Draykon (32 page)

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? Is
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.