Draykon (43 page)

'Abominable.' He
looked at her quite gravely, no smile tugging at his full mouth or
lurking in his eyes. A premonition of disaster tugged at her,
Llandry's name hovering on her lips.

'Oh?' she said
lightly, smiling. 'The healers dealt very smartly with you. They
said you'll be well enough to get up in a few days, if you're
good.'

Devary's gaze
slid away from hers. Detecting guilt foremost among the misery of
his attitude, Ynara gripped his hand hard, forcing him to look back
into her face.

'Dev. You must
tell me.
What happened to Llandry
?'

He turned red
first, then paled abruptly. 'She got away. I think.'

'You
think
?'

'I... yes. We
were on our way back to you. We stopped for a few hours on the
southern edge of the forest. We were attacked. Ynara, some of them
were from Glinnery.'

She could have
shaken him, injured or not. 'Never
mind
that, Dev. Tell me
about Llandry!'

Dev hurried on,
painting a horrifying picture of the fight under the glissenwol
caps and Llandry's escape. Her stomach clenched with fear when he
spoke of the two winged men who had followed her into the
skies.

'That was the
last I saw of her,' he finished. 'After that, I lost the fight. I
woke up back over the border in Nimdre, with someone standing over
me. Not one of the original attackers. Tall man, grey hair,
obviously a sorc. Pair of whurthags at his heels.' His words were
growing faint with the effort to speak, but she didn't care. She
levelled her coldest stare at him and waited.

'He found the
pendant and took it off me. Disappeared. All of them did, left me
there. I must've passed out after that.' He subsided into silence,
struggling a little to breathe. Ynara felt torn between sympathy
and a fierce desire to kill him herself.

'Dev, this can't
be right. If you were left in Nimdre, how did you get to my
tree?'

Devary repeated
much of the same nonsense he'd talked in his delirium. She shook
her head impatiently. 'A draykon came out of the skies and carried
you back to my house? That's absurd, Dev, you must see that. What
really happened?'

He looked at her
helplessly. 'I swear, Ynara, every word I've spoken is the
truth.'

She stood up,
disgusted with him. 'Get some sleep.' She left the room without
looking back.

She found Aysun
bent over his work table. Since Devary's return he had been
closeted in here hour after hour, working constantly at a complex
device whose function she didn't begin to understand. That was all
right. She had long since stopped trying to grasp the intricacies
of her husband's inventions; it was enough that they satisfied and
exhilarated him.

Set into the top
of this contraption was a ring matching one that Llandry wore. He
had given her that ring when she was five years old, and she never
took it off, but neither she nor Ynara had ever realised that it
was more than a trinket. Aysun had recently told her, rather
tersely, that this ring was a twin to Llandry's and would be
instrumental in finding her - as long as she was still wearing her
own ring. Ynara hoped fervently that she hadn't lost it.

She slid her arms
around his waist and hugged him from behind. He paused to pat her
hands, but he didn't turn around. She realised, with a growing
sense of trepidation, that something was different about him. Each
time she had entered this room she had found him bent intently over
his machine, working at a feverish pace. It had been frustrating
him because it ought to have pinpointed Llandry's vicinity within
an hour or two, but it had given him nothing. She recognised his
relentless attitude as born of fear: fear that Llandry had lost her
ring, fear that the machine was malfunctioning. Fear that he would
fail in finding her.

Now his feverish
energy had drained away. He was leaning on the table, braced on his
two large hands, his head bowed. She released him and turned him
gently to face her.

'Aysun?' She
searched his face uncertainly. His expression was closed,
unresponsive. 'Did you find her?'

'Not exactly.' He
spoke with difficulty, his jaws fiercely clenched. 'I think I know
why it won't show me her location.'

'Oh?' Ynara tried
to keep her voice light, but it was hard. She had never seen him
like this before.

'The machine
cannot find her because she is no longer within its
range.'

'You mean...
she's dead?'

'That, or she has
gone off-world.'

Ynara blanched.
She knew that, to him, off-world was as good as dead. Ever since
his father had stepped through to the Uppers long years ago, and
never come back.

'Llandry... she
wouldn't do that, Aysun. She must remember what you've always told
her about the dangers up there. Perhaps the machine...' She trailed
off helplessly. Aysun wouldn't want to believe it either. If he
would rather believe Llandry to be off-world than that his machine
was at fault, he must have sound reason.

'She may not have
done so deliberately. Possibly she was taken up there by someone
else.' He looked down at her. At last the iron in his face softened
and he gave her a look of love. 'I'm going after her,
Ynara.'

Ynara knew what a
concession this was for him. He had always refused to have anything
to do with the Upper Realms. He hated his wife's sorcerous
abilities, and she had exercised caution in displaying them around
him. She had not gone back to the Uppers after her one visit there,
because it had caused him such intense fear she hadn't the heart.
And he had prevented Llandry's joining the summoner guild, knowing
that the profession would periodically carry her off-world. His
dread of it was too wholly understandable, and her heart contracted
with love at his courage.

She gripped his
shirt. 'I'm going with you.'

He shook his
head, gently disengaging her hands. 'Ynara. You know you can't.
Glinnery is in turmoil. It needs its Council of Elders, present and
active.'

'I don't care!
I'll resign, someone else can take over. I want my girl.' She felt
like sobbing, but she angrily blinked back the tears.

He cupped her
face, kissed her gently. 'I don't want to take you up there with
me. I need to know that you, at least, are safe.'

'How am I to know
that
you
are safe?'

'I'll be fine.'
She snorted, unable to think of a suitable reply to this piece of
fatuity. He wrapped her in a tight embrace, rocking her slowly.
'What if she finds her way home? She'll need someone here to
welcome her. To help her, if she's in trouble, or hurt.'

Ynara felt
wretched. This was an argument that struck at her painfully, as of
course he knew it would. The prospect of Llandry returning home,
possibly injured, to find nothing but an empty house was
devastating.

'And Devary still
needs tending,' he continued.

'He can rot,' she
said curtly.

Aysun tutted
disapprovingly. 'You mustn't blame him. His wounds are proof enough
that he did the best he could for her. You and I are really at
fault; we should never have let her go.'

Tears escaped
from under her tightly-shut lids. She blotted them on his shirt
front.

'Make sure you
come home,' she whispered fiercely. 'If I lose both of
you...'

'I promise.' He
pulled back enough to look seriously into her eyes, and she nodded.
She knew he'd do everything in his power to keep his
word.

Nonetheless, when
she watched him leave a couple of hours later, she couldn't shake
the feeling that her world was on its way to a disastrous
end.

***

Eva sat alone in
the private parlour of a wayside inn not far from Westrarc. Having
bathed, washed her hair and dressed in clean clothes, she felt
considerably improved. Now if only she could eat, she might feel
more like her former self.

Her former self.
For a moment, she thought longingly of the days - not very far
distant - when her job as High Summoner had consisted mostly of
administrative and ceremonial duties. She had been free to divide
most of the rest of her time between social occasions and her
lovers. Or, more recently, social events and her fiance. It all
seemed such a long time ago, but in fact it had taken a shockingly
brief time for her life to become a succession of disasters,
afflictions, dangers, staggeringly difficult problems and
fiendishly obtuse mysteries. She didn't really miss her old life -
she'd felt herself slowly stagnating in her enclosed world - but
this was taking excitement a little too far.

'I suppose I
won't be bored,' she sighed, pushing listlessly at the freshwater
fish that lay on her plate. It was quite well cooked and the sauce
wasn't bad, but she couldn't force it down. The prospect of her
return to Glour City weighed heavily on her mind. As soon as she
returned she would have to see Numinar Wrobsley; he deserved to
know the circumstances that had led to the death of his wife. She
would have to alert the city to the impending draykon problem - for
doubtless they had not seen the last of those creatures - and it
would fall largely to her to find a way to deal with it. That would
be a tale difficult to tell.

Worst of all, she
would have to tell Ynara Sanfaer what had become of her daughter.
This was a task that lay heavily upon her. She had no explanation
to offer to Ynara, no theory at all as to how, or why, or even
what
had really happened during that chaotic hour in the
Lowers. This, also, it was down to her to discover.

The door opened,
interrupting her reverie. Tren stepped into the room, looking a
little shy. He too was freshly scrubbed, his hair curling damply
over the collar of his newly-pressed shirt.

'I hope there's
plenty of food,' he said lightly, 'or I might be forced to eat one
of these chairs.'

Eva turned up the
corner of her mouth briefly, waving a hand at the dishes crowding
the table. 'I think the innkeeper emptied the village for us. Help
yourself.' She pushed her own plate away, abandoning the
struggle.

'Not eating?'
Tren looked at her with concern.

'I can't seem to
face it,' she admitted.

Tren seated
himself on her left and surveyed the table. 'Perhaps a poor choice,
that's all. Why don't you try some of this white stuff? That looks
harmless. Or, look, baked gloren. You could manage that.' He pushed
dishes towards her, trying to tempt her, but the mixture of smells
was off-putting.

'Are you going to
mother me, Tren? I warn you, I am quite unmotherable.'

Tren ignored her,
serving out a small piece of baked gloren on a clean dish. He
placed it in front of her, together with a new fork and spoon and a
napkin.

'Here is the
deal,' he said seriously. 'For every two forkfuls that you eat, I
get to eat four. I hope you're willing to sacrifice yourself just a
little, or I may starve to death before I reach
Westrarc.'

'You're not
heading back to the City?'

'Not yet. I'm
going to see Mrs. Geslin. Start eating.'

Eva wanted to
resist, but she couldn't help chuckling. 'Very well.' He smiled as
she picked up the fork and took a mouthful.

'I was thinking,'
she said after a moment. 'I have no explanation for Griel’s control
over those beasts. He was supposed to be a sorcerer, not a
summoner. But it's possible that he didn't mean to kill Ed. Or
Meesa. You remember he said the whurthags got away from him
sometimes? Perhaps his control over them wasn’t always that
good.'

Tren glowered at
his plate. 'That doesn't excuse it.'

'No, it doesn't.
Besides, Ana was bloodthirsty enough for both of them.' She
remembered Ana's casual order to kill Tren and shuddered. 'There's
one thing that still puzzles me, though.'

'Only
one?'

She smiled
briefly. 'There are a lot of outstanding questions, yes. I'm
thinking of Griel's extra abilities, though, and Ana's absurd
strength as a summoner. And her disappearing act. The istore isn't
explanation enough - once the draykon woke all of the bones had
been restored to the skeleton, but Ana's abilities were still
staggering without it. I think their enhanced abilities must be
closely linked to spending time in the Off-Worlds.'

'You mean that
being in the Lowers amplifies magical ability? That's already
confirmed, isn't it?'

'Yes, but I think
extended exposure is significant. Years ago, when I used to spend
too much time down there, I could feel the change in myself. I felt
progressively closer to the fabric of the realm, and I could
manipulate beasts with greater skill because I felt increasingly
like I was one of them. That's probably the real reason why I alone
have a gwaystrel; I was the only one to break the rules that
badly.'

'Ha,' said Tren.
'So much for the perfect peeress.' He set down his fork and rested
his chin in his hand. 'So if the istore - the
draykon bone
-
offers a similar amplification effect when worn next to the skin,
what does that mean?'