspiciously of magic to him. And the Great Dragons! Never had Hargon seen one so close, where he could see their physical power only too well. Yet they were polite and quite peaceable, and they too spoke with respect to his runaway slave. Hargon rubbed his forehead and peered ahead for the way station. The rain was falling harder now, the iciness of the drops reminding him that the cold season was scarcely finished with yet.

  He squinted skyward as they approached the cleared area around the way station but saw no sign of Dragons. This station was more substantial than those along the southern routes – sudden snow or rain storms meant travellers could be forced to stop two or three days at a time. The koninas were led around to stabling behind the squat stone building while Hargon, his sons and Navan hurried inside.

  Navan began to build a fire in the large hearth from kindling stacked dry and ready for use beside the wall. Hargon hung his cloak to drip from one of a row of hooks and watched two armsmen carry in armfuls of logs.

  ‘Sir?’

  Hargon glanced down into Bannor’s face.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘Why did the Dragons offer to carry Mena, and why did you permit it – she is but a female.’

  Hargon pursed his lips. ‘It appears certain things must change.’ He shrugged.

  ‘But you spoke with that Chena female as if she was a man!’ The words burst from Bannor indignantly.

  Hargon studied his son for a moment. ‘I admit I was – annoyed – when I first realised who she was. But Bannor, she somehow survived in these mountains, somehow
made contact with the Great Dragons. I suspect she knows how to use that sword she wears, and I think she has probably seen fighting such as even I have not endured.’ He sighed at the disgusted expression on Bannor’s face as the boy turned away.

  ‘Bannor.’ Hargon called his attention back quietly. ‘Did you know what Bartos does to Mena?’

  Bannor shrugged. ‘She is only a female. She irritates him he says.’

  Hargon stared at the boy. ‘Have you seen me mistreat anyone, female or slave, for no solid reason?’

  Bannor’s face reflected mingled disdain and disappointment and he made no answer, scuffing the toe of his boot on the rough stone floor.

  ‘Sir.’ An armsman saluted as he approached the Lord of Return.

  Bannor sidled away as his father turned his attention to the armsman.

  ‘The Dragons are settled further back in the trees. One of their guards just came to tell us. They will stay there tonight.’

  ‘What about the Lord of the People and the Captain of the Guards? Will they not join us here in shelter?’

  The armsman shook his head. ‘The guard said they were all settled where they were.’

  Hargon dismissed the man and turned to watch most of his men gathering round the now blazing fire. They had cold rations but a kettle had been swung over the flames so they would have hot tea at least. He caught Navan’s eye and tipped his head slightly. Navan eased his way through the crowd of men.

  ‘The Dragons are sheltering within the trees,’ Hargon told him. ‘I thought to take the opportunity to have more private speech with them.’

  Navan nodded his agreement and spoke to a senior armsman of the Lord’s intention. They pulled their still damp cloaks around their shoulders and Navan lifted down a lantern. The storm had brought darkness early and even such a paltry light as this was some help as they crossed the track and pushed into the forest.

  ‘There Sir.’ Navan pointed to one side and Hargon glimpsed light silhouetting dark figures.

  A guardsman approached, Hargon thought it was the one called Sket, and he led them a few paces further under the trees. Navan noted that the crimson and the deep blue Dragons were missing from the group gathered round – a fire? No. He realised that four large rocks sat in a patch of cleared earth, and glowed red hot. He blinked but already the Lord Kemti was getting to his feet in welcome.

  Hargon’s eyes were immediately held by the sight of his slave Chena leaning against the gleaming gold flank of the Dragon Kija. The smaller blue Dragon slept, his head on Chena’s lap, and curled against her side was his own daughter Mena. The Dragon did not stir, but Mena’s eyes opened as Hargon and Navan sat opposite.

  Kemti indicated the sleeping Dragon. ‘Farn is wearied – he has never flown in rain. It is harder apparently than flying through snow.’

  ‘And he insisted on carrying two even though he is far from recovered.’

  Hargon looked at the golden Dragon whose words had just snapped through his head.

  ‘Why do you call yourself Tika now?’ The words popped out before he could stop them. What a foolish question he chided himself, but his head did still ache after all.

  ‘Kija gave me the name.’ Tika looked affectionately up at the great creature beside her. ‘It means “small one” in Dragon speech.’

  Hargon continued to stare at Tika, aware that Mena’s eyes in turn never left him.

  ‘Why have you allowed your son to so abuse Mena?’ Tika asked as bluntly as he had spoken.

  Hargon looked then directly at his daughter. She had paled despite the rosy glow from the rocks.

  ‘I have not “allowed” him to do so. Until I saw what he did at the lodge two days ago, I had no knowledge of it.’

  The listening silence around the glowing rocks seemed to deepen, urging Hargon to break it.

  ‘I know. If I had seen her more often, I would have noticed her injuries.’ He took a deep breath and locked his eyes on Mena’s. ‘I apologise for your suffering. It will happen no more.’

  Khosa stretched languorously on Gan’s knee. ‘It will happen again as soon as your back is turned unless you change a great many rules, and make justice your goal not law.’

  Hargon glared at her then caught back the retort on his lips. ‘I would like to hear more details of what happened in the north – if you feel you can tell me.’

  Gan gave a detailed account of events in the north, including the battles with the Shardi, Linvaks and Cansharsi, ending with Farn’s wounding. Navan and Hargon stared at Farn’s neck, at the long sinuous line of leathery hide bare of scales, then stared at Tika. Green eyes glittered with tears as she relived those terrible moments when she believed herself unable to heal her soul bond.

  Kadi and Brin arrived then, rain gleaming on their huge bodies, their appearance causing a change of subject among the group round the heated rocks. Kija’s head suddenly swung in Hargon’s direction, her eyes whirring honey coloured prisms. From beneath the undergrowth an extremely bedraggled Merig plodded into their midst.

  Khosa’s eyes narrowed and Gan put a restraining hand on her back. The Merig shook himself vigorously, water droplets hissing on the rocks. When he had finally rattled his feathers into some semblance of order he blinked at Tika.

  ‘A message for you lady.’ He clattered his beak in obvious irritation. ‘Flying at night and in a rainstorm is not easy or much fun you know. However.’ He drew himself up. ‘The Dragon Lord says you must on no account engage the Grey One alone. He asks that you remain in this area, discovering what you can of his activities or intentions, but keeping your presence concealed from him.’

  Tika leaned forward in consternation. ‘But why? What has Mim discovered?’

  The Merig rearranged his plumage. ‘He did not discuss the matter with my relative. We merely relay the specific message.’

  The Merig was clearly nearing the limit of his patience.

  ‘We are most grateful that you have risked flying to us in such conditions Merig.’ Kemti spoke in soothing tones.

  Keeping a wary eye on Khosa, the Merig edged closer to the Senior. He sounded at least a little mollified: ‘Well, the Dragon Lord did say it was most urgent.’

  At almost the exact place where Lashek’s knife point had pierced through the opposite side of his apple map in his demonstration for Thryssa, a meeting was in progress. The meeting was being held in a structure very similar to the Asataria in Gaharn and the Corvida in Vagrantia, all being tunnelled out of natural rock formations.

  Long, long ages past, the hot core of the world had thrust upward in many mighty heaves, pushing the land into ever higher terraces. Finally the hot core found a weaker spot and surged triumphantly up, blowing the top off the highest terrace. Lava flooded over the terraces and poured leagues further before the volcano died. The core of the world wandered on underground, southwards, in a curve which now stretched into the western sea.

  When humans found the high lava covered terraces in the land called Drogoya, they were impressed by their size and grandeur. Generations toiled at excavating the lava, carving out small rooms and huge chambers alike. The High Emperor of the Second Age had claimed the uppermost levels as his own, and had lived there, so the stories told, until his death nearly two and a half thousand years before. The building was called the Menedula, and it was regarded with nearly as much awe as were the present occupants.

  There was still an Emperor in Drogoya, but not quite so High as in past times, and the present one much preferred his Palace at Krasato, a city pleasantly located at a lower altitude amidst a scatter of hills and lakes. The Emperor was the figurehead and representative of the people of Drogoya, but the Sacrifice, the head of the Order of Sedka, was answerable only to the land and to the magic of that land. It was the Sacrifice and his Offerings who now occupied the Menedula and who were in conclave as a new moon rose, framed perfectly in the central window of the chamber as if by arrangement.

  Seven of the Offerings were in attendance. The other seven were away
from the Menedula, as were most of the one hundred Aspirants, criss-crossing the land, ever watchful of the natural growth of plants and animals, and stern when faced with human encroachment onto the wild lands themselves.

  The white-haired man seated at the head of the long table raised his head.

  ‘We all know why we are convened tonight. Rumours run riot in the corridors already so we must be prepared to give the Emperor a satisfactory statement as soon as he demands one.’

  The Offering seated to the left of the speaker grunted.

  ‘We can give statements any time Cho, but what are we actually going to do about dealing with the situation? A situation that seems to have arisen, I might point out, with undue speed.’

  Cho Petak drummed his fingers in a rapid tattoo on the arm of his chair. He looked into the face of each Offering seated at the table with him, the brilliant blue pupils in his silver eyes forcing all to meet his gaze.

  ‘We all know what is happening. So far I have discovered absolutely no reason why it is happening. Have any of you made any headway?’

  The Offering furthest on his right cleared his throat nervously. He was the youngest to be called as Offering and still found these meetings a great trial.

  ‘Sacred One,’ he began, and was aware of a ripple of amusement through the other Offerings. More firmly he repeated: ‘Sacred One, I suspect the disturbances are due to the Night Lands.’

  The amusement vanished.

  ‘What gives you that idea Ren Salar?’ asked Cho Petak quietly.

  ‘At the moment I am working on the beginnings of our Order’s use of the Menedula as its prime centre – as you know,’ he added, belatedly remembering who had set him the task. ‘There are accounts that tally significantly from fifteen hundred years past, which were definitely pinpointed to a severe disruption in the Night Lands.’

  Another Offering intervened, one of the three women present. ‘How did they know so much of the Night Lands? You know we cannot travel so far using mind travel and we have always discouraged the building of boats capable of sailing far from the coasts.’