‘What you are doing is well enough.’ Rhaki’s voice was a faint croak. ‘Would you do anything for me Serim?’
‘Anything Master. Tell me and I would do it or die trying.’ The Delver sounded like a fervent lover, Rhaki thought in amusement.
‘Continue as you are doing Serim. It will not be much longer.’
Serim stared into Rhaki’s eyes: they were covered now in the red scaling, all except for black pupils in the centre of which a tiny flame seemed to dance. Serim shivered in spite of himself as Rhaki’s lids drooped, concealing those twisting flames.
Serim continued to renew the dressings on Rhaki’s rotting flesh while Rhaki let his mind escape again. He had discovered areas where he felt other intelligences: some large, some small, some near, and some distant. One in particular he felt drawn to. But try as he might, he could find no points of reference in the red-filled darkness, which might enable him to locate these intelligences.
He suspected some were Beyond, and those he fled from, but the ones he felt sure were on this world, he tried urgently to pinpoint. Some, indeed most, would be inimical to him he knew, but there was, somewhere, one who had similar goals and ambitions as did he. That was the mind he wanted to find, without disclosing his own strength to whoever it might be.
Rhaki floated, trying to identify a sensation surrounding him. Eventually, he recognised that he was experiencing a euphoric happiness such as he had not felt for very many cycles. He laughed, and the sound seemed to fill the whole of the strange universe in which he found himself.
Half a day passed before he remembered that he should not allow the link between himself and his body to loosen any more. It was night in Sapphrea, and he lay alone in his tower, suddenly all too aware of how tenuously his body clung to life. He moved fractionally and pain like fire coursed through his entire frame, as though he would burn to ashes.
Soon. He would have to take Serim’s body before another night arrived. He must not allow himself to be distracted or let his mind be lost in this fascinating new dimension. So Rhaki lay, forcing himself to stillness and patience, for just a little while longer.
In spite of her considerably changed status, Tika still found entering Return, and more especially Lord Hargon’s fortified compound, an ordeal. With Sket sticking to her shoulder like a burr, and imperceptible nods of approval from Gan and Kemti, she walked through the passageways to the room kept for the official reception of important guests.
Hargon’s seneschal Traff paced rigidly before their small party, pausing to bang on the double doors with his staff of office. The armsmen to each side of the door slid quick glances down at Tika’s small form as they raised their swords to their foreheads in salute. The doors swung inwards and their little procession began to move again. Traff stepped to Tika’s left and announced loudly:
‘The Lady Tika of Gaharn. The Lord Kemti of Gaharn. The Lord Gan, Captain of the Golden Lady’s Guards of Gaharn.’
A hasty glance to where a group of men stood near a blazing fire told Tika she had the Lords of Far, Tagria and Andla to face after Hargon. Advancing towards Hargon, Tika clenched her right fist and held it above the golden flower insignia embroidered on her cloak.
Navan stood beside Hargon, having left their group in the outer courtyard and entered by a different route to be by Hargon’s side. Hargon’s younger, and now only, son also stood by Hargon, his eyes hard and his lip pouting. Hargon and Navan both saluted the guests. Bartos folded his arms and looked bored. When formalities had been exchanged Hargon began to introduce the other Lords and their Armschiefs.
‘Where is the girl?’ Bartos’s treble rang clearly across his father’s introduction of Zalom, Lord of Andla.
Hargon continued, ignoring the question, but it was repeated, louder, when Raben of Tagria was greeting Tika. Hargon only glanced briefly at his seneschal.
‘Remove him,’ he said with no inflection in his voice.
Traff grunted when Bartos landed a kick on his ankle, but Traff merely hoisted the boy by the back of his belt and disregarding his yells and squirming, removed him, as Hargon had ordered.
Tika took the opportunity, in the small pause when all formalities were done with, to offer Hargon condolence.
‘We heard of your son’s accident with sorrow for you,’ she told him.
‘Thank you,’ Hargon replied stiffly. ‘It is a great loss to me, but personal matters must be put aside. Please, be seated if you will.’
Gan noted the interest with which the Lords and their Armschiefs scrutinised Tika. He also noted the effort Tika was making to seem unaware of that scrutiny.
‘The latest information I have from the Guardian’s tower is that the men labouring on the adjacent buildings complain of a strange sweet smell that pervades everything, and a feeling of great tiredness. Could that be due to some new activity of the Guardian?’
Tika tried hard to appear far more relaxed than she actually was. ‘Firstly Lord Hargon, Rhaki is no longer the Guardian of the North, so let us not refer to him as such.’
Heads nodded around the table.
‘Secondly, we have only just arrived. I felt a great deal of power drawn close to the building we could see in the distance but I am not yet prepared to test the defences he may have.’
‘What defences?’ Seboth of Far asked mildly. ‘He has only one little man who is allowed in to his tower so I think you must mean his magical defences?’
Hargon’s brows lowered in annoyance. He hated all talk of the power, or magic, or whatever it was called, but he knew he had to accept that that was just what Sapphrea faced once more.
Tika shrugged. ‘Magic – call it what you will. Lord Hargon has told us that Rhaki has killed armsmen just by using his mind.’
‘We knew he could do this only recently.’ Kemti said quietly. ‘He killed one of my colleagues before he left the Stronghold.’
‘That is true,’ Tika confirmed. ‘And he came here to Sapphrea using the power in a mosaic circle.’ She was speaking mainly to the other men now, having told Hargon this at the Lodge.
‘Hargon has already asked if we know of any such things’ Raben made his first contribution. ‘There have always been rumours – you know – tales to frighten naughty children to their beds with – of such a place. It is said to be further west, in the spoiled lands that border the Bitter Sea.’
‘That is a huge area,’ Hargon objected. ‘It would take thousands of men how many cycles to find such a thing.’
Tika opened her mouth to reply, then her eyes unfocused slightly and she remained silent. Recognising that someone was mind speaking her, Kemti smoothly took over her side of the conversation, hoping that none of the Lords were observing her too closely. Before he had finished his first sentence though, Kemti saw the eight Sapphreans round the table were all staring at Tika. Kemti raised an eyebrow at Gan who lifted a shoulder helplessly. It was Sket, standing unheeded at Tika’s side, who decided to explain.
‘My Lady Tika is in communication with her soul bond, the Great Dragon Farn, at the moment,’ he announced with great aplomb.
The Lords’ stares turned to Sket, who stared stonily back. Perhaps fortuitously, at that instant Tika blinked and all eyes returned to her.
‘Your personal Guard has told us you were speaking with Farn,’ said Gan blandly.
Tika looked surprised then smiled up at Sket. ‘That was sensible Sket. Farn and Kija said they have had a message from Gaharn.’
‘A Merig?’ Hargon asked miserably.
‘Yes Lord Hargon, a Merig. Somehow, the Lady Emla discovered how the circles worked and moved herself – somewhere else.’ Tika frowned. ‘I am not sure where, but it means that Rhaki is not the only one now to be able to use them to move great distances quickly.’
Hargon started to get to his feet. ‘Does that mean I can expect many more strangers turning up in my town?’ His voice rose, he was clearly not happy with such an idea.
‘Of course it doesn’t Lord Hargon,’ Kemti soot
hed. ‘I would think rather it might mean that such ways could be closed now to Rhaki. I am sure Guards are already in place around all of the circles whose locations we know.’
‘And where are they?’ Hargon asked, sitting down again to Gan’s relief.
‘One is in the Asataria in Gaharn City. One is in a pavilion on the estate belonging to the Golden Lady, several leagues south west of the city. Another is in the Northern Stronghold.’
‘And at least one is right here – you think,’ Hargon growled.
‘One must be close by for Rhaki to have reached here so swiftly. Did he come to you looking dusty and tired from travel?’ Tika asked.
‘No, he looked only as though he had been out for a stroll,’ Navan told her.
‘Then a circle has to be near and I would wager his tower is either built above it or it is within a moment’s reach.’
The Sapphreans digested Tika’s firm statement in silence, eventually broken by Hargon.
‘I have been remiss as a host Lady Tika. Let me have you and your comrades shown to your rooms. I hope they will prove suitable for your needs. The hour grows later than I had realised – you must surely be hungry. I will have a meal served for us all here in an hour – unless you would prefer to eat privately?’
‘We will see you all in an hour then.’ Tika gave Hargon the faintest of smiles, fully aware that he and his friends would have their heads together the minute she and her friends left the room.
She rose, took one step round her chair and gasped. Kemti had also risen and now he swayed, hands clutching his head. Tika was on her knees, Sket supporting her as she moaned in pain. Chairs crashed to the floor when the Lords jumped to their feet in consternation.
‘What is it? Vagrants be cursed, what is wrong?’ Hargon demanded.
Kemti sank back onto his chair, his eyes screwed shut and his long hands white where they squeezed his own head so hard.
‘Rhaki,’ he gasped. ‘He has killed again, but something else too. Oh stars, something far worse!’
Voron went out to the stables while Ren settled their bill with Volk. He handed the innkeeper two silvers, three coppers more than he’d been asked for.
‘The food was marvellous Volk – you certainly keep a good inn.’
Volk’s round face moved in what perhaps was a smile. ‘Glad to have pleased you sir. Heading for Oblaka are you?’
Ren looked a little surprised but Volk grunted. ‘Only place two such as you and your friend could be going this far north. Can’t see as you’d be trappers nor hunters.’ He rolled to the door with Ren and studied the sky. ‘Weather should stay quiet a couple of days. A good journey to you then sir. Maybe we’ll see you on your way back.’ He turned back to the common room while Ren walked round to the stables.
The horses were saddled and ready, the skinny boy watching Voron closely. Once Voron was mounted, a coin glittered as it spun through the air towards the boy. Few people were about at this early hour and Ren felt happier on horseback after the bath and comfortable night’s rest had removed the worst of his aches.
They travelled a league or more in silence, the trail leading them up and down over the foothills of the Garah. To their right the hills became towering peaks, still thickly shawled in snow. They climbed up to yet another ridge and saw the land sloped gently away – no more climbing. They dismounted to rest the horses briefly.
‘You slept well last night? Nothing disturbed you?’ Voron asked.
Ren sighed at the memory. ‘A comfortable bed, after such a supper – yes I slept very well. Did you not?’
Voron worked a piece of shiny black rock free from the ground with the toe of his boot then bent to pick it up.
‘You heard no voices then?’
‘Voices? You mean from revellers or such?’ Ren smiled. ‘I would not imagine a great deal of revelry happens too often in Valoon or the North Star.’
‘No.’ Voron turned the rock in his fingers. ‘The wind picked up; at least, it was blowing hard once we were abed.’
Ren’s brows drew into a slight frown as he watched Voron’s half averted face. Voron looked up, straight into Ren’s eyes.
‘There were voices mixed with the wind Ren, many voices.’
Ren’s frown deepened. ‘Voices?’ he queried. ‘What did they say?’
Voron dropped his piece of rock back to the ground and swung into his saddle again. ‘There were so many it was impossible to untangle them – odd words – that’s all. But they felt angry Ren, very angry, and wild.’
Ren caught up to Voron and rode close to his flank, letting his horse pick its own way down the faint track.
‘I don’t understand how that could happen Voron,’ he said, once they reached the flatter ground. ‘The shield I have around us should prevent anything like that. Have you had any dreams since we left the Menedula?’
‘No,’ Voron admitted after some consideration. ‘But I was awake last night, not dreaming, and they were real voices.’
‘I don’t doubt you Voron,’ Ren smiled at his friend. ‘I am a little concerned at how and why they managed to reach you. The shield is untouched so how could they have got past it? Who they are is also a troubling question. If it happens again, wake me.’
Voron gave Ren his first genuine smile of the day. ‘Thank you for not scoffing.’
Ren looked perplexed. ‘Why would I scoff?’
‘I can assure you, the Master of Aspirants would jeer at far less fantastic tales.’ Voron spoke with feeling.
‘The Master? I do not know him too well, he has only recently become Master. Old Zima seemed to be there for ever.’
‘Zima’s death was so unexpected – no one had even begun training as his successor. Cho Petak himself appointed Krolik, directly from the Order’s House in Radoogar if you recall.’
A shiver slid down Ren’s back. Matters involving Students and Aspirants rarely touched him these days, absorbed as he had been in his researches over the last years. But he did remember the frisson of gossip when Zima died so suddenly – such a strangely careless fall, and in such a remote corner of the Menedula. It was a day and a half before his body was found; no chance of reviving him by then of course.
Then Cho Petak’s unprecedented announcement of Krolik’s appointment as Master. Aspirant Masters were chosen from those who had fulfilled the obligations required to become Offerings but had not quite the necessary dedication to go the further step. Their eyes became silvered like those of the Offerings and they were given posts throughout Drogoya. They were teachers, advisors, herbalists and physicians, and were known as Kooshak, or the Girdled Ones, for the linked obsidian beads they wore at their throats.
Now Ren heard again Babach’s words, and also Finn Rah’s. But Cho Petak was the Sacrifice, the Sacred One of Drogoya, and above reproach or criticism. Thus Ren had believed. Thinking of Cho Petak’s involvement in this matter of Krolik’s elevation to Master of Aspirants, the tentative doubts began to harden into something more. And Cho Petak’s interest in Ren, Babach and, seemingly, Voron, took on a more dubious cast.
If Cho Petak was misusing his exalted station, how could anyone stop him? He had become Sacrifice because of his undoubtedly immense talent in working with all four elements. No one could stand against him, should such an unthinkable situation arise. Mulling over the last few meetings of the Offerings and Sacrifice, Ren realised that Cho Petak had said nothing. He listened, then he gently dismissed them until the next meeting, asking only that he be kept informed.
Finn Rah had said that Cho Petak had been an ardent believer in Drogoya contacting the people of the Night Lands and that he had changed his mind over night. Ren felt a connection tugging between his thoughts but he could not chase it down. Coming out of his reverie, he saw Voron had got some way ahead. He urged his horse on to catch up just as Voron turned to look back at him.
‘Do you want to stop Ren, or keep going?’
Ren glanced at the sky. Several hours of daylight remained and he wasn’t hungr
y yet after Volk’s supper and breakfast.
‘Let’s ride until we find somewhere snug for the night,’ he replied.
They camped in a sheltered hollow just below the last low ridge they’d traversed. Ren gathered wood and tended to the horses. Voron concocted a stew made with a rather thin rabbit which he’d managed to catch earlier in the afternoon. A stream chattered to itself as it wound its way down the slope beside them. Directly ahead but still several leagues away, the sea’s expanse stretched to the horizon.
‘So Babach is at Oblaka?’ Voron stifled a belch.
Ren helped himself to some tea and leaned back against a birch trunk.
‘He spent several years there long ago I believe, but yes. He had certain things he wished to check on – to do with variations on some of the maps we use.’
‘Could you contact him now?’
‘I could but I think I prefer to stay shielded until we reach him.’ Ren could not explain his deep uneasiness to Voron, but Voron sensed something of Ren’s disquiet and told tales of his recent journeying in the south to distract him.
They settled for the night. Stars prickled in the darkness overhead, conducting their stately dance through their allotted portions of sky, and the two travellers soon fell asleep. Voron woke instantly at Ren’s groan. The moon gave little light and he hurriedly pushed a handful of twigs onto the barely glowing embers of their fire. He knelt at Ren’s side and shook his shoulder, unsure if he was awake or still sleeping.
‘Ren,’ he called. ‘What’s wrong?’
Ren groaned again, jerked under Voron’s hand, then sat up so abruptly their heads cracked together with a resounding thud. Voron swore and sat back on his heels, rubbing his forehead. The twigs he’d fed the fire suddenly caught and in their blaze he peered at Ren.
‘Well?’ he demanded crossly.
Ren was also rubbing his head. ‘Someone tried to breach my shield,’ he said quietly.
‘Tried, or succeeded?’ Voron put larger pieces of wood on the fire and propped their kettle over the heat again.
Vagrants: Book 2 Circles of Light series Page 30