Draykon (21 page)

'Fin
,'
yelled Tren. 'Let it be.'

Finshay lowered
his daggers but he didn't turn, not until the astwach had retreated
back into its burrow. Then he walked on for several minutes without
saying a word. Eva followed, cradling her injured hand.

'An astwach, with
young,' spat Finshay at last. 'Dangerous, and your
gwaystrel
betrayed us to it! No need for sorcery with friends like that.' He
did not grow excitable in his anger, only colder than ever, his
eyes flat and hard.

'We would have
disturbed it anyway if we'd gone blundering past,' said Tren. 'It
might've had one of us before we knew it was there. Rikbeek's
warning was timely.'

'Rikbeek,'
said Finshay viciously, as if the mere fact of granting the
gwaystrel a name offended him personally. 'The
High Summoner
is meant to be able to sense nearby beasts without companion
assistance, isn't she? I didn't see that happening.'

'It's a little
bit harder when I'm already tracking two companion animals, one on
the wing and one on the ground.' Eva spoke with chilling calm,
refusing to be riled.

Finshay ignored
her. 'We could have managed this assignment ourselves,' he said to
Tren. 'I knew it was a mistake to have her along.'

'That's enough,
Fin,' said Tren, with uncharacteristic harshness. 'Since when did
you begin questioning orders? Besides, how else would you like to
do it without a scent hound?'

'Could've
borrowed a scent hound.'

'Without an
experienced handler? Admit it, Fin, you're prejudiced.'

Fin narrowed his
eyes at Tren. 'What if I am? Never known a useful noble yet. Pack
of ornaments, all of them.' His eyes swept over Eva's undeniably
fine figure and neatly arranged hair. She merely stared back at him
coolly. He snorted, walked away. Tren shrugged apologetically,
awarding her a consolatory smile.

'Don't mind him.
He's good at his job.'

Eva resumed her
steady pace, sending the shortig on ahead again. 'I'm not upset.
What is his problem with the peers?'

'I don't know.
He's always had those opinions, as long as I've known
him.'

'And how long is
that?'

'Hmm. Three
years, thereabouts. We've worked together a few times.'

Eva nodded
thoughtfully. She'd encountered resentment before from those who
felt she must have bought her way into her position; who found it
inconceivable that she could be any good at her role. Finshay's was
particularly bitter. No doubt there was a reason for that, but she
found it didn't interest her much. She dismissed the
problem.

'You're hurt,'
said Tren suddenly, noticing her odd way of carrying her
hand.

'A bit,' she
admitted. He took her fingers gently, uncurling her arm. The gash
was deep, but the blood flow was already slowing.

'Um. I don't have
any... Fin?' He looked around, but Finshay stalked a long way
ahead, resentment evident in his stride.

'You don't happen
to be carrying bandages, I suppose?' He looked at her
hopefully.

She smiled
ruefully and shook her head. 'I can't remember the last time I was
injured. I didn't think of it.'

'It'll have to be
my shirt, then,' he said regretfully.

'Oh no, really,
it's fine...' She stopped. Tren had already tugged a clean shirt
out of his bag and started ripping it up. She eyed the rather fine
cloth with regret.

'I owe you a new
shirt.'

'Offer accepted.'
He worked with considerable care, barely hurting her at all. When
he had finished, her hand was tightly bound, but an experimental
flex of her fingers confirmed that she could still use
it.

'Thank you.
You're a useful person to have around in a minor
crisis.'

'You're welcome.'
He flashed her a quick smile and picked up his bag, slinging it
over his shoulder. Glancing ahead, she realised Finshay was out of
sight; apparently he didn't care if they were ripped to pieces by a
returning astwach while he was having his moment of pique. But the
shortig waited for her, sitting on its haunches about thirty feet
ahead. She started walking.

'Do you mind if I
ask you something a bit personal?' Tren kept pace beside her. She
could feel him tugging and tweaking at the sorcerous Cloak that
shrouded her, adjusting it, probably repairing it.

'Only a bit
personal? That can be allowed.'

He smiled
briefly. 'Why did you insist on coming?'

'I was the best
person for the task.'

'Why? I don't
mean to question your abilities, but you're the High
Summoner.'

'You think I
should have sent someone else? One of my seconds,
perhaps?'

'It might have
made more sense.'

'You're not sold
on the gwaystrel idea, I take it.'

'Oh, no. He's a
remarkable creature. But there must be
one
other summoner in
Glour with a gwaystrel.'

'I'm not at all
sure about that, actually. I've never heard of one.'

Tren made a
noncommittal noise. She understood. He wasn't questioning her right
to be along so much as taking the opportunity to sound her
out.

'I lost a friend.
She was the first person slain by the whurthag.'

'Ah... I'm
sorry.'

'I want to make
sure the culprit is caught.' She paused, feeling a tug of guilt.
'If I'm completely honest, though - and I don't see why I should
be, but nonetheless - that's not the whole reason. I think I wanted
to escape.'

'From?'

'I've been a
member of the peerage since I was fifteen. I've been High Summoner
for eleven years. I'm shortly to become a married woman, probably
with a family to raise; and I decided to do that because I knew it
was appropriate. A rational decision to make at my time of life.
Ties and burdens and responsibilities have dogged me since before I
was fully grown, and I think... I wanted to get away before I lose
the chance to make choices like this. I wanted to be directly
involved, instead of arranging for somebody else to be.' She
grinned ruefully. 'Having Rikbeek really just gave me an excuse to
push for my own way in this. Really, I can hardly blame Mr. Arrerly
for being angry.'

'No,' said Tren
slowly. 'We were lucky to get you. And Rikbeek's already proved to
be worth his weight in gold.'

Eva smiled,
surprised. 'If you happen to have Beekie's weight in gold, you're
welcome to him.'

Tren laughed. 'Is
he so tiresome a companion?'

Eva inspected her
good hand, adorned with several small, healing bite-scars. 'He is a
bit grouchy in the mornings.'

'I'm afflicted
with a similar problem,' admitted Tren. 'We'd make a good pair,
perhaps.'

'You're first on
my list of potential buyers, then. I apologise in
advance.'

'Apology
accepted.'

A faint yip
sounded in the night. Eva turned her thoughts towards the
shortig.

'Has he found
something?' Tren stared hard into the darkness, trying to make out
the small black shape of the scent hound somewhere
ahead.

'I don't think
so,' Eva said. 'We're falling behind, though.' She increased her
pace, catching up to the dog. She searched briefly overhead,
finding the gwaystrel still sweeping in slow circles beneath the
canopy of the trees.

***

They were two
days and a half on foot, travelling steadily southwards through
Orstwych. Their journey had taken them a long way south, aiming
with alarming accuracy for the wilds of Ullarn. The prospect of
crossing into that notoriously perilous territory pleased nobody.
Finshay had recovered from his temper at last, though he merely
returned to his usual uncommunicative state. Eva was grateful for
Tren's presence: without his friendly face and light-hearted
chatter, the experience of following Edwae's trail could have been
excruciating. She guessed that Tren talked in order to take his
mind off their task. The tactic was effective for her, too, keeping
her from undue pain over Meesa's fate.

They encountered
a few more Lowers beasts, including one that Eva could have sworn
was on the list of extinct species. Of these, only two posed any
danger, and Eva was able to master them quickly enough to banish
them through the gates Tren opened. Finshay was not obliged to
repeat his athletic performance with the daggers.

The moon was
sinking on the third day's journey when the shortig's steady pace
began to pick up. His nose lifted to the winds and he barked, a
high, thin sound full of excitement. They were close to Ullarn, and
the terrain was growing steadily more difficult to navigate:
uneven, and choked with thorned plants. She could smell burning
coal on the air.

'He's got
something,' murmured Eva, running forward. She was dimly aware of
Finshay behind her, alert and tense, as she caught up with the
hound.

The soft earth
beneath her feet was dark and wet, stained in patches of a
foreboding hue. A ripple of nervousness shivered over her skin as
intuition suggested to her the nature of the stain. Tren knelt,
dipping his fingers into the mud.

'Blood.'

Finshay's curved
and wickedly sharp daggers appeared in his hands as he stood
scanning the surrounding trees. The sight gave a sense of reality
to the danger, and suddenly she was alert. Her eyes swept the
branches overhead, seeking Rikbeek. He was nowhere within range,
but no warning call came from him.

The shortig
quivered, awaiting commands. She urged him on, following as he tore
ahead.

'Any way of
telling if that's Edwae's blood?' Tren was beside her, keeping
pace, his eyes on the trees before them.

'No,' she panted.
'If there was another trail there, the shortig would ignore it. It
could be anyone's.'

He didn't answer.
She understood why as she felt the cursed Cloak tighten around her,
shrouding her movements in increased shadow. She drew in a shocked,
gasping breath as the weight of it doubled. Her legs felt leaden
and she had to fight to maintain her pace.

'Sorry,' Tren
gasped. 'Got to do it.'

She couldn't find
the breath to respond. She forged doggedly ahead, straining to keep
up with the flying pace the shortig set. He was on the chase, a
fresh scent in his nostrils and his quarry nearby.

Then, abruptly,
the hound stopped. He turned rapidly, questing, then his nose
lifted and he paced slowly forward. He trotted in circles,
confused. Then he faced Eva and sat down, tucking his tail neatly
under.

'Um,' said Eva.
'That's not good.'

'Explain,'
growled Finshay tersely.

'Means the scent
ends here.'

The three paused,
silent, alert for any sound or movement. Nothing stirred. Then soft
wings brushed her cheek, and a sound, nearly inaudible, reached her
ears. Rikbeek swept silently ahead, and she followed.

She knew what
he'd found immediately. A wave of nausea and disorientation hit her
before she'd gone five paces, and she gritted her teeth. Eva loved
her profession, but she detested the necessity of occasionally
utilising the gates to the Lower Realms. These tears in the fabric
of the world disrupted the flow of light, sound, colour and scent
around them; even the air flowed irregularly, torn from the natural
channels of the winds and mingling queasily with the atmosphere
beyond. As she travelled, she felt that curious and deeply
unpleasant sensation so horribly familiar from her periodic
excursions Below: a surging, roiling sensation, as if some force
sought to rearrange the structure of her body. A gate certainly lay
nearby.

She saw it then,
a distortion of the patterns of tree, branch and leaf around her; a
ripple in the air as if a great heat shimmered over the landscape.
She stopped, holding up her hand.

'Feel that?' Her
voice was barely a whisper, but her companions heard.

'Yes,' said
Tren.

'What?' said
Finshay.

Eva nodded to
herself. Anyone with a shred of sorcerous talent could at least
feel the pull of a gate, but those without were in danger of
stumbling into one unawares. She drew a line in the mud at her
feet.

'Mr. Arrerly,'
she murmured. 'A gate lies beyond that line; don't step over it.'
She expected a sharp answer from him at this order from her, but he
was silent.

Rikbeek returned,
hovering near the gate. Had he gone through? He abruptly banked and
disappeared into the trees. A few moments later the gwaystrel's cry
sounded. She followed the call to a small clearing overhung with
low, frilled branches, dripping with moisture. She could see
nothing untoward.

Rikbeek flew low
to the ground, maintaining a position a few inches from the earthy
floor. Still she could neither see nor sense anything untoward. She
felt Tren's puzzlement echoing her own as he reached her
side.