Draykon

by Charlotte E. English

  'Ah, yes. I'm looking forward to doing the same. Tomorrow, then?'

  'Certainly.'

  Llandry kept her bathing short, eager to investigate Draetre. When she slipped out of her room, the twilight had deepened but had yet to descend into full darkness. She wore a long cloak with the hood pulled low over her face, one that was voluminous enough to conceal her wings. She wanted no well-meaning strangers confounding her with conversation. She stepped slowly into the wide road - such as it was; it wound and turned far more than thoroughfares were wont to do in cities. Standing alone, she felt a sense of thrilling freedom. She could be anybody, here; not an awkward, shy girl more comfortable with her jewels than with her peers; nor the quiet, unassuming and largely overlooked daughter of an Elder of Waeverleyne. She could go anywhere she chose: disappear into the shadows in the folds of her cloak.

  She had drunk her usual tonic, but when a crowd of Nimdren singers came into view, laughing, filling the road with chaos, Llandry's artificial lassitude wavered and her brief euphoria vanished. When some of them glanced at her, curiosity evident in their lingering gaze, anxiety returned with a crushing rush and her hands began to shake. Crowds of people, too much noise... she dug in her bag for her bottle and took another drink, breathing too quickly. For a moment she was almost overwhelmingly tempted to return to her room and wait meekly for Devary, but she suppressed the impulse. She was a grown woman: she would not waste her brief taste of freedom by hiding in her room. Drawing her hood further down over her face, she clutched her cloak closer around herself and took a deep breath. With a sweep of her long skirts, she was gone, stepping quickly into the streets.

  She wandered for some time, until the serene twilight had altogether gone and the moon - half full - shone fitfully from behind a scattering of clouds. Every turn took her to some new sight or curiosity. She studied buildings of the most puzzling and original architecture she'd ever seen. She sketched their most intriguing features in her notebook, wishing she could see them again in the daylight with their full colours on display. Everywhere she went she heard music, sometimes lively and uplifting, sometimes dreamily melancholy. The latter reminded her of the airs Devary had often played, and she was uncomfortably reminded that she had left him behind. Perhaps it was time to return to the Harp.

  But ahead of her she could see a large square, crowded with people. Her first instinct was to retreat, and she was on the point of turning when a number of fluttering awnings caught her eye. A market, then? Finding this prospect quite irresistible, she firmly buried her fears and stepped into the crush.

  She was rewarded immediately by the sight of myriad colourful wares spread out for her perusal. Her artist's eye caught and appreciated the unique style of the skilfully-wrought goods that she saw: jewellery worked in metals rich and dark, winking with exotically-coloured gems; clothing in colours and textures of extraordinary beauty; musical instruments painted and engraved; food and delicacies artistically displayed and emitting tempting aromas. She forgot the crowds around her in her absorption. Sigwide's enthusiasm echoed her own; he sat up high in his sling, nose questing, his thoughts a blur of excitement. She found a stall selling plump, glossy nuts and purchased some for him. He crunched happily on them as she wandered the market.

  She chose gifts for her mother and father, and a new garment for herself: a pair of loose trousers with gathered cuffs at the ankle, billowing and romantic. They would be perfect for flying. She was in the process of choosing a gift for Devary, more hesitantly and with a crippling lack of confidence in her judgement of his tastes, when her elbow was seized.

  She looked up quickly, instantly alert and alarmed. Consciousness of the swirling mass of shoppers rushed in on her again all at once, and she had to swallow a sense of panic. At her elbow stood a woman with Darklander skin. Though she was obviously not old, her hair gleamed white in the muted sheen of the light-globes. She was finely dressed, with an obvious air of wealth and ease. She smiled at Llandry in a manner far too familiar for a stranger.

  'A visitor from foreign parts, I'd guess,' said the woman, with an accent even thicker than Devary's. Her manner was so entirely devoid of self-consciousness or awkwardness that Llandry's own increased by comparison, and she made no response save to nod her head in a cool fashion.

  'Your stature suggests Glinnery,' said the woman, making a show of looking down at Llandry as if from a long way up. Indeed, she was taller, but not so extremely so as all that. Llandry bristled slightly. 'Are all your countrymen so silent?' the woman continued. 'I had not heard it of so artistically talented a people.'

  'I need to depart,' Llandry said. She turned to go, but found her elbow once again seized in a determined grip. She looked angrily down at the hand that detained her, a deceptively dainty-looking appendage well covered with glittering rings.

  'A moment,' said the woman, in a tone of deeper seriousness. 'That is a most interesting piece of jewellery. Did you buy it here?'

  Llandry looked down at herself, startled. She didn't remember putting any jewellery on before she left her room. A quick touch to her throat confirmed it: no bracelets jangled at her wrists, and no necklace lay against her neck.

  'I'm not-' she began, but the woman was looking at Sigwide. Llandry's heart sank. The orting was shuffling in his sling, still bristling with excitement, but his enthusiasm had nothing to do with the market. His mouth was full of silver, a slender chain dangling from his teeth.

  From the chain hung Llandry's ill-fated istore pendant.

  Sigwide carried it with care and obvious pride, full of himself for his accomplishment. Llandry felt briefly like strangling him. When had he taken it? She instantly recalled, with horrible clarity, Sigwide's antics near the end of their journey. Bored and restless, he had taken to nosing in Devary's pack. They had both been amused as he entertained himself with various of Dev's possessions, but she hadn't dreamed that he might have been going for the pendant. Or that he could secrete it somewhere without either her or Devary noticing.

  Perversely the stone shone in this near-darkness with a particular radiance Llandry had never seen before. No wonder it had attracted attention. She sighed deeply.

  'Well?' The woman spoke sharply, and Llandry's eyes narrowed in irritation.

  'No,' she said shortly, pulling her arm from the woman's grasp.

  'Oh, then I must know where you bought it! I simply must have one the same, exactly the very same as that.' The woman's eyes lit as she stared at Sigwide and his treasure. Llandry hastily took it from him, ignoring his protests, and stuffed it into the pocket of her cloak.

  'I did not buy it,' Llandry said, and then immediately regretted offering even so small a piece of information to this obstructive stranger.

  'Oh? It was a gift, then, from a lover no doubt. I see that in your pretty face.' The woman laughed. Quite, quite wrong, thought Llandry irritably, but she had finished humouring her oppressor.

  'Unless... you've an artist's eye for beauty. I could not help observing that as I watched you shopping. Perhaps you are the creator of that fine piece.'

  'You were watching me?'

  'Strangers do attract notice, especially when they look as though they are trying to hide.' She smiled again, a much less pleasant expression than before, and her eyes flicked over the large hood that still covered most of Llandry's face and hair. 'I will pay you a great deal to make me such a pendant,' she said then. 'In fact, I will pay you a great deal more for that very pendant that you wear. Let me take it away with me now.' She produced a little wrist-bag from somewhere and opened it, displaying its contents. It was bulging with sovereigns.

  'It isn't for sale,' said Llandry. 'And I cannot make one for you.' Which is the truth, she reflected.

  'Is there nothing you want?'

  Llandry shook her head, turned her back on the woman and walked away, ignoring her attempts to detain her. She walked quickly and fast, aiming for the Harp, hoping to lose herself in the crowds of shoppers, singers and wanderers. She was awar
e of the woman following close behind for some time, and even once her footsteps had died away, she had the uncomfortable feeling that the woman's eyes still followed her as she hurried on, gripping her cloak close as if its dark fabric could swallow her whole.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Shattering pain gripped Eva's body as she emerged from the gate between the realms, surging brutally from her head to her feet and the tips of her fingers. She felt as though her body was trying to shake itself to pieces, prevented only by force of will. She resisted the temptation to buckle under it, drawing quick, painful breaths as she willed the assault away.

  How could I have forgotten this? The pain was as bad as it had been on her first visit; time and absence had removed her resilience to it. She suffered in grim silence, enduring wave after wave of agony until finally, mercifully, it began to recede. Only then did she have leisure to notice Tren's fate.

  He'd fared worse than she. He lay curled up on the ground, gripping his head in his hands as if it sought to separate itself from his body. He made no sound at all.

  'Sorry,' she gasped. 'Should've remembered to warn you about this.'

  'Would've been nice,' gritted Tren.

  'I forgot how bad it gets.' Here came the nausea, now, always the second stage. She didn't try to speak as her stomach pitched and roiled and her limbs trembled with stress. She resisted the tide, but Tren was not so fortunate. She turned away as he compulsively emptied his stomach.

  'Well,' gasped Tren at last as he pulled himself more or less upright. 'That was deeply miserable.'

  'You get used to it.' Eva still felt shaky and weak, but she pulled herself resolutely to her feet. 'Eventually.'

  'I don't think I can walk,' said Tren.

  'Proximity to the gate makes it worse,' Eva replied, gathering her skirts. 'So, walk.' She cast about, searching for her companions. The shortig she found nearby, gnawing on something it had picked up in the bushes. She set it to scout the vicinity for anything telling. There probably wasn't much chance it would find a clear trace of Edwae's erstwhile employer, but it was a possibility.

  Rikbeek she could not find. Casting her senses out further, she discerned a brief flicker of his presence some distance away. Curious.

  'Tren?'

  'Coming.' He joined her with a groan, swaying slightly. She gripped his elbow, letting her fingers dig sharply into his flesh.

  'Ow.'

  'Stop complaining.' She started walking in the direction she'd sensed Rikbeek, dragging Tren forcibly with her.

  'Stop. I'm stable.' He pulled his arm free of her grip, maintaining the quick pace she set without her encouragement. She gave him a brief, distracted smile, then turned her attention to the dense forest that surrounded them.

  It was a mirror image of the tree cover that reigned above, at first glance, but the longer she looked, the more she observed to belie that impression. The trees were taller, much taller, swaying dreamily under the influence of a harsh, cool wind. Their contorted forms were vaguely incorporeal, tissue-thin and brittle. Tattered, lacy leaves spread in a thick blanket overhead, sumptuous with dark colours and glittering faintly in the silvery-white light of the moon that shone down on this ethereal forest.

  Moons, in fact, for the enormous, pale moon that hung high overhead was echoed in a smaller moon that hovered low over the horizon. It sent a deep red light shimmering weirdly through the interlacing branches of the trees, a dark counterpart to the strong, clear moonlight above. Eva blinked, puzzled. She'd never seen a red moon here before.

  Tren was staring, barely paying sufficient attention to where he was putting his feet. He was absently rubbing his arm where she'd gripped him.

  'Sorry,' she said.

  'Hm? Oh.' He chuckled. 'You were a bit brutal.'

  'Mm, well, it's not wise to spend more time here than is strictly necessary. We need to find Ed's employer as soon as possible, and get out.'

  'Why's it so inadvisable? This place is beautiful.'

  'That's exactly why. The crossing almost crippled us both, but now look at you. You're like a child with a bowl of sweets.'

  'I'm not.' He made a point of drawing himself up a little straighter, assuming a purposeful air. 'I am completely business-like.'

  She smiled. 'Just be wary. There's an air of tranquillity about the Lowers that's liable to send a person's wits to sleep.'

  'I can't imagine that happening to you.'

  'Ha. When I first came here, I spent about seven hours lying under a tree staring at the moons. I didn't even notice the time pass. I certainly didn't notice the astwach sneaking up on me. I was lucky to escape.'

  'You were here alone?'

  'I know it was stupid. I was young, stupid and conceited at the time.'

  'But not anymore.'

  'Ouch.'

  He grimaced. 'I was referring to the stupid and conceited parts.'

  'Oh, I don't know. I still have a shade or two of conceit. More than that, some would say.'

  'You're a little preoccupied with what people say about you.'

  That gave her pause. 'Am I?'

  'You've brought it up a few times.'

  'Hm.' She ducked to avoid some low-hanging branches, suppressing a curse as something scratched her face.

  'But you're a popular figure with the papers,' Tren continued. 'I suppose that would get to a person.'

  'I suppose.'

  'I've been hearing about your exploits since I was a child.'

  'Really.'

  'Oh, yes. The Uncatchable Lady Bachelor: rich, beautiful, intelligent, powerful, relentlessly unmarried...'

  She cast a covert look at his face. He was carefully expressionless, no hint of sarcasm discernible. She looked away, allowing herself a small sigh. 'The papers are equally happy to report my failures, of course.'

  'Were there any?'

  'Naturally.'

  'Like what?'

  'Perhaps we could just focus on the job at hand.'

  'Right, sorry. Where's the Captain?'

  'Who?'

  'Captain Rikbeek, Leader of Operation Edwae.'

  She frowned, feeling vaguely irritable. 'Are you always so frivolous in the wake of death?'

  'Haven't experienced enough deaths yet to be sure. I'll let you know.'

  'Great, thanks. Rikbeek's up ahead. He's flying fast, which usually means he's on to something. Since I don't have any better ideas just now, we're following him.'

  'Righto.' He actually started whistling, damn him.

  'How can you be so cheerful?'

  'Moping isn't something I enjoy.'

  'Must you enjoy everything?'

  'It's preferable to being miserable.' He smiled at her, but she didn't smile back. His smile faded.

  'Do I seem heartless? I'm sorry. Actually I'm cheerful because I'm unhappy. I doubt that makes any sense.'

  'No... I suppose it does.'

  'I can't bear tears and distress, so I... avoid them. But I care about things.'

  Remembering his despair over Edwae, she didn't doubt it, but there was no chance to reply. They had caught up to Rikbeek; the gwaystrel was whirling in confused circles overhead. Eva caught a series of scattered, muddled images from his thoughts, nothing helpful.

  'Damn,' she said. 'Whatever he had, he's lost it.'

  'What about the hound?'

  She pointed to the inky black shape near her feet. 'Found nothing. He's been at heel since we started walking.'

  'So we've got nothing.'

  'Nothing but our wits.'

  'Encouraging.' He glanced about, turning in a full circle. 'I see trees,' he reported.

  'Indeed?'

  'With a few trees mixed in.'

  'Come to think of it, I noticed a few of those myself.'

  'So... what now?'

  'Wait for a little while.'

  'Just wait?'

  'You'll see.'

  He shrugged and sat down, tailor-style, in the soft earth. She watched, amused, as he rebuttoned the cuffs of his jacket and s
moothed his shirt, picking uselessly at a slight stain. Running his fingers through his tangled dark hair had little effect: he was still tousled, wind-blown and untidy. She thought the effect was rather attractive than otherwise, though she said nothing. She sat too, smoothing the shortig's short fur under her fingers, heedless of the fate of her plain cotton skirts.

  'What's his name?'

  She blinked, startled. 'Hm? Who?'

  He gestured at the hound. 'You just call him 'the shortig', or maybe 'the hound.'

  'True. I haven't had him for very long. Why don't you pick a name.' She was only half attending to the conversation, her senses busy tracking their surroundings. She didn't sense any threatening animals nearby, but that could change.

  'How about "Puppy".'

  Eva silently raised an eyebrow at him.

  'Fine, not Puppy. Bartel.'

  'Bartel? Is that a random choice?'

  'I had a dog called Bartel when I was a child.'

  She smiled. 'Bartel. I like it.'

  Tren devoted himself to making "Bartel" aware of his new title, and Eva returned to her vigil. After a time the quality of the light began, gradually, to change. The silver-white moonlight lost its shadow of red, deepening instead into purple. The trees around them rippled like water and began to shimmer with a brightness that hurt Eva's night-loving eyes. She closed them briefly. When she opened them again, the landscape was transformed.

  The dark, twisting trees had vanished, giving way to an expanse of meadow dotted with gentle slopes and knolls clustered with bushes. Flowers littered the grasses, resplendent in shades of blue and purple and green. Some were tiny, some standing higher than Eva's head. The blanketing cover of leaves overhead had disappeared, and now the moonlight shone down on them unimpeded. The radiance was verging on too bright for Eva's eyes, but she knew her vision would grow accustomed to it in time.

  Insects shimmered out of the air, descending upon the fragrant, newly-opened blossoms. Furred yellow whistworms clung to the fat stems of the taller plants, intent on feeding on the insects. Striped purple-and-grey olifers levered themselves out of their burrows, intent on feeding on the whistworms. Eva's summoner senses caught the heavy tread of a muumuk away to the west. She noted its position carefully, resolved on giving it a wide berth.