Drogoya: Book 3 Circles of Light series, page 28
Tika paused on the way back to the cliffs to rub her hand across the block which Ren had been studying before Riff’s accidental discovery of the shaft. Sket stayed with her while the others headed on. Farn descended, raising swirls of sand, to see what interested his soul bond. Storm spiralled above them before flying seawards again. Tika explained their discovery to Farn, who greatly disapproved. He went to look down the hole and returned even more concerned.
‘I like not the thought of you down there, my Tika,’ he announced firmly. ‘I may not even be able to contact your mind through such sand or rock. How could I rescue you, should you find danger? Also, I think we should look for Brin and Maressa. They should have bespoken us by now – I think.’
Sapphire eyes whirred briefly. Farn’s facility with numbers was not his strongest point and Tika was careful not to smile.
‘Tomorrow Farn. Tomorrow will be the sixth day since they left and the day they might – might – be near enough to bespeak us.’
‘Is that right?’ Farn checked Sket’s opinion.
Tika’s self appointed Guard nodded. ‘Six days tomorrow Farn.’
‘Oh. Well. I still think it foolish to go down that hole,’ Farn insisted.
‘We will be very careful. There will be no danger.’
Smoke wisped from silvery blue nostrils and Tika sighed. She stood up and hugged the young Dragon.
‘There is a door at the bottom of the hole,’ she told him again. ‘And we will leave it open whilst we explore a little way. I promise I will be most careful Farn. You will surely be busy with your friend Storm will you not?’
Farn lifted into the air, drifting above Tika and Sket as they walked towards Pallin’s cave and their supper. They found Ren busy with what he told them were “scientific aids”, and left him to himself. When he eventually joined them by the small fire, Tika asked for a scrap of paper. He obliged and watched as she drew misshapen letters upon it. She passed it back to him.
‘That was the only whole group on the block you looked at this morning. But it doesn’t make letters that I can understand, although I believe they are meant to be letters.’
Ren pored over the shapes Tika had drawn then he began to draw them himself, making a line taller here, longer there, holding the paper at a distance and once, upside down. They all watched him until he looked round the circle of faces with a triumphant smile.
‘It says “master” I am sure, although the last letter is half erased.’ Then he frowned. ‘That is not a term of address that I have heard here.’
Olam shook his head. ‘Lord, or Lady or Sir. They are the only special terms we use for those of high rank. One who trains armsmen is known as Master of Arms; everyone else is called by their own name.’
Gan nodded agreement. ‘There are titles such as Senior, or Discipline Senior among my people, but not master.’
‘And I do not think it is used in Vagrantia,’ said Ren. ‘I wish Maressa was here, but I am sure I am correct.’
‘What about in your land Ren?’ Tika asked the Offering.
‘We would call someone “Good Master” as a form of politeness, or if we did not know their personal name – a farmer, or a baker, for instance. The only master within the Order of Sedka, is the Master of Aspirants. So why do we find the word here?’ He brightened. ‘Perhaps we will find something helpful tomorrow.’
‘What was that place we found?’ asked Navan, stretching his feet to the fire. ‘Was it a street or inside a building?’
‘Inside a building.’ Ren’s answer was instant and positive.
‘But it was level, not tilted or overturned like all those blocks.’
‘The ground may have just sunk straight down in places, while in others it could have been thrust up, causing structures above to topple and smash. Any that sank could likely be well preserved. Which is what I am very much hoping we will find with this one.’
Maressa and Brin were on the western slope of a low hill twenty leagues from Far. Brin had been distraught when he realised that a band of armsmen had approached close enough to see them clearly before he had even sensed them. At his urgent warning, Maressa shielded them both, thickening the air in front of them. But not before arrows had been loosed and fallen rather close by. Maressa picked one of them up and scrambled onto Brin’s back. Within the shield of distorted air, Brin took them south, finding by chance the ravine of which Lord Seboth had spoken to Lallia. Maressa set wards in the air all around for a distance of half a league, reckoning that should one be triggered, it would give Brin time to move them again.
She feared that Lallia would already have tried to bespeak her and could imagine the panic the Lady of Far would feel at not finding her mind signature, hidden as it was behind the shields. She herself did not dare use the energy needed to far speak Lallia, and forbade Brin to attempt it either.
‘But we cannot just sit here,’ said Brin reasonably. ‘Tika needs those supplies, so we must try to get them.’
His eyes whirred, the rosy hue suffused with scarlet gleams. Maressa knew all too well that Brin was even now thinking what a splendid story this would make in the telling.
‘Brin, someone in that group of men has some sense of the power, whether he realises it or not. That was why they were coming directly towards us. We cannot give away any hint that we are in friendly contact with the House of Far. It would place Seboth and Lallia in even greater peril. We must just wait for a while and hope they go off to search a different area.’
Brin rumbled but stayed quietly reclined beside her. She examined the arrow in the light of the setting sun and frowned as she touched its head.
‘It would appear that they came expecting to find a Dragon,’ she murmured to Brin’s mind.
He lowered his head to peer at the arrow in her hand.
‘A sharp stick does not put terror into the heart of any Dragon,’ he said loftily.
Maressa shook her head at him. ‘The head is not metal, as have been on all the arrows in this land that I have seen. Look Brin, it is obsidian. It would cut through even your scales.'
Brin’s eyes flashed in alarm and he extended his forearm.
‘Show me.’
Very cautiously, Maressa applied the tip of the arrowhead to the edge of a crimson scale. A fine sliver fell to the ground.
‘Hmm. So what is your plan?’ Brin sounded a touch subdued.
‘I can sense nothing through the shield, but I can go above it, at least long enough to scan our immediate vicinity. If the armsmen are distant enough, I will try to reach Lallia.’ She shrugged. ‘It is all I can think of to do.’
‘I could easily deal with those few,’ Brin suggested.
Maressa leaned against his great shoulder. ‘I am sure you could, but let us not hurry to destroy any lives unless we absolutely have to.’
‘Your plan is quite good,’ Brin conceded, but Maressa heard the relief in his tone.
Brin had killed men and monsters in the northern Stronghold Maressa knew, but she was glad that he found no pleasure in the prospect of such killing again.
‘Keep watch on the shields for me Brin,’ she murmured and sent her mind high into the darkening sky.
She looked first for the armsmen who had tried to attack them and found them camped much further northwards. She sighed with satisfaction: they had chosen the wrong direction to pursue the Dragon they had glimpsed. Maressa let her mind rise higher and orientated herself towards Far. Lallia’s mind crashed into her like a thunderbolt.
‘Oh thank the stars! Maressa, what has happened – I have been trying to reach you since mid afternoon?’
Maressa gave the briefest outline of what had occurred and was jolted again as Seboth’s thoughts slammed against her.
‘I wanted Lallia to direct you to the very place you have found,’ he told her. ‘I have sent three men with pack animals loaded with your supplies. They should reach you by midday tomorrow. Maressa, when you have the supplies, please, please, get away from here as swiftly as you can. And Maressa, Hargon’s eyes are frightening – could he have this affliction of which you spoke to us?’
Maressa felt ice form in her veins. ‘No Seboth, something a thousand times worse. Do not attempt to go near him now. Do you understand me?’
She felt confusion and frustration through the mind link and repeated her demand.
‘You must leave Hargon to those who are better fitted to fight what he has become. Seboth, I can tell you no more, but for stars’ sake, keep well away from the man. Lallia, if it is safe, I will bespeak you when we leave here, but know now that you have our grateful thanks for your generosity. May the stars guard your hearts and your lives my dears.’
Maressa broke the mind link, slumping against Brin as she returned to her body.
‘I saw what you saw,’ Brin said gently. ‘Sleep, while I keep watch. I think it matters not if the shields should fail while you regain your strength – those men are not close enough to worry us. I will waken you at the least alarm.’
Maressa reached for her cloak lying across her empty pack and wrapped it around her suddenly chilled body.
‘I fear I shall have to sleep for a while at least, but do not delay in waking me Brin, if anything alerts you.’
She was asleep even as she slid down to the ground and Brin curved himself around her protectively.
Hargon had broken free of Seboth’s too thinly spread armsmen and despite heavy losses he still had two hundred men at his back. He rode fast to Tagria, his eyes blazing with rage at Seboth’s defiance. The fool could not see how perilous a state these lands were in: those whose veins held traces of the old blood had increased too fast in even the last generation. Left alone, they would again become the scourge their ancestors had been.
A tiny fragment of Lord Hargon’s mind understood that something encroached upon his very being and urged him to acts that he would not have contemplated even two ten days ago. Whatever it was that seemed to be influencing him, appealed to those very opinions Hargon already held regarding those with the old blood, those able to use the evil magics and, to his great disappointment, even the magnificent Dragons had become corrupted and thus would need to be eliminated.
Magic, magic, magic. The word rang in Hargon’s head, increasing his fury. They had begun calling it “the power” in his father’s time. As if changing the word would change its meaning! The power was still the filthy manipulation of honest life which was properly called magic.
M’Raz chortled within Hargon’s mind. What a gullible fool this creature was, believing only what he wished to believe. M’Raz had simply encouraged his obsession against the use of magic, and look what had happened already! A few elemental beings had clung about M’Raz when he was freed at last from that cursed Void, and it had amused him to let them accompany him here. They had their uses, although half had been lost somehow, far to the west. He would have to investigate that occurrence shortly. But for now, M’Raz sat back and watched Hargon’s mind collapse on itself. He was going to somewhere called Tagria and a patterned circle kept appearing in his thoughts. M’Raz had no idea what the circle might signify but he was content to let Hargon choose the way, for now.
Beside Hargon rode Trib. The brash young man was white faced with both exhaustion and fear. When Lord Seboth’s men had attacked them at the way station, Trib had cut down the first men he encountered. Exhilaration filled him when he found how easy real fighting had turned out to be. Then he discovered that he had advanced too far and was a good fifteen paces in front of the line of armsmen. Exhilaration became panic as he hurriedly tried to move back to their supporting ranks, and he realised that the men harboured no protective feelings towards their newly appointed Armschief.
Time passed in a blur and it felt as though he was trying to lift ten swords rather than one, his own had become so very heavy. Men fell around him and it was only when he nearly dropped the dagger in his left hand that he found he had been wounded. Then Hargon was among them and after one glance at the Lord of Return, Trib kept his eyes on the armsmen still pouring out of the darkness in front of him. His body was drenched in sweat and blood, of which some was his own, although most was others’, but he felt icy cold.
Hargon’s face was twisted in a snarl, more bestial than human. And his eyes were living flames. One look had been sufficient for Trib to know that he had made a dreadful mistake. His first doubts had arisen when Fryss and Tarin had remained in Far. He knew Tarin’s reputation: a veteran of the last Ganger Wars and devoted to the House of Return. In the barracks, Tarin would allow no slur, no jest, to be made against either the House or its present Lord. For Tarin to abandon Return, Trib knew there would need to be the most convincing of reasons. Having seen Hargon’s face, even in the near darkness, and so briefly, Trib knew that Tarin had the right of it.
But Hargon had ordered three quarters of his surviving armsmen to mount and ride with him for Tagria. The rest were to die delaying Seboth’s pursuit, although Trib believed they would yield to Far the moment Hargon was gone. Trib offered to remain with those few commanded to die allowing Hargon’s escape but Hargon had turned his awful face to Trib once more.
He smiled, which put more fear into Trib’s heart than he would ever have believed possible – as if he knew that Trib would throw down his sword as soon as Hargon had ridden off.
‘You ride at my side Armschief. You are too valuable to die with the dogs.’
Trib scrambled silently onto the konina held for him by an armsman and kicked it alongside Lord Hargon. And thus they rode, the body of men already tired from fierce fighting and now faced with a long gallop to Tagria. And apparently, yet another battle once they arrived there.
Chapter Twenty-Five
‘But how, how, could the child see me?’ Finn Rah’s voice was a husky whisper.
Arryol and Sarryen had spent the night working over the Offering’s suddenly feverish body. Her temperature had risen alarmingly after her mind returned from far seeking in the Menedula, and spasm after spasm of coughing had wracked her. Arryol sent Soosha away to bed: he was barely recovered himself and Arryol argued that he did not need two serious cases to deal with. Now, hearing Finn Rah’s question yet again, Arryol sighed.
‘You have asked that every time you have enough breath to do so throughout this night,’ he said mildly. ‘And we do not have an answer now, anymore than the first time you asked it.’
Finn turned her head against the high pillows.
‘But it is impossible. Minds can be aware of other minds far speaking, but she SAW me.’ She twisted her head irritably away from Arryol’s hand.
‘Finn Rah,’ he spoke sharply. ‘You are behaving worse than any child I have treated. Surely you have not forgotten every piece of plain good manners since you were elevated to Offering? As your healer, I expect you to do as you are asked and stop acting like a petulant brat.’
Sarryen did not dare look at either Finn or Arryol, busying herself building up the fire, the noise she made filling the ominous silence behind her.
‘You have the right of it, Arryol. There is no excuse for my behaviour other than my being uprooted at my age and flung into these awful events. I will do whatever you say and I will try my best to behave as I should.’
Finn sounded so humble that Sarryen’s eyes burned with tears which she forced back before turning to the bed. She found Arryol and Finn staring at each other, then Arryol nodded and gathered up some of his healer’s accoutrements.
‘I will send Melena to you later with some medicines, and I will be back at suppertime.’
Finn gave him a wan smile and he quietly departed.
‘Will you try to sleep for a while Finn, or can I get you anything?’
‘You could get me the answer to my question,’ Finn smiled wryly. ‘It is really important to me to know how she could see my mind. Not just my mind, but my whole self. Seriously, I will sleep if I can. I am sorry I am such a nuisance when I should be in charge of all this.’
Sarryen stood watching as the almost transparent lids drooped over the green silvered eyes. She noted how thin the Offering’s face had suddenly become, the hectic spots of colour on the cheekbones and the shadows like bruises beneath the eyes. A moment longer the Kooshak watched the too quick rise and fall of Finn’s chest, then she went to sit at the table and began working through the piles of documents and books.
Melena appeared at midday and Sarryen slipped out to find herself some food in the common room. On her way back to Chakar’s sitting room, she looked into the infirmary. Arryol sat at a table, his head propped on one hand while he turned the pages of a fat volume. Sarryen hesitated then closed the door behind her and approached the table. Arryol glanced up and smiled faintly. Sarryen thought he looked worn out.
‘It is serious is it not?’
Arryol leaned back, stretching his arms above his head until the bones crackled.
‘I fear so. She put herself under incredible strain using the old magic to change shape to get here. Then that cold sapped the little strength she had won back. And last night’s effort of far seeing drained her utterly. There is a problem with her chest – without these recent stresses, there may have been no change for many more years. But now.’
‘Is there nothing to be done?’
‘I can alleviate some of the worst of the symptoms, but I can do nothing to affect or mend the root of the problem.’
‘Does she realise?’
‘Oh yes. That is partly the cause of the fuss this morning – a trivial matter blown out of all proportion to stop us from talking of the truth of her condition.’
Sarryen considered Arryol’s words. ‘How long can she survive?’
‘In calm and normal circumstances, for a considerable time. If she exerts herself – far seeing again for example,’ he spread his hands in a helpless gesture.
‘She will feel that she must seek the child again,’ Sarryen said anxiously. ‘How can we stop her?’
