Draykon

by Charlotte E. English

  'You're first on my list of potential buyers, then. I apologise in advance.'

  'Apology accepted.'

  A faint yip sounded in the night. Eva turned her thoughts towards the shortig.

  'Has he found something?' Tren stared hard into the darkness, trying to make out the small black shape of the scent hound somewhere ahead.

  'I don't think so,' Eva said. 'We're falling behind, though.' She increased her pace, catching up to the dog. She searched briefly overhead, finding the gwaystrel still sweeping in slow circles beneath the canopy of the trees.

  ***

  They were two days and a half on foot, travelling steadily southwards through Orstwych. Their journey had taken them a long way south, aiming with alarming accuracy for the wilds of Ullarn. The prospect of crossing into that notoriously perilous territory pleased nobody. Finshay had recovered from his temper at last, though he merely returned to his usual uncommunicative state. Eva was grateful for Tren's presence: without his friendly face and light-hearted chatter, the experience of following Edwae's trail could have been excruciating. She guessed that Tren talked in order to take his mind off their task. The tactic was effective for her, too, keeping her from undue pain over Meesa's fate.

  They encountered a few more Lowers beasts, including one that Eva could have sworn was on the list of extinct species. Of these, only two posed any danger, and Eva was able to master them quickly enough to banish them through the gates Tren opened. Finshay was not obliged to repeat his athletic performance with the daggers.

  The moon was sinking on the third day's journey when the shortig's steady pace began to pick up. His nose lifted to the winds and he barked, a high, thin sound full of excitement. They were close to Ullarn, and the terrain was growing steadily more difficult to navigate: uneven, and choked with thorned plants. She could smell burning coal on the air.

  'He's got something,' murmured Eva, running forward. She was dimly aware of Finshay behind her, alert and tense, as she caught up with the hound.

  The soft earth beneath her feet was dark and wet, stained in patches of a foreboding hue. A ripple of nervousness shivered over her skin as intuition suggested to her the nature of the stain. Tren knelt, dipping his fingers into the mud.

  'Blood.'

  Finshay's curved and wickedly sharp daggers appeared in his hands as he stood scanning the surrounding trees. The sight gave a sense of reality to the danger, and suddenly she was alert. Her eyes swept the branches overhead, seeking Rikbeek. He was nowhere within range, but no warning call came from him.

  The shortig quivered, awaiting commands. She urged him on, following as he tore ahead.

  'Any way of telling if that's Edwae's blood?' Tren was beside her, keeping pace, his eyes on the trees before them.

  'No,' she panted. 'If there was another trail there, the shortig would ignore it. It could be anyone's.'

  He didn't answer. She understood why as she felt the cursed Cloak tighten around her, shrouding her movements in increased shadow. She drew in a shocked, gasping breath as the weight of it doubled. Her legs felt leaden and she had to fight to maintain her pace.

  'Sorry,' Tren gasped. 'Got to do it.'

  She couldn't find the breath to respond. She forged doggedly ahead, straining to keep up with the flying pace the shortig set. He was on the chase, a fresh scent in his nostrils and his quarry nearby.

  Then, abruptly, the hound stopped. He turned rapidly, questing, then his nose lifted and he paced slowly forward. He trotted in circles, confused. Then he faced Eva and sat down, tucking his tail neatly under.

  'Um,' said Eva. 'That's not good.'

  'Explain,' growled Finshay tersely.

  'Means the scent ends here.'

  The three paused, silent, alert for any sound or movement. Nothing stirred. Then soft wings brushed her cheek, and a sound, nearly inaudible, reached her ears. Rikbeek swept silently ahead, and she followed.

  She knew what he'd found immediately. A wave of nausea and disorientation hit her before she'd gone five paces, and she gritted her teeth. Eva loved her profession, but she detested the necessity of occasionally utilising the gates to the Lower Realms. These tears in the fabric of the world disrupted the flow of light, sound, colour and scent around them; even the air flowed irregularly, torn from the natural channels of the winds and mingling queasily with the atmosphere beyond. As she travelled, she felt that curious and deeply unpleasant sensation so horribly familiar from her periodic excursions Below: a surging, roiling sensation, as if some force sought to rearrange the structure of her body. A gate certainly lay nearby.

  She saw it then, a distortion of the patterns of tree, branch and leaf around her; a ripple in the air as if a great heat shimmered over the landscape. She stopped, holding up her hand.

  'Feel that?' Her voice was barely a whisper, but her companions heard.

  'Yes,' said Tren.

  'What?' said Finshay.

  Eva nodded to herself. Anyone with a shred of sorcerous talent could at least feel the pull of a gate, but those without were in danger of stumbling into one unawares. She drew a line in the mud at her feet.

  'Mr. Arrerly,' she murmured. 'A gate lies beyond that line; don't step over it.' She expected a sharp answer from him at this order from her, but he was silent.

  Rikbeek returned, hovering near the gate. Had he gone through? He abruptly banked and disappeared into the trees. A few moments later the gwaystrel's cry sounded. She followed the call to a small clearing overhung with low, frilled branches, dripping with moisture. She could see nothing untoward.

  Rikbeek flew low to the ground, maintaining a position a few inches from the earthy floor. Still she could neither see nor sense anything untoward. She felt Tren's puzzlement echoing her own as he reached her side.

  'He's found something?'

  'Apparently.'

  Tren went to his knees, suddenly intent. He rubbed a hand over the earth and tasted it.

  'More blood,' he said grimly. A soft cry sounded unmistakably, as if someone smothered a whimper of pain. Tren's head shot up, alert, and Eva's eyes widened. She knelt too, and reached out to the empty air over which Rikbeek flew.

  Her hands met a solid object: cloth was under her fingers, damp and ragged. A gasp, then, and the shape shifted under her fingers, flinching away from her.

  Tren spoke.

  'Ed?'

  A momentary pause, and then a flicker, and a tall man appeared, lying prone, curled around his left side. He was shivering uncontrollably and his eyes stared alarmingly. She dimly recognised the features of Edwae Geslin, no longer fresh and youthful, now drawn and haggard. His appearance of mild friendliness had vanished beneath an air of desperation.

  'Tren,' he gasped. 'You... took your time.'

  'You should've told me,' said Tren sadly. 'You're hurt?' A dark bloodstain soaked the ragged cloak Edwae wore, and his hands were clasped tightly to his side. Tren moved to examine his wounds.

  'No time for that,' gasped Edwae. 'You must stop him.'

  'Who?'

  'Don't know who. Made me change the Cloak... followed him here. There were....' he stopped speaking for a moment, panting hard for breath. 'Whurthag,' he managed at last. 'Beasts with him.'

  'You don't know who it was?'

  'Disguised.' Edwae, exhausted, let his head fall back into the mud. 'Wearing a different face...' he mumbled. 'Think he was... going for a gate.'

  'There's no one else here,' Eva murmured to Tren. 'Rikbeek would've found them already.'

  Tren nodded. He gently prised Ed's hands away from his side. The fabric of his clothing hung in tatters, and long, livid wounds striped his torso, seeping blood in sluggish flows.

  'Whurthag wounded,' said Tren grimly.

  'Tried to stop him,' said Edwae. His voice was faint and his breaths came shallow and infrequently.

  'That was stupid, Ed,' said Tren, trying to sound light-hearted; but Eva heard the catch in his voice.

  Edwae didn't answer. His eyes closed, and he l
ay with unearthly stillness. The sound of his breathing stopped.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The Mail Runner stood outside the grand gates of the University of Waeverleyne, nervously shifting her armful of packages. She was new on the job, started only last week; maybe that was why she'd been shafted with the task of delivering to the university. Everyone else had been more adept at dodging this duty.

  She knew what it was she was carrying. The bulletins had been screaming about it for weeks: all istore to be turned in, for the owner's own safety. To be consigned to the care of Waeverleyne's scholars, who wanted it for research purposes. Well enough, but who was willing to cross Glinnery carrying such a thing these days? Remuneration had been offered, but the frightened owners of the remaining istore pieces preferred simply to be rid of them. And so, the mail. They packaged them up and sent them away, leaving the mail runners to take the risk. Her colleagues had been taking packages down to the university all week. Guards roamed the perimeters of the university grounds, a sight which alarmed her as much as it reassured her.

  She shifted from foot to foot, waiting. It was early in the morning, true, but still everything seemed too quiet. She'd been told someone would be there to take the delivery. She juggled her parcels into the crook of one arm and lifted the knocker again, rapping loudly. The crisp, sharp sound split the silent morning air.

  'Mail!' she yelled. A sudden realisation smote her: she was probably at the wrong door. Stepping back, she tried to identify some other entrance, a smaller, more accessible one. Soaring glissenwol trunks in rows met her eyes, many fitted with doors as well as windows. How was she to determine which was the correct door for the mail?

  At last she heard footsteps approaching. The gigantic doors remained firmly closed, but a smaller door further down opened a crack. She drifted downwards, flexing her wings to control her pace of descent. The interior of the gigantic tree was dark; she could see nothing around the door save the suggestion of a figure and the gleam of an eye.

  'Late,' somebody muttered.

  'I'm sorry, uh, sir? It's really quite early for a delivery-'

  'Hand it over.' The door opened a little wider, but she still couldn't make out anything inside the room save a patch of darkness that moved towards her. Trembling, she dropped most of the parcels at the figure's feet. The rest she placed into its hands, shuddering as her fingers touched something chill and damp.

  'Pick those up,' said the voice. 'Bring them inside.' There was nothing in the tone to tell her whether she spoke to a male or a female. Warily she bent down, hands shaking as she scrambled to collect her dropped packages. Something moved in the darkness, moved fast; a beast leapt at her face and heavy jaws snapped at her neck. As pain blossomed in her throat she heard a few sharp syllables, harsh like curses, uttered in an unfamiliar language. Then her vision faded and she heard no more.

  ***

  Devary Kant stepped beyond the confines of the Sanfaer house with a sense of relief. Not that he had especially minded acting guard over Llandry this past week; she was a sweet enough girl, when she managed to address more than two or three syllables to him, and the days had not passed unpleasantly. It was not in his nature to accept confinement for long, however.

  Aysun was building something. He said it would replace the staircase that wound up the side of the stout trunk of the house, some contraption that couldn't be operated by the slew of beasts that still poured through from the Uppers. Devary watched for a few moments, endeavouring to make out the plan behind Aysun's busy activity. So far he had constructed some kind of metal frame that climbed into the air like a giant insect, swaying slightly in the winds. Now he appeared to be building a box. Apparently it was commonly used in Irbel, but Devary didn't remember seeing anything like it on the one visit he'd paid there, years ago. He shook his head, walking on.

  He kept a wary eye out for roaming creatures as he walked along what passed for streets in Waeverleyne. The Summoners had been hard at work for the last two days, clearing the city of beasts and the rogue gates to the Uppers that were opening in ever greater numbers. They had succeeded in stemming the flow, or so it appeared, for Devary saw nothing untoward on his way through the city. He paused at the first set of bulletin boards he reached, stationing himself where he could read each of the three boards in turn.

  The same headline blazed from all three.

  Break-in at University of Waeverleyne

  The respected University of Waeverleyne was broken into last eventide. The object of the crime was undoubtedly the coveted istore stone, for not a piece remains in the university's decimated research laboratories. Nothing else appears to have been taken. More news as we hear from our correspondents at the university.

  Devary didn't wait to read the rest. He broke into a run, heading for the elegant cluster of trunks that made up the university grounds.

  He encountered a group of infirmary workers on the outskirts. The body of a uniformed guard lay on the ground, bloodily wounded and evidently not breathing; several healers were working on him, quite uselessly.

  'Was anyone inside?' he gasped, out of breath. One of the healers looked up, shook her head at him.

  'Don't know,' she said tersely. Devary ran on, pushing his way through crowds of curious spectators. A glance upwards told him that the main doors were closed. He slipped through a small door at the rear, pushing his way through crowded reporters, police, infirmary workers, researchers and professors. To his relief, he found Elder Ilae Shuly standing in the centre of the chaos, directing the clean-up effort. He looked up as Devary approached.

  'Does Ynara know about this yet? I sent a messenger not long ago.'

  Devary shook his head. 'That, I don't know. I heard the news from the bulletins.'

  Ilae grimaced. 'They're quicker than ever.'

  'I was afraid to see your name on the casualty list.' Elder Shuly, Ynara's closest friend on the Council, was famous for the hours he spent at the university, often staying well after it closed for the day.

  'It should have been,' said Ilae bluntly. 'I developed one of my headaches yesterday, and left early. I was home not much after sunset. Two of my research assistants were here,' he added bleakly.

  Devary winced. 'Were there any witnesses?'

  'None surviving. Which was, of course, the point. There were a few more patrol guards on the other side of the university grounds, but they saw nothing.'

  'And the istore?'

  'Taken, down to the smallest piece.' Ilae sighed. All of his vaunted energy seemed lost; he looked every single one of his seventy-something years. 'Not that we were making any progress in the study. We lack the expertise, perhaps. I had hoped to consult with Nimdre, however; they've some specialist knowledge at the universities there. Oh - you'd know, of course,' Ilae added with a nod to Devary.

  'What of Glour? They were forming a research team when Ynara left. They may be in danger of a similar raid.'

  'I've already dispatched a note, but I imagine it will be too late for them to act on it. I wouldn't be surprised to hear that a similar break-in occurred somewhere in Glour City overnight. And really, I scarcely know how they would do better in protecting the stuff; nothing seems to hold against these people.'

  Devary was silent. He couldn't help sharing Ilae's opinion.

  'What puzzles me,' said Ilae abruptly, 'is how relentless this pursuit of the istore is turning out to be. The Council ordered a strong guard on the university, but I don't think we expected such an attack, not really. We had a mere few miserable pieces of the stone left; enough to study, not enough to be worth a great deal. One would think.' He paused, frowning. 'Somebody seems determined to gather up every last piece. If the intention was to deprive us of the opportunity to study it properly, that's certainly been accomplished.' He looked up at Devary, his eyes fierce. 'It only makes me more determined. Apparently there's a secret here that someone thinks is desperately worth keeping. I will find out what it is.'

  Devary made his way back to Ynara's
soon afterwards. He had a suspicion in mind regarding the younger Sanfaer lady and her jewel crafting activities. It was now urgently necessary to determine whether he was correct.

  Aysun was still at work on his machine when Devary arrived.

  'She's upstairs,' he said. He didn't specify which lady he meant, but Devary found both at home, seated in the parlour with cups of tea.

  'Has the news reached you yet?' he asked, bending to kiss Ynara lightly on the cheek.

  'What news?' Ynara looked sharply at him. 'Bad or good?

  'Bad,' he said. 'There is a messenger on the way from Ilae.' He recounted the tale in detail, including everything Elder Shuly had said. Ynara set down her cup and rose to her feet, brisk and business-like.

  'I'd better go down there immediately.'

  'Just one moment,' he said, catching at Ynara's arm. He'd been watching Llandry closely as he'd repeated Ilae's words about the istore research. Her face had remained impassive, but she'd slipped one small hand into her pocket as if checking for something.

  'Llandry,' he said, very seriously. 'Did you turn all of your istore over to the university?'

  She stared back at him for a long moment, expressionless, unmoved.

  'No,' she said at last. 'I have one piece left.' She withdrew her hand from her pocket, revealing a pendant glittering with the indigo stone. He heard Ynara sigh.

  'Oh, no, Llandry...'

  The girl shrugged one shoulder. 'I couldn't part with it. I suppose it's lucky I felt that way.'

  'Lucky?' Ynara's tone was dangerous.

  'Yes,' said Llandry coolly. 'If the rest is gone, we've one piece left to work with.'

  'Until that's taken, too, apparently over your dead body.' Ynara was working herself up into a fury. Devary stepped in quickly, taking the pendant from Llandry's hand before she had chance to react.

  'I'll take care of it,' he said firmly. 'Please, don't either of you mention its existence just yet, not to anybody. Not even to Ilae, Ynara. I fear there are listening ears in too many places. I will find a safe way to tell him.'