Vagrants: Book 2 Circles of Light series (4 page)

‘I just wondered. Did
you know that Farn might go exploring with Brin in a couple of
Cycles time?’

‘No.’ Gan was startled.
‘I thought you were soul bonded, had to stay together. Or do you
mean to say you will also go wandering with them?’

‘From what Fenj and
Kija have told me, we will always be linked. Wherever we are – even
leagues apart – we will know if the other is hurt or sick or happy
or sad. But after the first Cycle or two, the strong link we have
now, when we hurt if we are apart, will weaken somewhat. Both Fenj
and Kija say that Farn is of the same nature as Brin and will want
to roam far and wide.’

Not sure how upset Tika
was by this information, Gan hesitated before saying:

‘Farn thinks Brin is
the most marvellous Dragon in the world. That has been clear since
Brin first joined us.’

‘Hmm. I know. It’s just
that I can’t imagine not having Farn nearby. I expect I’m just
selfish though. But it will not happen so for Mim and Ashta. He is
part Dragon now and has been Named Dragon Lord. I think they will
never be far apart as I fear Farn and I will be.’

Gan looked at her
helplessly, not knowing how he could offer the smallest crumb of
comfort.

Chapter
Three

After the midday meal a
few days later, Motass approached Gan.

‘Excuse me Sir, but I
think you should speak with my brother.’

‘Your brother – Jal? He
fought for the Guardian yes?’ Gan frowned for a moment. ‘The
healers had to remove his arm did they not? I did enquire, but they
told me he was too fevered to be questioned.’

‘That’s right Sir, but
the fever’s lifted now.’ Motass looked uncomfortable. ‘Sir, he said
he were the Guardian’s Chief of Fighters. He asked what’s been
happening and I told him most of it. Well Sir, when I said as how
the Lady Iska and Lord Bark was dead and all, well he wept like a
baby Sir. One of the healers came and sent me off. Said Jal needed
rest again. I never seed Jal weep Sir, not for nothing nor no one.
But you won’t – you know – have to hexecute him, will you Sir? I
don’t think he was willingly here. Not really Sir.’

‘He is a prisoner and
will be treated as such, but have I had any prisoners executed who
prove worthy of my trust Motass?’

‘Well Sir, I always
feared you might one day do for me Sir.’

Gan looked horrified.
‘Motass, that was an idle threat to a half wild young boy. You
tried to slice through my kneecaps when we first met, if you
recall.’

Motass continued to
look worried and Gan sighed.

‘I will talk to Jal
later today and I will judge him as I have all other
prisoners.’

‘Thank you Sir.’ Motass
hurried off to the lower levels where Baras was still in the
process of checking all tunnels and chambers.

Gan shook his head and
was then approached by the chamberlain of the stronghold, who bowed
deeply and continuously, until Gan caught his shoulder to force the
man to remain upright.

‘Yoral, I have
explained, several times, that excessive bowing is required by none
of us.’ He could feel the man still trying to lean forward. He gave
up. ‘What is it then Yoral?’

‘Lord, we have scoured
all the chambers in the three levels above. Lord, we have scoured
them all twice. Except of course the chambers of the Guardian, the
previous Guardian that is, Lord.’ Yoral ended, scrupulously
accurate as ever.

‘Right Yoral. I will
inspect them later today.’ Gan groaned inwardly.

‘Your instructions
Lord?’

‘Is the stronghold well
stocked or are we running low on any supplies?’

‘Officer Trem has
obtained fresh cheeses from the Delvers, Lord. The Guardian, the
previous Guardian, never stocked much cheese. We will need more
flour soon though, Lord. It is near the time when a new load of
flour is usually delivered.’

‘Where do you get it?
Rhaki never traded with Gaharn.’ Gan was surprised.

‘From what I have heard
from the Fighters who brought any goods in, the flour was from some
small farms near the White River. I have never been outside of this
stronghold Lord, I apologise that I have no idea where that might
be.’

‘Did you tell Officer
Trem that?’

Yoral looked stricken.
‘No Lord, it has only just occurred to me.’

‘Never mind,’ Gan found
himself patting the man’s shoulder, and put his hands behind his
back. ‘I will speak to him myself later.’ How many more things to
do ‘later’, he wondered. ‘Anything else we need? How about wood for
fuel? Where does that come from?’

‘Fighters bring wagon
loads of logs Lord, every twenty days or so. But we use the black
rock for cooking fires and heating the lower areas.’

‘Black
rock?’

‘Yes Lord.’ Yoral began
bowing again and Gan restrained himself from yelling at the man to
stand still.

‘I would like to see
what you mean by ‘black rock’ later. Until then, just carry on your
usual duties.’

‘Yes, at once,
Lord.’

Later, always something
to do later which should probably have been done sooner, Gan
thought as he strode towards the slope leading to the upper levels.
The first three chambers had been allocated to the healers, and
less than a dozen wounded men of both Fighters and Guards were
there still needing care. A servant was leaving one of the rooms as
Gan reached the door. She bobbed a curtsey and held the door open
for him.

A healer looked up from
a table close to a narrow slit of a window, on which snowflakes
flattened themselves yet again.

‘Sir.’ The healer
smiled, his face tired, and indicated a chair at the side of the
table. Scrolls covered the table and an ink smudge decorated the
healer’s cheek.

‘All the men are
mending. Even Jal and Binek at last.’

Binek was one of the
Guards who had received a relatively minor wound but suffered a
severe infection from it.

The healer flicked a
glance at the four beds in the room, only two of which were
occupied.

‘The other five are in
the next chamber as they were fit enough to get a bit noisy. These
two still need quiet and rest.’

‘Motass suggested his
brother Jal was well enough to talk to me.’

The healer frowned and
chewed the end of his pen. ‘Something troubles him indeed. It is
not our practise to heal minds without consultation with many
healers and the patient themselves. But something in Jal’s mind has
slowed his mending.’

‘His arm?’

‘His arm is clean.
There is no infection in him now, but he is greatly weakened and
his body is shocked by the loss of that arm even though Jal accepts
it.’

The healer got up to
see if Jal was awake while Gan waited where he was. The healer’s
voice rose, calling Gan.

‘He is awake now and
willing to speak to you.’ As he put a chair by the bed for Gan, he
added: ‘You’ll see if he tires. Please leave him to rest when he
does.’

Gan sat down and stared
at Motass’s brother. He looked a good twenty-five Cycles older than
Motass although Gan knew he was barely a dozen years the elder. His
right arm had been amputated just above the elbow joint, and the
stump was wrapped in clean white bandages. Jal’s face was drawn,
dark smudges ringed his eyes but those eyes were steady as he
returned Gan’s stare, not bright with fever.

‘You are Lord Gan,
Motass’s Chief of Guards Sir?’

Gan nodded. ‘And your
little brother will have changed since you last saw him no
doubt.’

‘I felt sorry for him
for a while. Taken as your prisoner, I was told. Then a few Cycles
later, the Guardian was in Return, letting it be known he had great
rewards to offer good fighting men.’ He grimaced and tried to move
himself further up against his pillows. He glanced at Gan, then
quickly away.

‘The People have power
– all of you. But he made me, and some others, believe we were
defending him and his northern Realm against all the People in
Gaharn. He said you were all jealous of his strength and were evil.
He was the one was evil Sir.’

He reached for a mug of
water from the table by his bed with his left hand, and moistened
his fever-cracked lips.

‘I make no excuses you
understand, Sir. I was fool enough to believe him and by the time
we found out how he was, it was too late.’

‘Too late?’ Gan
prompted.

Jal sighed. ‘You saw
the beasts – Cansharsi he called them. Linvaks, Shardi, he did
things to them to change them. He bred them with human women – at
least he tried to. The women who didn’t kill themselves mostly died
before they gave birth anyway.’

A silence fell, which
Gan allowed to grow, sensing that Jal needed to say what he had to
in his own time.

‘The Master – we had to
call him that – he could get inside you and know what frightened
you most. Then he could make you do anything he ordered – or he
would make you suffer your nightmare for real.’

He shrugged, wincing as
the stump of his arm jerked on the bed covers.

‘Anyway. He sent me in
charge of a band of Fighters to capture the Lady Iska. He could do
things in your mind – as I said. When we were near Gaharn – I only
remember getting there, then the Lady was walking along the path
with four Guards and we took her.’

Another silence
descended, Gan patiently waiting.

‘He – the Master – gave
me herbs to hold against the Lady’s face to keep her sleeping, but
I was worried Sir. She felt – kindly.’

He shook his head. ‘I
can’t explain but I was very unhappy at what I was doing but afraid
of him more. When we got her here he made Bark look after her.
Motass said they are both dead. Poor Lady. Poor Bark.’

He leaned his head
back, tears filling his eyes and his face even more drawn and
pale.

‘Poor Bark?’

‘Yes. He – the Master –
treated Bark like an idiot, in front of anyone, me, servants. Since
I came here, Bark hardly said a word but I found he wasn’t like the
Master although he was one of the People. The servants trusted him
and talked to him. He didn’t always answer. Stories said the Master
damaged his mind. And he looked so sad the last
Seasons.’

Jal yawned. ‘Sorry
Sir.’

Gan rose. ‘You need
rest in bucketfuls Jal. We will talk again, but I do not think you
need to worry about your future too much. If you choose to go back
to the South Lands, you will be free to do so. If you choose to
stay here, there is much you could help us with. You have been used
to command men, you could do so again perhaps.’

‘Thank you Sir. Motass
said you were fair.’ Jal mumbled, struggling to keep his eyes
open.

Gan left Jal already
asleep and nearly fell over Khosa who sat regally outside the
door.

‘You may lift me,’ she
said coolly.

Gan did so, feeling
things were spiralling evermore rapidly out of his control. She
crooned as he held her at his shoulder.

‘Some of my children
will be arriving soon,’ she said. Her eyes were closed as she
hummed at him.

‘How many
children?’

‘A few.’

‘Why are you up here
Khosa? I must inspect all the upper chambers, then I
have

to speak to Trem. I
think.’

The Kephi’s eyes opened
for a moment, then closed languidly again. ‘You sound flustered
Gan. I never get flustered. Too tiring.’

A servant came along
the corridor and Gan unceremoniously dumped Khosa into the man’s
arms.

‘I think the Kephi
should check the storerooms for squeakers. Let her earn her
keep.’

The man bowed, his
hands gentle over the Kephi, but as he walked on down to the lower
levels, an enraged furry face glared back at Gan. Gan laughed. He
suspected that ‘earning her keep’ would be considered a dreadful
insult to Kephi majesty.

The rooms were, as
Yoral had promised, all spotlessly cleaned. Gan noticed the air of
unpleasantness that had seemed to pervade the stronghold,
especially the upper levels, was dissipating. It was still most
noticeable in the corridor leading to Rhaki’s private quarters
though. Gan went back down in search of Trem, thinking how they
might seal off that part of the stronghold and try to ignore its
existence. At least, until he could think of another solution
later. Later. He groaned.

After the evening meal
had become the time for discussion of what had been done in the
stronghold during that day, and for deciding the order of what
needed doing next. But that evening, the talk at the leaders’ end
of the table revolved around Gaharn. One of the Snow Dragons had
arrived with a message relayed by a Merig. The Gathering of Seniors
was in uproar. Emla was staying with Discipline Senior Ryla but
hoped to travel back to her House within days, taking Ryla with
her.

Discipline Senior Fayet
was belittling all the events that had taken place in the north and
fostering a general feeling of scorn and derision towards Emla’s
‘excitability’.