Draykon

by Charlotte E. English

  'Where am I to go?'

  'I shall keep you with me. Now, back we go. Keep close to me. Under my cloak, now.' He held open the folds of his own voluminous cloak, and she tucked herself under its shadow. A few steps, cumbersome in this peculiar arrangement, and she was back inside the carriage with Devary beside her.

  Devary's dwelling was only a few minutes from the Harp. Llandry was relieved to see that Indren returned the wrapped pendant to Devary before he alighted. He turned as if to address a last few words to Indren, and Llandry slipped down, back into the enveloping folds of his cloak. She had time only to address a brief word of thanks to Indren, but she received in response a far kinder smile than the lady had offered her before. Then she was through a tall archway and a door was closing behind her, blocking out the sound of the carriage drawing away.

  Devary bade her remain where she was and disappeared into the house. She stood, her discomfort rising, trying uselessly to neaten her disordered hair. She heard the sounds of curtains being drawn and shutters closing, then lights twinkled into life somewhere ahead of her. In another moment Devary reappeared.

  'Come inside,' he said, lightly taking her arm and guiding her to a chair. 'Here. You need a drink.' He handed her a handsome glass full of dark liquid. She sipped and tasted wine, strong and sweet.

  'Thank you,' she said gratefully, relishing the gently soothing sensation generated by the contents of her glass.

  'I must speak with your guard,' he said. 'They had orders to remain near throughout the evening, yet you were almost taken. I saw one of them at the Harp just now. Why are they waiting there when you were elsewhere? This alarms me.'

  'All right.' She hesitated. Her near escape was vivid in her memory, and she was reluctant to be left alone. She watched anxiously as he moved about the room, collecting - to her alarm - a pair of knives and slipping them into sheathes on his belt and boots. She wanted to ask him to stay, or to take her along, but her pride objected and she remained silent.

  To her mingled relief and dismay, Devary collected a third knife and handed it to her. 'Keep this close,' he said. 'I don't think you will need it: I won't be gone for long.' He smiled encouragingly and left. She sighed as she heard the door close softly behind him. The key turned in the lock, loud in the silence.

  Sigwide was asleep on her feet. His weight was uncomfortable; she lifted him into her lap and wound her fingers through his fur. He was warm, sleepy and grumpy at the disturbance. He twisted three times around, sneezing, and then curled himself up. She smiled faintly, comforted by the normality of his antics.

  Her glass was already empty when Devary returned, and she was nearly asleep. He laughed softly at the sight of her: Sigwide had wound his way up her torso and lay with his nose pressed against her face. She was so drowsy she hadn't noticed.

  She pulled herself upright, blinking. How had she become so befuddled? All tension had faded from her body, and she felt absurdly relaxed. Too much so. She squinted suspiciously at the glass, still offering a few scant sips of the wine.

  'Is everything well?' Her voice emerged oddly. It might have been termed 'mildly slurred', if she could bear to admit such an undignified possibility. She coughed and struggled to rally her wits.

  'Not entirely,' he said grimly. 'Our guard captain swears he spoke to me personally earlier in the day. He claims that I told him the pendant would be at the Harp all evening, and that he and his men must keep a close guard over the building. That is why they were not nearby.' He sat down and kicked off his boots. 'What angers me is that I ought to have known about this. But in order to avoid drawing attention to our errand, they have had instructions to be discreet in their attendance on us. That made it too easy for them to be diverted.'

  'Do you think they're lying?'

  He looked at her. 'You are wondering if they betrayed us. I wondered that, too, but I think not. I believe the Captain is sincere when he says he saw me. His dismay at your near capture was sincere.'

  Llandry frowned, struggling to focus her foggy thoughts. 'Is that a sorcery thing? Making yourself look like someone else?'

  'Not exactly. It is not a common ability - the illusion would have to be impossibly minute - but theoretically it could be done. Certainly for the few minutes it would require to issue instructions to the Captain. This means, of course, two things. Firstly somebody has kept us under very close surveillance. That is not surprising, as such: it has been clear from the beginning that our enemy, whoever it is, is very good at gathering information. The more disturbing question...' He tailed off, staring at nothing.

  'What?'

  'I do not think it would be possible to create a suitably convincing illusion of me after only a day's observation. The complexity is too great. I must consider that somebody who knows me well is involved.'

  Llandry immediately thought of Indren. Her manner after Llandry's attack was slightly shaken, but nothing more; she had been remarkably unruffled by it. And her eyes had gleamed with excitement whenever she spoke of the istore.

  'Do you think... Indren?' Devary's face darkened and she didn't have the courage to finish the sentence.

  'I don't know,' he said shortly. 'But I must be careful. And you must go back to Glinnery, first thing in the morning. I will escort you.'

  She bowed her head, unwilling to object. Even if she dutifully stayed in full view of Devary and a restaurant full of people, it seemed she was still in danger. And therefore, still a burden on Devary. She would have to submit to being sent home.

  'We are safe for the night, I think. Two guards remain at the Harp - I wish to maintain the illusion that you are there - but the rest are currently watching over this house. You'll want to sleep. I don't have spare rooms here, I'm afraid - I've never needed any. You may have my room for tonight.'

  'Where will you sleep?'

  'On the sofa.'

  'Oh - no, please. I couldn't turn you out of your own room. I will be comfortable here - you see it is quite big enough for me.'

  He shook his head. 'Unthinkable. Worry not! It won't be the first time I've slept on a sofa.'

  She rose, reluctantly. A sudden thought occurred to her and she glanced about.

  'Devary. Have you seen my creature?'

  'Your creature?'

  'You know. The winged one that Sigwide ate.'

  'Oh. That thing.' He thought for a moment. 'I haven't seen it at all today, I think.'

  Neither had she. She frowned, distressed. The thing was odd, unpredictable and uninvited, but somehow she was fond of it.

  'It will turn up,' he said, smiling reassuringly. 'Come, now. It's late.'

  It was strange, lying in a room filled with Devary's personal belongings; lying in the very bed he slept in every night. The room smelled of him. As drowsy as she had been not long since, she was now wide awake and restless.

  A shaft of pale moonlight shone through the window. She rose and adjusted the heavy blue drapes, peeping surreptitiously out into the night as she did so. Was that a flicker of movement? No. All was still.

  She climbed back into the bed and pulled the blankets up to her face. A faint noise sounded and she was upright again in an instant, staring around the room. There: a faint scraping sound, and footsteps. The steps stopped outside her door, briefly, and then moved on. She recognised the tread: it was Devary moving around the house, probably preparing to sleep.

  She sighed deeply. Relaxation eluded her: she lay, rigid with tension and acutely uncomfortable. Silence reigned again. Was Devary still up? She threw back the covers and padded silently to the door. Doubt seized her two steps away, and she halted; then, shaking her head at herself, she opened it and stepped through.

  The house was dark, but a soft light still burned somewhere. She found her way, slowly, back to the living room. There was the light, a hovering globe casting a mellow golden glow over the room. Devary sat on the sofa, still awake, though apparently in some sort of reverie. He held an untouched glass of wine in one hand.

  'Llandry? I
s everything all right?'

  'Y-yes. Well, not quite. I can't sleep.'

  He nodded. 'It's been a hard day.'

  'I'm afraid,' she admitted.

  'Come and sit down awhile,' he said easily, making room for her on the sofa. She advanced hesitantly, trying to smile. He tilted his head at her. 'Aren't you cold like that?'

  She glanced down, horrified. He had lent her a shirt to sleep in. On her it was long enough to reach to her knees, but her legs were bare and the fabric was thin. Not only was she cold, indeed, but also barely decent.

  'Oh, gracious. I forgot.'

  He laughed. 'Never mind. I've a blanket somewhere.' He got up and moved away. She hugged the shirt close, wrapping her arms around herself. She realised she was shivering violently, with cold and with nervousness.

  'Here.' He laid a length of soft wool over her shoulders and wrapped it around her. She mumbled her thanks and tugged it close, tucking her legs up under the blanket. Her shivering did not ease.

  'How did you get so cold?' He sat by her and, a little hesitantly, slid an arm over her shoulders and pulled her close. 'You shouldn't walk around in nothing but a shirt,' he chided. 'See what happens?'

  She wondered if he was referring to her shivering or the fact that she was suddenly in his arms. The latter consequence was not so very terrible.

  'Dev?'

  'Yes?'

  'Who do you think is after the istore?'

  'I don't know.'

  'You don't even have a theory?'

  'No. I really don't. If it is as Indren said, well... anybody would want it. Many people would kill for it.'

  She blinked, nonplussed. 'Why?'

  'Because it may be the most valuable substance in the Seven Realms.'

  'I don't understand.'

  He shifted slightly, making himself more comfortable, and rearranged her against him. 'You know that each of the Seven Realms is attuned more to one than the other. You of Glinnery are Daylanders, as are Irbel and, as far as we can tell, Orlind. Glour, Orstwych and Ullarn are Darklanders of the Lowers. Only Nimdre has no allegiance: we live halfway in between, faithful neither to one nor the other.

  'It's highly dangerous to spend much time in the Off-Worlds. Everyone knows that. They are too volatile, too unpredictable. A mere human is at the mercy of the caprices of those lands, barely able to defend themselves. If you keep to the Realm to which you are attuned, and keeps your visits short, you'll probably be all right.

  'The stories say it wasn't always that way. Some beings freely walked all of the Realms, once upon a time. Nobody knows whether they originated in the Uppers or the Lowers or the space in between: the Middle Realm, which was once a chaos of conflicting influences from both sides. Whatever their origins, they were tremendously powerful.

  'According to the tales, these beings were tied in to the chaotic magics of the Off-Worlds in ways no human can emulate. They could manipulate those landscapes as they chose, mould them according to their wishes. It was once thought that carrying some element of these beasts' bodies allowed some of that ability to carry over to the wearer. You know very well how many valuable plants, minerals and animals there are to be found in both the Uppers and the Lowers, so I'm sure you can guess the rest.

  'It's thought that these creatures were hunted to extinction long ago, and probably they were. There have been no new sources of this bone-matter in many centuries. But then you discover a cave filled with a strange stone. Was it a cave or a grave? Are they stones, or the bones of a long-dead denizen of the Other Realms?'

  Llandry was silent, thinking. Her mind whirled. Chief among her feelings, she discovered, was dismay: if this was true, her stone would never be hers again. It was irrevocably changed; no longer a keepsake, a trinket, a beautiful piece of art, a gift. It had become powerful and strange, terrible and terrifying. It had a value much higher than her own life, or Devary's.

  'Who were these beings? You implied that they were not human.'

  'They have many different names. None of which you will have heard, I think, and I will not say more, because these tales are usually dismissed as bedtime stories. Most people with any academic training will tell you that it is nonsense.' He smiled. 'I, of course, am no scholar, and the university here is a little more... open-minded than most.'

  'I'm not a scholar either. And I might have heard of them,' Llandry protested. He only smiled and shook his head.

  'Back to bed, now. We will be leaving early in the morning. I will be nearby, making sure you are safe.'

  Chapter Twenty Two

  Ana stood smiling at Eva in an unsettling manner. Betrayer, thief and probable murderess she might be, but she had the air of a woman welcoming friends to a garden party.

  'Who are you?' Tren stepped slightly in front of Eva, concealing her view of the woman. Impatient, she pushed him aside.

  'I'm the person who designed this meadow,' the woman replied. 'Glorious, isn't it? Though I can imagine it wouldn't suit your tastes, sorcerer.'

  'You destroyed my friend,' Tren returned, his voice trembling with anger.

  The woman frowned prettily, her forehead creasing slightly. 'I don't destroy people, sorcerer-man. People destroy themselves.'

  'And you don't mind helping them along, if it suits you.'

  The woman shrugged. 'If people are intent on being stupid, they'll find a way without my help. Who's the friend, out of interest?'

  'Edwae Geslin, aide to Lord Angstrun.' Tren threw the words at her like a challenge, but she actually giggled.

  'Ah, the sorcerer boy-child. You've the look of him about you, young man. The same ungainly air, the same youth. Green as curulays, both of you.' She looked back at Eva. 'Is this your partner? I'd think you could do better.'

  'And who are you to judge?' Eva replied coldly. Tren's distress was infecting Eva's composure, but she fought to stay calm.

  'I, madam, am the most powerful summoner in the Darklands just now.’ She beamed at them both. 'And Griel is unmatched as a sorcerer. As a pair, we're unbeatable.' Eva's senses picked up the presence of two whurthags, and moments later the man they'd glimpsed earlier emerged from the shrubs behind Ana. He stood close, smiling genially at Tren and Eva. He was about Vale's age, somewhere in his fifties, vigorous and strongly-built. His pale hair gleamed in the pink-touched moonlight. When he spoke, his voice had a pleasant timbre to it, like mature honey.

  'We have guests? I didn't know we were expecting anyone.'

  'Gatecrashers, my dear, but etiquette obliges us to be polite.' A tea table appeared in the grass, four chairs set around it. Their hostess gestured graciously.

  'Please have a seat, do. There's tea in the pot.' An elegant teapot materialised along with a set of cups, a faint scent of yasmind rising from it.

  'I'm afraid we can't stay. A prior engagement.' Eva stepped away from the table, but the sorcerer was there with his tame whurthags. He smiled at her with deceptive courtesy and pulled out a chair for her.

  'Do stay a while,' he said affably. 'My wife would be disappointed otherwise.' Eva sensed the whurthags ready to spring, awaiting his command. She sat, tense and wary, as Ana elegantly poured tea.

  'You can call me Ana,' said the woman. 'My husband you may address as Griel. And your names?'

  'Eva.'

  Tren said nothing. His face was completely cold. Ana waited expectantly, then shrugged.

  'Then sorcerer-man will have to do.' She smiled, eyeing their appearance. 'You two have had some adventures, if the salt-crusted condition of your clothes is any clue. Had a little sea-bathing lately?'

  'Something of that sort,' returned Eva coolly.

  'Not looking for us, surely?'

  'Looking for whoever is responsible for the deaths of several Glour citizens,' interposed Tren. 'Which I think was you.' He turned a cold stare on Griel, who smiled back rather pleasantly.

  'Me? Now, that's harsh isn't it? And over tea, too.'

  'You with your whurthag pets.' Tren was not to be mollified. He ignored
the cup of tea that sat before him, his hands clenched together in his lap as though he was afraid of hitting someone.

  'Well, one or two things happened that I didn't intend. The boys do get away from me now and again. They're terrifically hungry, all the time.'

  'Why would you ever even approach a whurthag, let alone try to train one?' Eva stared at Griel as at a man deranged. He beamed still more broadly, showing a perfect set of very white teeth.

  'Actually, that was my lady wife's idea. She was the first person to dominate a whurthag.'

  Eva transferred her gaze to Ana's face. 'Why?' she repeated.

  Ana leaned forward conspiratorially. 'Haven't you ever wondered how far you can go? Whether there really are limits to what's possible? Beyond the reasonable, the sensible.' She gave her cat-smile and sat back. 'Everyone says it's impossible to dominate a whurthag, but I did. Everyone says it's impossible to survive long in the Lowers, but we do. People like your friend there-' she tilted her chin in Tren's direction '-so afraid of their own shadows. Wouldn't dream of breaking a rule. But you...' Her pale eyes glinted at Eva speculatively. 'You're different. I can sense that about you. You've pushed the boundaries, haven't you? You're independent. You follow your own way.'

  'I don't get people killed just to test my own powers.'

  'But you'll risk yourself. Being willing to risk more is only a small step away.'

  Eva's mind whirled, a sense of dread building. What would the woman who'd voluntarily taken on a whurthag do next?

  Griel looked at Tren. 'I'd like my ring back, please,' he said pleasantly. Eva watched, thinking fast, as Tren angrily threw the ring onto the table. The indigo stone glimmered in the pink light, throwing lances of colour over the tablecloth.

  'Don't tell me all of this is about the istore,' she said. 'It's too simple. Too... mundane. What are you really after?'

  Griel retrieved the ring and began to polish it. His wife rolled her eyes towards the moonlit sky, slumping despairingly in her chair.

  'Really. You're still calling it by that juvenile name?'