Y-y-yes Drakon, almighty God. I will instruct my dragons straight away.
“That’s more like it. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” And he was gone.
Arcon gave the king a moment to recover before he said, I think Sinjenasta means more to him than we realize. I am sorry to have to ask this of you.
I should just give up and leave the governing of Vellonia to Drakon. Hmph. At least no one will argue with me. The whole city heard that conversation. I’m going to go and ask for volunteers. If I can get enough, we’ll fly you all here. We’ve also got a couple of harnesses somewhere that dangle beneath the dragon, like a sling. We use it to transport sheep and cows when we want them for breeding—it’s too easy to accidentally kill them if we carry them in our claws. They should be there by this time tomorrow. I’ll be glad when this war is over.
You’re not the only one. And thank you.
Hmph. See you in a couple of days. The king cut the connection.
Arcon stood. “Valdorryn is sending dragons. They’ll be here by this time tomorrow.”
“I’m not surprised, after that interruption.” Avruellen lay out her bedroll. “I never thought I’d say this, but I’m glad Drakon butted in. I can’t believe the dragons could be so petty.”
“There are dragons, like Talians, that are not as smart as we’d like them to be. It’s those ignorant ones we have to be careful of.” Arcon unrolled his bed, too.
“Why can’t everyone be as smart as us?”
“I don’t know, sister. But it’s getting harder to avoid the idiots.”
Avruellen laughed and looked over at Corrille, who was out of earshot, cuddled against Blayke. “You’re not wrong there.”
Bronwyn, Toran by her side, laid her bedroll next to her aunt’s. She collapsed onto it and shut her eyes. “Gods, I’m so tired.”
Toran sat next to her and rubbed her back. “Not long now, Bronwyn. You heard Drakon. We’ll be flying to Vellonia soon.”
“I know, but what are we meant to do for Sinjenasta once we get there?”
Avruellen looked at her niece. “I’m not sure, but maybe you have some ideas—he’s your creatura, after all. You’re so close to becoming a member of The Circle. Part of that is figuring things out that no one else can. I want you to think, Bronwyn. Think hard.”
“First I’ll have a nap, and then I’ll think.”
Toran and Avruellen shared a worried look. Then Avruellen turned to Arcon. The bond isn’t supposed to be that strong. I’ve never seen anything like it. She’s becoming almost as sick as he is. Why?
Arcon shrugged. It must have something to do with the gormon poison. Hmm, I have an idea. Hang on a minute. Arcon closed his eyes and let his mind drift to the Second Realm. Despite the worry about what was happening in the First Realm, Arcon felt relaxed as soon as the darkness embraced him. It didn’t take long for him to find Bronwyn’s symbol, as it mirrored her position in the First Realm—right next to Arcon.
I’ve never seen anything like it, Av. You’d better come and have a look.
“Toran, can you please watch over Bronwyn. I’m just going somewhere for a moment.”
“Okay.”
Arcon felt Avruellen’s presence next to him in the Second Realm. Oh, my. What in the Third Realm is this? I’ve never seen anything like it either. I’m afraid it’s not good news.
No. No, it’s not. Arcon floated around Bronwyn’s symbol, which was attached by a nearly-invisible thread to Sinjenasta’s symbol. Both symbols were supposed to be bright, but Bronwyn’s shone half as much as it should, and Sinjenasta’s was even dimmer.
Arcon looked even closer and noticed black spots on Sinjenasta’s symbol, like spores of mold on a white wall. He tracked the marks along the thread that joined the symbols and noticed a few had attached themselves to Bronwyn as well. And then he saw something else. Oh my gods! I think I know what it is.
What?
I only noticed when I looked at the black dots with your symbol shining behind. There are tiny, tiny threads coming off each spot, and I bet they lead to the gormons. They’re leeches, feeding off their life force. There’s only one way to fix this, and it will be my absolute pleasure. I wish I could see the gormons’ faces.
Arcon, no! They could come and attack us here.
He ignored his sister and followed the thin black lines that stretched from a few of the spots. Careful to keep bright symbols behind the threads, he finally found their source: a gormon symbol. The black gormon symbol was practically invisible in the dark Second Realm, but with the light of other symbols behind it, the realmist found what he was looking for. Now, how to kill the parasite before the gormons realized what was happening. If he didn’t do this right, he would be fighting for his own life. Deciding on the best course of action, Arcon drew power. He cut the thread first, not knowing what the gormon in the First Realm would feel.
Sure his body must be sweating, he drew in power until he was on the verge of what was safe. Destroying symbols was one of the most difficult things to do—the gods forbade it, but Arcon was willing to take that chance. Piercing through the dark symbol with a shaft of fire, Arcon prayed it would work. He watched the symbol expand, the center of the flames forcing the energy outward until, Arcon hoped, it would explode. But it was taking longer than he thought it would. Back in the First Realm, his mouth grimaced, and his hands clenched his knees. As Toran watched, the old realmist started to convulse.
***
The maturing gormons lounged in the hotel dining hall, rain falling outside. A sliced Talian, his gory pieces arranged artistically on each gormon’s plate, made Eksilon’s stomach grumble. Drips of blood beaded on the shiny timber table, the raw limbs too big for the plates. “Mmm,” he rasped, “I love drumsticks. Look at that meaty thigh.” The four other gormons laughed, one picking up an arm from his plate, the shoulder still attached. He licked the still-warm morsel then burped.
Eksilon closed his mouth around the thigh but stopped just as his teeth pierced the flesh. The other gormons didn’t notice anything until Eksilon started to scream. His gurgling shout drowned out the sound of the rain. While three gormons dropped their food and shot to their feet to look for the cause of his distress, the fourth one dove his mind into a corridor and raced to the Second Realm.
***
Arcon floated in the star-smattered darkness of the Second Realm, wondering what to do next. The symbol he’d attacked looked like it was about to burst. The realmist wanted to pump more energy into it, but he felt another presence—one that made the Second Realm feel like a place full of evil shadows, rather than one of infinite peace. Knowing that he couldn’t draw any more power to defend himself, he raced through the darkness, the malevolent force a heartbeat away.
When Arcon spied the slight tonal change indicating the tunnel that led back to his body, he flew faster, First-Realm gravity aiding his escape. He opened his eyes to Avruellen, Phantom, Flux, Toran and Blayke’s worried faces. “Is there any change?”
Avruellen’s face had lost its veneer of strength. He couldn’t be sure, but he thought the white streak in her hair was wider, and the sparse wrinkles around her eyes had multiplied. She shook her head. “Arcon, she’s worse. What are we going to do?”
He stood and enveloped his sister in a hug. “We pray.”
Chapter 9
Disguised in one of the palace cook’s clothing, Gabrielle, her hair gathered atop her head in a crocheted net, wandered the market at the bottom of Bayerlon. The citizens were buying as much produce that could be dried or pickled as they could afford. The streets had become so crowded with an influx of scared people that the queen often found she had to push her way through the aisles to where she wanted to go. More than once, she had grunted when an elbow had stabbed her in the stomach or a shoed foot stomped on her slipper-clad ones. She had been okay with wearing someone else’s washed clothes, but sharing shoes was just going too far, and it would have looked strange if she wore her hardier riding boots.
&nbs
p; She reached a fruit vendor and filled her basket with ripe, firm strawberries. “How much?” she asked.
He weighed them. “That will be one silver piece.” The vendor held out his hand, his rough, deeply-lined palm demanding.
“That’s criminal, man! How can you charge so much?” Gabrielle was careful to make her voice more like a worker and less like a queen.
“It’s the laws of supply and demand. I’m sorry, but there’s a war coming. I’ve heard the ladies are making very nice strawberry jam.” He put his hand down. “If you can’t afford them, please put them back. I would hate for them to get damaged.”
Gabrielle scowled. “This is disgusting, but I’ll pay.” She reached into her pocket and found a silver piece—she had brought four, thinking to buy enough provisions for dinner, but if strawberries cost that much, how much would the venison cost, and what about the potatoes?
“Thank you, ma’am,” the vendor said and tipped his gray cap.
“I’ll be complaining about this to the king. There might be a war coming, but there is still enough produce to go around.” She nodded at the several boxes of strawberries that sat on the ground near his feet.
“Good luck with that. King Edmund has enough on his plate without worrying about some nobody cook.”
Gabrielle opened her mouth to reply, but he had already turned away and was weighing someone else’s basket of apples. Realizing she could never afford the meat, she spent the rest of her money on potatoes and rice—at least it would go further, and rice would last.
She strode swiftly uphill, all the way back to the castle, replaying the scene with the fruit vendor over and over in her head. By the time she reached the courtyard, her cheeks were flushed and her teeth clamped together. Edmund, who was walking out to find Perculus, approached his wife but stopped short when he saw her face. “I don’t know if it’s wise, but I’m going to ask anyway—what happened?”
She snorted out an angry breath. “You should see what they’re charging for food down there, and they’re using the war as an excuse. How dare they! At this rate, our people will be starving before this war even starts.” She placed the hessian bags of potatoes and rice on the ground and lifted the basket that contained the berries up to Edmund’s face. He leaned his head back to avoid being hit. “These cost one silver piece! One silver piece! Our people are being robbed by their own countrymen. I’ve never seen anything like it.” She lowered the basket. “I would like you to make it stop, please.”
Edmund looked around the courtyard, futilely searching for an excuse to walk away. When Gabrielle wanted her way, she usually got it. “That does sound a tad high, but I have more urgent things I need to attend to. And I hate to say it, but I can’t tell vendors what to charge—it’s a free market.”
“But they’re robbing them blind.”
“Well, if they can sell their produce and people are paying, then there’s nothing I can do.” He shrugged.
Gabrielle shook her head. “I’m disappointed in you, Edmund Victor Laraulen.”
The use of his full name caused him to wince. Things were going to get ugly. Unless he could get her to see sense, he’d be down at the bottom of the city by this afternoon, wasting time with vendors instead of dealing with more pressing matters.
Straightening his shoulders, he looked his wife in the eyes. “My queen, I cannot go down there. Firstly, I have to find Perculus. He has the lists of provisions and weapons, and I have to know exactly what we have so we know where we stand when the gormons get here. Secondly, if I go and interfere with what’s going on down there, I’ll have rebellion on my hands. We’ve had strikes before, and you know how stubborn those farmers can be. They could turn around and go home, and then we would all starve. Please, Gabrielle, understand why I can’t do anything right now. If we survive this war, I’ll bring in some measures to stop this happening again, but right now, we have to let it go.” He had moved closer to her and was caressing her arm.
She looked at his chest, too angry to look into his eyes. “I’m not happy, but if you promise to change things after the war. . . .”
“Yes, of course. I promise.” He pulled her to him and leaned his cheek on her jasmine-scented hair. “Sorry, my love, but I have to go. Gods know where in the Third Realm Perculus is.”
Gabrielle finally looked up at him. “Better to find him now than have to share a meal with him later.” She smiled. He returned her smile and continued on his way out of the courtyard. He would start with the soldier’s quarters.
***
Hermas followed Perculus as he turned right down an alleyway between rows of two-story terraces, halfway down the hill from the castle. Hermas tried to look as old as he could and leaned on his walking stick, pretending to need a rest, and snatched a look down the narrow lane, careful his quarry didn’t see him.
When Perculus reached the end of the alleyway, he turned left. Losing his semblance of age, Hermas jogged down the passageway, ducking his head around the next corner in time to see Perculus enter the gate of a well-cared-for terrace on a tree-lined street. What is that scoundrel up to? Hermas wondered. He had been following Perculus for the last couple of weeks, from one end of the city to the other, but no pattern had emerged, except that the type of people he was meeting almost all fit into the “unsavory” category. This terrace was different—someone relatively well-to-do would live here, a merchant or high-ranking government official.
Something tickled the back of Hermas’s mind. There was a link, if he could only figure it out. He knew there wouldn’t be anything random about what King Edmund’s advisor was up to. Picking a public bench farther up the hill, he put on his shuffling act and sat, pretending to be asleep. He leaned back. With his hat cocked over his face, it was unlikely anyone would recognize him. There was just enough of a gap that he could look out of the corner of his eye and watch the front gate of the property.
By the time Perculus reappeared, a long while later, Hermas was ready for a real nap. The king’s advisor retraced his steps and didn’t seem to take any notice of the stooped old man resting on the bench, a cane propped on the ground, resting against his thigh. After Perculus disappeared back down the alleyway, Hermas counted to fifty, slowly. Reaching fifty, he stood and leaned heavily on his stick. Labored walking was tedious, and Hermas had to keep reminding himself not to rush.
The red-painted iron gate—the color indicating the residence of an apothecary—made a slight squeak when he pushed it open. His cane clicked on the limestone paving as he hobbled to the front porch. Ignoring the brass doorknocker of a gargoyle’s head, Hermas tapped the curved end of his cane on the door. A distant voice answered the knock, the words getting louder until he could understand them. “I’m almost there.” And the door opened.
Wind from the movement of the door sent the auburn strands of hair that framed the woman’s face floating back before they settled again. Hermas swallowed when he met the woman’s dark eyes, prominently staring out of a pale-skinned face. She wasn't what he expected—attractive features, pale pink gown that modestly covered from her neck, skimming her body until it reached the polished-wood floor.
“What are you doing back . . . oh, sorry. What can I do for you?” she asked, smoothing the front of her dress with delicate fingers.
Hermas nodded once, slowly, in greeting. His eyes pleaded with hers as he spoke. “I was walking down to the market, and I suddenly felt faint. Could you spare a glass of water and a seat for a moment?” The hand leaning on the cane trembled.
“Of course. Do come in.” She held his elbow and helped him into the house. “Daklesh, please attend me,” she called toward the curved staircase as they walked to the left of it, toward a tall door. “What is your name, sir?”
“Thomas. May I ask your name?”
“Lily.”
A petite, dark-skinned man, who had quietly taken up a position behind her, spoke. “Lady?”
She jumped slightly. “Oh, Daklesh! You will have to walk louder—you�
��re always surprising me.” Lily fanned her face with her hand.
“Sorry, lady.”
She smiled and shook her head. “And it’s “my lady.” You’ll have to remember that or you might offend one of our guests one day. Could we please have a glass of water for this old man?”
“Certainly . . . my lady.”
Hermas coughed to hide his surprise. This woman was not the usual company he had seen Perculus keep in the time he had been following him—she was too, well, nice and not at all criminal, from what he could tell. Not only that, but if his memory was not lying to him, her servant was an Inkran. In his younger days, too many years ago to want to count, Hermas had undertaken a spying mission but had not made it much past the first village near their border with Inkra. Daklesh couldn’t be from anywhere else, with his pale-blue eyes and dark skin. It would have to be the first instance, ever, of an Inkran working or living outside Inkra. And he bet it hadn’t happened by chance.
Lily led Hermas into a formal sitting room; brown-leather sofas faced each other in the middle of the room, a fireplace on the far wall, two red glass vases and a gold urn sitting on its red stone mantle.
Lily helped Hermas sit on a sofa. Fortunately the sofa faced toward the back of the home and another set of open double doors showed him a large, well-decorated room that was obviously the dining room. But it was what lay beyond the room’s windows that interested Hermas. The curtains were drawn back, and he had a clear view through the large panes.
The water arrived, and Hermas took it with a shaking hand. He sipped it until it was all gone.
“Would you like some more?” Lily asked.
“Maybe just one more. Thank you.” Hermas stared beyond those windows at the formal garden. “You have a lovely garden. Do you maintain it?”
“Why thank you.” Her smile radiated joy. “I have a gardener who helps me once a week, but it is mostly my work. Before my father died, we would garden together.” Her smile faded.
Realm Of Blood And Fire (Book 3) Page 7