Dark Realm: Book 5 Circles of Light series (30 page)

The Bear raised an
eyebrow. ‘You heard of course?’

‘Of course.’

‘Dragons,’ murmured
Lemos in bemused wonder.

But Emas had left the
men to pour their own tea and was prowling round the
wall.

‘There,’ she exclaimed.
‘Isn’t that a Dragon?’

Both men joined her and
looked where she pointed. Lemos frowned then shrugged and returned
to his chair.

‘The oldest tales speak
of a Dragon Tribe, but if they ever truly existed, they vanished
long ago.’ His voice was even more of a croak than usual and he
reached for his tea bowl.

Emas curled into
another armchair. ‘So our Essa is a friend to these Dragons and
their friends. And they are not the same kind of Dragons as the
Dark Ones?’

The Bear growled. ‘I
understood as little as you wife.’

The three sat late into
the night, thinking over what Sergeant Peach had told
them.

Early next morning,
with low cloud draping itself over the village and obscuring the
heights, Sergeant Peach led his squads upwards. He knew the other
groups were also climbing, forming a hand with long fingers,
groping towards the high passes.

Menagol and Theap
followed a trail far above Strannik’s course. Once, Theap dropped a
rock, watching thoughtfully when it hit a mounted guard’s shoulder.
Menagol was leaning in a shadowed cleft watching as well. They both
grinned at the ensuing panic, heads turning in all directions, eyes
checking around and up. But not looking high enough. They listened
to the urgent shouts, the questions and the curses as horses barged
into each other, affected by their riders’ nervousness.

‘Noisy lot,’ Menagol
murmured. Mountain bred, he knew all too well how sounds carried:
he’d lost enough game as a boy because of one careless move. Any
warrior in the area would be aware of just where the Kelshans were
by now.

Menagol squeezed his
bulk through the slit of rock and withdrew to the hollow where
they’d left their packs. They both carried short bows and long
knives, and had already noted the Kelshan guards carried long
swords as their main weapon. Theap slid down beside
Menagol.

‘Jemin should be with
the Eagles by now, if Lemos’s news was right.’ He passed a water
flask to his friend.

Menagol took a sparing
sip and passed the flask back. His huge hand smoothed the dust
beneath them.

‘If the Dark guards
come through these gullies and Bear warriors are already in place
here, the Eagles would do best going higher, to drop from above.’
He studied the lines he’d drawn.

‘So we’d do best to hit
them here.’ Theap’s tiny finger stabbed a point just inside the
converging lines.

Menagol nodded. He gave
Theap a sly look. ‘Did Lemos give you a message stone?’

Theap fidgeted. ‘Well,
yes, he did. You think I should use it to tell them this? He said I
could only use it twice, not being mage trained.’

Menagol sighed. This
was an old argument between them. ‘Theap, you could train. You
should train. We’d still be friends.’

Theap scowled. ‘I’d
have to spend much more time in the village. I couldn’t hunt
whenever I wanted.’

Menagol’s hand rested
on Theap’s back. ‘And father wants me to marry this winter. Life
changes for us all.’

Theap’s scowl changed
to a grin. ‘Just think of you married! And then a father!’ He
rolled onto his side in silent mirth.

Menagol nudged him with
his foot. ‘Use the stone Theap. Tell Lemos we recommend the Ghost
Falls for the attack. Then we can make our own way
there.’

The Ghost Falls was the
longest cascade of water in the Bears’ territory. It was at full
flood now with the melting snow from the upper peaks. In the brief
spring and summer, it was enveloped in misty clouds of spray, which
drifted back and forth across its face. In the long winters it
froze and when sunlight and clouds passed over, shapes shifted and
moved within the ice, giving rise to the belief that it was
inhabited by ghosts.

Behind the crashing
water, deep caves extended back into the mountain and supplies were
cached there for any to use in emergencies. The water fell into a
round basin where it churned and swirled before surging south
through a sheer sided ravine. It only slowed its wild rush when it
widened, several leagues to the east of The Bear’s
village.

Sergeant Peach’s five
squads had arrived half a league west of the Falls. After
reconnoitring the site with two Bear warriors he had a good idea of
where to place half his men. Peach returned to collect those men
and left them in readiness. The remaining men he brought closer,
the thunder of the Falls covering any sound they might make. He
positioned them close enough to reinforce their comrades at speed
if necessary. As the sky darkened, his men wrapped their cloaks
around themselves. It would be a long cold night’s wait without the
comfort of hot food or a camp fire.

In fact it was worse
than cold: it was wet. Half way through the night, there was a
torrent of rain which felt more like ice as it drove down necks and
slowly soaked into clothes. The oiled cloaks kept some parts dry
but the guards’ lower legs were soon numb and heavy. Sergeant Peach
gritted his teeth and endured, and, apart from an occasional
grumble, his men did the same.

The deluge had drenched
Strannik’s men earlier, compounding their misery. The horses were
in serious trouble and many of the men not much better. Whoever had
organised this expedition had obviously assumed that the army would
be able to supply itself en route, not realising perhaps what a
width of barren mountain had to be travelled. The only man still
insisting on riding was, of course, Captain Strannik. And they all,
officers and men, knew they had come too far to be able to turn
back now. Their only hope was to get out of these accursed
mountains and resupply, and perhaps be told of a kinder route
home.

Strannik thought of no
such thing. For him, only glory lay ahead.

Chapter
Seventeen

In Kelshan City and
within the Citadel, very little seemed to have changed. Few of the
ordinary citizens even knew of the despatch of a large armed force
into the Dark Realm. The villages and farming communities through
which Captain Lessur had taken his men took little notice – such
things were of no interest to them. Trade went on as usual, the
markets bustled and life went on its way.

In the Artisan Quarter,
in Gossamer Tewk’s house, Drengle List was quite cheerful. He’d
been horribly lonely when Gossamer first disappeared but then he
had the idea of inviting the ghosts in. Four came in from the
orchard and swirled around in apparent excitement. More arrived
each day. Some were barely visible, others were more substantial.
Although they made no sound, they did seem to understand when
Drengle spoke to them. They could nod and wave their arms, but that
was the limit of their ability to communicate.

Drengle remembered
Gossamer saying he should take the ghosts out for a treat, but so
far he hadn’t tried to. They were much happier at dusk, whereas
Drengle didn’t like dark nights. This evening there were a dozen or
so ghosts wafting up and down the stairs while Drengle sat on the
landing regaling them with stories of various brave exploits from
his past.

A sudden draught
buffeted several ghosts against the wall. Drengle’s mouth dropped
open. A woman stood in the hall, smiling up at him. She was
beautiful, long dark red hair curling over the shoulders of an
equally dark red dress. He scrambled to his feet, back straight,
bare chest stuck out to let her appreciate the
musculature.

‘Erm, can I help you
lady?’

The woman fluttered her
long lashes. ‘I don’t think so, but I feel sure I could help you
darling.’

‘Oh. Are you a friend
of Gossamer’s?’

‘Gossamer? Oh yes,
Gossamer Tewk. She is an interesting creature, isn’t she? But I’m
not here about her. I am Ferag.’ She beamed at him, but the beam
disappeared in the face of Drengle’s blank reaction. ‘Ferag dear
boy. Mistress of Death.’

Drengle sat down again,
peering at her through the banisters. ‘Then what do you want me
for? I’m already dead.’

Ferag sighed. ‘That’s
the point darling. Dear me, not too blessed with brains, are we.
You seem to have an affinity with ghosts, of which there are a
plentiful number in this strange land.’

Drengle’s jaw jutted.
‘I don’t have nothin’ with the ghosts. We’re all just good
friends.’

The ghosts themselves
were frozen, imprints against the walls. Ferag studied
them.

‘Wouldn’t you like a
bit of fun, you poor things?’

The ghosts edged
fractionally closer. Ferag smiled. ‘Well my dears. You know the
Citadel – of course you do. I thought you might investigate a few
things for me?’ She glanced at Drengle List with a hint of
irritation. ‘Is there somewhere I could sit, dear boy, and discuss
things in a more civilised manner with your friends?’

Drengle waved towards
the sitting room but stayed where he was on the landing. The ghosts
streamed around Ferag, who wasn’t impressed by the undusted state
of Gossamer’s furnishings. It wasn’t long before Ferag returned to
the hall looking pleased with herself.

‘I’ll be back before
dawn darling, I’m so terribly busy these days.’ She paused. ‘You
should try to be more cheerful you know. I’m sure you’d have a
lovely smile.’

Drengle did actually
smile at those kind words. Ferag cleared her throat.

‘Yes, well, perhaps
not. Never mind. Till dawn then my dear.’

Drengle stared down at
the empty hall. Bloody woman. He so hated people disappearing like
that. He got up and went to his room. He’d rattle his chain for a
bit, that usually cheered him up.

Most of the ghosts
raced towards the Citadel, a few waited mournfully in Gossamer’s
garden, too timid to venture out. The ghosts were able to
communicate among themselves and took delight in exchanging rude
comments about the few people still wandering the City. A party of
drunks stopped singing their way down a street and shivered as the
ghosts swept past unseen. Suddenly sobered, they hurried on to
their homes and dosed themselves with various concoctions to ward
off fevers.

The ghosts passed
through the western gate into the Citadel then milled around until
one who had worked as a scribe to the Imperator, led the way up the
main staircases. They passed guards stationed at the entrances to
the corridors of government officials. Most guards noticed nothing,
but one or two had a shivery feeling, or thought something
flickered at the corner of their vision.

The leading ghost took
them to the very door of Veranta’s office, which was closed. The
ghosts thronged in momentary agitation until one saw the gap under
the door, and they were in. Papers stacked on the desk tumbled to
the floor in the slight breeze the ghosts generated and while some
worked to force a lamp alight, the others hovered over the papers.
They had just finished examining what they could when they all
stilled. The lamp extinguished and one after the other they slid
out of Veranta’s office.

They moved far more
cautiously now, huddled suddenly at a corner. They heard a woman’s
voice, Veranta’s but none of them knew it. It was the other
presence which sent the ghosts up towards the ceiling and racing
towards the stairs. They all knew that Something behind them was
alerted to their presence just as they were aware of it. The ghosts
fled, in near hysterical panic. Whatever had been in that corridor
with the woman was filthy, was an oozing horror, was evil beyond
comprehension.

Rushing back across the
City they stopped in Gossamer’s garden. Tremendously disturbed and
agitated, they fluttered to and fro beneath the twisted old apple
trees. Drengle sat on the kitchen doorstep and watched them. He
recognised their distress but wasn’t sure he wanted to try to find
out what had caused it.

A hand brushed over his
bald head and he flinched. Ferag sat cosily beside him, her thigh
pressed against his. She too watched the ghosts.

‘Poor darlings.
Something’s frightened them badly, don’t you think?’

Drengle nodded and sat
tight. She could go and talk to them herself: he was staying in the
house. Ferag sighed, patted his knee and strolled down the garden.
Bloody woman. But she was so very lovely. And his knee tingled from
her caress.

Chindar’s rooms weren’t
far from the First Daughter’s. Several meetings had been held there
since Lerran’s descent into the Dark, meetings which included the
Lady Emla, Tika and Captain Soran. Shield Master Garrol was always
present as was Corman. If Lerran had confided in Chindar before her
descent, he didn’t mention it. In fact, Corman was fairly certain
Chindar knew no more than he did himself.

They’d been discussing
the final points of their attack on the Kelshan army when a younger
Dark Lord tapped the door. The message he brought was that Prince
Jemin, with a single squad of Dark guards, and General Whilk and
his eleven men, were insisting on taking position between the Eagle
and Bear warriors. They also intended to be slightly in advance of
those warriors. The plan had originally been for Jemin to stay
relatively safe behind the first groups of Dark guards under
Sergeant Peach’s command. Sergeant Peach was gibbering with rage –
there was no need for the Prince to place himself in the
forefront.