Vagrants: Book 2 Circles of Light series

by E. M. Sinclair

  It was mid afternoon when they rounded a shoulder of rock and saw below them the town of Valoon. A stone bridge with three spans straddled the fast flowing river. The water was high due to the snow melt and chunks of ice bobbed, glittering, in the current. Most of the buildings were huddled on the further side, their distance from the river suggesting regular floods had taught the town dwellers caution.

  Making their way down to the bridge, they could see a few people moving in the one street that ran through the town. The biggest building, set to their right and higher than most of the other structures, was clearly the inn. A signboard creaked above its central doors, but wind and weather had reduced its paint to a grey smudge that was indecipherable.

  The people they passed were on foot and none spared the travellers so much as a glance. Reaching the inn, Voron dismounted and handed Ren his reins.

  ‘I’ll see if there is a room for us – I should think custom is fairly slack by the look of things though.’

  Ren watched Voron push through the heavy doors and was glad he had insisted they wore ordinary trousers and shirts, rather than their usual robes or tunics which bore the insignia of the Order of Sedka upon them.

  The men moving past were all lean and hard looking, as if the struggle to survive in this bleak region had pared away all excess flesh. Ren thought a few women also strode by, but as they were dressed in the same worn leather trousers and coats as the men, and had the same harsh expressions, he was not entirely sure.

  Voron interrupted Ren’s study of the local populace, emerging from the inn and retrieving his horse’s reins.

  ‘The stables are at the back,’ he said, leading his horse round the side of the building. ‘A copper for a stall, two for hay, three for grain.’

  Ren raised his brows but said nothing, realising that most supplies of hay and grain would have had to be transported from much further down river.

  A skinny boy opened a barn door, inside which they found a row of stalls extending the length of the barn. Only five stalls were occupied as Ren and Voron led in their mounts. Scrawny hens scrambled underfoot and two cows regarded them placidly from a pen on the further side of the barn.

  Removing their gear, Ren and Voron gave their horses a thorough rub down, checking their hooves and legs, but Ren had chosen well and the horses were sound.

  ‘Bring all your gear inside,’ Voron told him.

  Ren opened his mouth to protest, thought better of it and heaved his saddle off the shelf. Voron instructed the silent boy to give both horses hay and grain, first insisting on seeing the quality of the grain for himself.

  ‘That’ll cost yer six coppers fer each one, mister.’

  ‘Quick at arithmetic, aren’t you?’ Voron tossed a coin to the boy. The coin was caught, examined closely and then vanished somewhere beneath the ragged layers of clothes. ‘Make sure they are well tended and there will be another coin for you when we leave tomorrow.’

  In contrast to the men Ren had watched in the street, the innkeeper was a man of less than average height but of massive girth. His small eyes were sharp in the moon of his face though, and Ren guessed him to be an astute judge of his customers.

  ‘Name’s Volk’ he announced, his pudgy hands flat on the broad bar counter in front of him. ‘Owner of the North Star Inn. Three coppers a bed and three coppers for supper.’

  ‘A bath?’ Ren asked hopefully.

  Volk gave him a long look. ‘Two coppers a bath and you have to carry the water yourself.’

  Voron grinned at Ren’s broad beam of delight.

  ‘What have you to offer for supper?’

  ‘Roast goat, bear stew or fish stew with fresh bread. Dried fruits, nuts and cheese to follow. Ale or brandy is extra. Be ready for you by the time you’re cleaned up. Which is it to be?’

  ‘Roast goat,’ Ren said promptly.

  ‘Bear stew,’ was Voron’s order.

  By the time they had lugged their saddles and packs up to a small room with two beds which was, Ren noted, spotlessly clean, Volk bellowed that the water was heated for a bath. Voron made do with a wash but Ren soaked blissfully until the water cooled, grateful for the heat to loosen his aching muscles.

  When they returned to the common room, a handful of men were seated at tables, four playing a card game, the others chatting quietly. Silence fell as Voron and Ren made their way to a small table to the side of a great fireplace. They sat down and the low buzz of conversation resumed around them. Volk worked at the bar and a young woman, amazingly similar to him in build, carried food and drinks to customers.

  She finally arrived with their order and Ren stared in disbelief at the plate set before him. It was piled high with an enormous helping of roast meat and an equally large heap of vegetables. Voron had a great bowl put in front of him, brimming with stew, and a basket of fresh bread went between them.

  ‘Eat hearty sirs. Be you wanting any ale?’

  Voron smiled at her. ‘A jug of water if you please and could we have some berry tea later?’

  She nodded. ‘No charge for water, one copper for tea.’

  She waited until Ren placed the copper in her outstretched palm and then headed back to the counter.

  ‘Everything has its price, the moment it is mentioned,’ Voron remarked, digging into his stew.

  ‘Living here, things have value which we would regard as commonplace,’ Ren replied through a mouthful of goat.

  Replete, warm and aching less than he had for the last few days, Ren sighed contentedly as he pulled the bedcovers round his shoulders. Voron blew out the lamp that stood on the table between their beds.

  ‘How many more days to travel do you think?’ he asked.

  ‘Three with luck,’ Ren spoke through a yawn.

  ‘Is the shield still working?’

  ‘Of course it is. How many times do I have to reassure you?’

  Ren slept, but it was Voron’s turn for a sleepless night. He lay in the dark, listening to the wind rattle and howl through the window shutters. He told himself he was foolish to imagine that words were being whispered on the wind’s voice.

  In Vagrantia, healers and assessors were working non stop to try to discover the cause of the strange affliction which was characterised by the dramatic change to the sufferer’s eyes. They now had eighteen cases, of whom thirteen had died. Thryssa and Kwanzi had allowed Elyssa out of bed the day Lady Emla and Shan appeared in the Chamber of Harmony. The girl had been shocked when she first saw her reflection although Kwanzi had tried to prepare her.

  She had offered to let the healers test her, apprehensive of the outcome but wanting to know what might have happened to her. The dreams and memories she had described to Lashek were corroborated by the healers’ recall but, but no one was any nearer a conclusion.

  Emla had been quickly accepted by Thryssa and the other Speakers. She had freely offered to open her mind to them that they might see she was who she said she was. She was unaware that her mind had been thoroughly explored whilst she and Shan recovered from their journey through the circles.

  The Lady of Gaharn had been fascinated by all she found in the Cordiva and especially by Elyssa. The day a younger girl was brought to the Cordiva by her distraught parents, with her eyes scarlet and glaring, moderated Emla’s fascination. She watched as Kwanzi and four healers struggled to gain control of the girl’s mind, to no avail. Appalled though she was, Emla remained until the child died, the body contorted in its final convulsions.

  Fascinated by the Vagrantians as Emla was, they were just as intrigued by her. Kallema, Speaker of Fira Circle in particular, seemed drawn to the tall thin figure of the Golden Lady. This morning, Emla was sitting by the window of the room she’d been given, Kallema and Maressa the air mage, to either side of her.

  ‘According to the scrolls that have been returned from both the Stronghold and my House in Gaharn, no cases such as these have appeared in either place,’ Emla was saying.

  ‘I am interested by the fact that mo
st of the red cases have occurred in Fira,’ said Maressa. ‘It is eight reds is it not Kallema, and two silvers?’

  Kallema nodded, making her long green blonde hair ripple about her. ‘I too find it most strange. We are water adepts and nearly all the water in all five Circles has its source within the ground here. I fail to see any reason for the higher number of cases in our Circle.’

  ‘Are you thinking it could be water-borne?’ Emla frowned. ‘I think air more likely, yet there have been only three cases in Kedara I think?’

  Maressa nodded. ‘And only two here in Parima.’

  The three sat in silence until Kallema said: ‘Rumours are already gaining pace. We have made no attempt to conceal these events from the people – it is not our way. But I think Thryssa will have to send out public callers to tell everyone the little we know before there is panic.’

  Maressa nodded again and had just begun to speak when Thryssa entered without warning.

  ‘Three more,’ she told them tersely. ‘Here in Parima. Two silver, one red. They are being brought into the infirmary.’

  Hurrying after the three Vagrantians, Emla felt utterly helpless. The memory of Iska rose in her thoughts and yet again she mourned the loss of a dear friend and a supremely gifted healer. Thryssa could not restrain a gasp as she entered the infirmary ahead of the others. Emla could only see Elyssa, standing pressed against the wall, horror on her face. Moving further into the long room, Emla saw the other woman.

  In an uncanny silence the woman writhed in the arms of several healers who struggled to get her onto one of the beds. When a healer’s face came within reach, the woman clawed frantically, raking her fingernails through flesh. Maressa and Kallema came to an abrupt halt and both caught Emla’s arms to stop her going any closer to the woman.

  Emla freed herself and moved sideways to Elyssa. Instinctively, she pulled the girl close to her and felt her violent trembling. Pressing Elyssa’s face to her shoulder, Emla looked back at the struggling woman. Brown hair, loosened from a braid, flew wildly as she tossed her head back to bite at a restraining hand and Emla saw the red glow of her eyes.

  ‘Hush now,’ she murmured to Elyssa. ‘Let me take you from here my dear.’

  ‘No.’ Elyssa straightened but still clung tight to Emla’s arms. ‘I must stay. It is Alya – I am her assistant. Oh dear stars! Poor Alya!’

  A healer approached Thryssa and spoke quietly to her. The High Speaker’s shoulders slumped although she nodded at the healer’s words. Kallema drifted forward and slipped an arm round Thryssa’s waist, drawing her back from the grotesque scene in front of them.

  Kallema glanced at Emla and tilted her head at the doorway. Emla began to move Elyssa as Kallema guided Thryssa, and Maressa closed the infirmary door behind them. Thryssa freed herself from Kallema, reaching instead for Elyssa. She hugged the girl close.

  ‘Come child, let us find Kwanzi. He will make things right, he always does.’

  Clinging to each other, they crept along the passage, leaving Kallema, Emla and Maressa watching them with heavy hearts. The three women made their way to the rooms set aside for Kallema’s use on her visits to the Cordiva.

  Kallema waved the other two to chairs but Emla could not sit still. She paced from one long window to the other as the silence grew. At last she dropped onto a low stool and hugged her knees.

  ‘There seems no way those whose eyes redden can survive?’ It was half statement, half question. Maressa heard the underlying despair in Emla’s voice. She guessed that as Emla did not know Alya, the Golden Lady’s thoughts were of someone else, dear to her, who she had been unable to save.

  ‘No way at all. And would we – or they themselves – wish to keep them alive with their minds destroyed?’ Kallema’s voice washed over Emla as soothing as water from a fountain.

  A tap sounded at the door.

  ‘Come,’ Kallema called.

  Imshish peered around the door. ‘May I join you for a while? Kwanzi is dealing magnificently with Thryssa and Elyssa. They are distraught over Alya.’

  ‘Come in, come in,’ Kallema smiled at the young earth mage.

  Emla barely registered Imshish’s arrival, so deep in thought was she.

  ‘Fire,’ she now said abruptly. Three faces turned to her enquiringly.

  ‘You have told me that Talvo Circle and Gremara govern the fire element. Does that mean that none of you in the other Circles work with fire?’

  ‘Why do you suddenly ask of fire?’ Maressa asked curiously.

  Emla shrugged. ‘Their eyes. They look as though they could burn you up if they stared at you long enough.’

  The silence returned while Emla’s words were considered.

  ‘Well?’ she asked. ‘Do none of you work with fire?’

  ‘We all do,’ Imshish answered her. ‘We regard fire as life, for without fire in one or other of its many guises, life could not exist. All of us who are gifted, have to master at least basic work with fire.’ He glanced at Kallema and Maressa. ‘We in Segra Circle specialise in earth magic and I think we probably use fire more often, in combination with earth, than do the other Circles.’

  ‘Yes,’ Kallema agreed. ‘We are taught to use fire at the outset of our training but we very rarely use it afterwards. Fire and water are naturally opposed so we do not happily use it in our work.’

  ‘There are times when we in Kedara use fire,’ Maressa offered. ‘It has considerable strength to assist some of our experiments.’

  ‘But Gremara in Talvo is most powerful with fire then?’ Emla persisted. ‘And she is mad is she not?’

  Imshish leaned back in his chair, his lips pursed. ‘You think Gremara could be the source of this affliction, Lady Emla?

  Emla sighed. ‘I believe it is a possibility, but I also feel there is something else, which, in combination with Gremara’s power, is causing this problem among your people.'’

  ‘But why do some eyes turn silver? That could not be through Gremara could it?’ Maressa thought aloud. ‘We could think that only those who are strongly talented would be able to resist the madness and wake sane but with silvered eyes. Alya is extremely strong and has advanced training. Even if Elyssa is stronger, that fact has only recently been uncovered – she has not been taught how to control or work with her gifts. By that criteria, Elyssa should have succumbed and Alya survived.’

  Looking at the three women’s worried faces, Imshish thought to change the subject.

  ‘Has there been any further news from Jilla and Bagri?’ he asked.

  Emla managed a faint smile. ‘A formal report from Bagri, a rather muddled report from Jilla and a long letter from Ryla, the Senior who is at present at my House.’

  Imshish grinned. ‘And why is poor Jilla’s report “muddled”, Lady Emla?’

  ‘I think she is still rather amazed at sharing my hall with six Great Dragons.’

  ‘Their effect is a little startling, you have to admit,’ Maressa put in with a wry grimace.

  ‘And how have your people responded to the arrival of our two ambassadors?’ Imshish asked.

  Emla laughed aloud. ‘You may read Ryla’s letter if you wish. She is the oldest of us all in Gaharn and very frail, but she is begging to be lifted onto a circle and brought here to see this place herself.’

  All were smiling when the door was rapped lightly from without.

  ‘Come,’ called Kallema.

  A healer entered and the smiles faded.

  ‘Already?’ Maressa whispered.

  The healer inclined his head. ‘Kwanzi asked that I tell you of Alya’s death. She tried to speak several times but we could make no sense of the noises she made. At the end, she said clearly “Grey. Grey One”. Kwanzi has no more idea than we what she might have meant. Perhaps it was just the ravings of her broken mind. But he asked that I tell you.’ The healer bowed and left them.

  ‘Oh stars!’

  The Vagrantians turned to Emla. Her pale face had whitened even further.

  ‘What
is it Emla?’ Maressa went quickly to crouch at Emla’s side. ‘Do you know what Alya could have been trying to say?’

  Emla clutched Maressa’s hand, staring at her wildly.

  ‘The Grey One. That is one of the names given to the Guardian of the North, who is now in Sapphrea and of whom I have spoken. The Grey One – my brother, Rhaki.’

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Rhaki’s mind ranged ever further and wider, glorying in the brilliance of insight that the red flashes seemed to imbue him with. Then, on one of the increasingly rare occasions when he was present in his body when Serim attended him, he realised that his body was in fact ceasing to function. He saw it was so when Serim removed the quilt that lay lightly over him. Beneath, strips of oil-soaked linen covered nearly all of his flesh. Serim gently lifted one of the strips and Rhaki observed, quite dispassionately, that pits of ulcerating sores were eating their way towards each other.

  Rhaki probed deeper, checking his heart and lungs, and found them labouring to sustain him. He cursed himself for a fool to let his physical form slip so far from life, too far, he accepted coolly. Fleetingly, the thought of Bark crossed his mind: he wished Bark were here now, to become the host for Rhaki’s spirit. He knew he had grown extraordinarily powerful during this strange period, and it would not be too difficult to abandon this shell and force his way into another body.

  It was just the distressing lack of suitable bodies that caused Rhaki a mild regret. But he consoled himself with the thought that he could transfer himself again when a more fitting body presented itself. Rhaki’s mind touched Serim’s, so lightly that the Delver was quite unaware of it. Yes, it would be a simple matter to push Serim from his body and fit himself in his place. And Serim would not resist him until too late, for he foolishly believed in his master’s goodness. Rhaki smiled and felt the skin of his cheeks crack and split, blood seeping down his face.

  ‘Master?’ Serim spoke softly, unsure if Rhaki was really conscious.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Master, nothing I do is healing you. Can you tell me of anything else I might try?’