Drogoya: Book 3 Circles of Light series (29 page)

Thryssa sat back in
silent thought. The boy was right of course. Sooner or later, and
Thryssa feared it was likely to be sooner, his mind signature would
be discovered. She made her decision.

‘I do not believe you
are any more cowardly than the rest of us Chornay. Would you go
through the circle – to Gaharn, or to the Stronghold?’

Chornay’s face revealed
complete astonishment. ‘Daro is at the Stronghold High Speaker. We
have never been apart since our first days at school. I would go to
him.’

Thryssa nodded briskly.
‘Then it shall be arranged later this very day.’ She pulled the
bell rope behind her chair in three sharp tugs and Kwanzi appeared
almost at once.

‘Would you keep Chornay
with you in our apartments until I can come to you please Kwanzi?
We must get him away from the Firans, with all haste I
fear.’

Kwanzi asked no
questions, merely smiling at Chornay and inviting him back through
the door with him. Thryssa sat still for a while then reached for
pen, ink and paper. She wrote rapidly for several moments, reread
what she had written and then rolled the paper, slipping it inside
the scroll case that still lay on her table. She sealed the catch,
impressing the symbols of Vagrantia on the wax and went to the
outer door of her study.

Pajar was in the
workroom beyond and she gave him the case, instructing him to send
it through the circle immediately. Thryssa had just resumed her
seat when there was the lightest of knocks on the door. Pachela
came in at the High Speaker’s call and sat quietly where Chornay
had sat but moments earlier. Thryssa gave her a warm smile. She
waved her hands over her paper strewn table.

‘I have not had an
instant to speak to you child. I apologise but this is one of the
worst aspects of life as High Speaker.’

Pachela returned her
smile. ‘I am sure I can guess how busy you must be High Speaker. I
have been busy too.’ Her smile became wider. ‘I have been working
with Healer Chalo and Temno.’

Thryssa’s own smile
faded. ‘I had forgotten Temno is still here. He was summoned back
to Fira was he not?’

Pachela frowned. ‘Yes
High Speaker, he was. But he forswore Fira while you were away and
he bound himself to Parima, the Corvida and to Healer Chalo
himself. Chalo stood surety for Temno’s honest intent High
Speaker.’

Thryssa shook her head.
‘No doubt someone would have told me eventually, or perhaps there
is a note of it amongst this lot.’ She pushed at the clutter of
papers in disgust. ‘Thank you for telling me at least, but what are
you doing with Chalo and Temno?’

‘Well of course Chalo
is the greatest healer in all the Circles, but Temno is considered
second only to Chalo now. I was specialising in botany before my
eyes changed, but I have become particularly interested in
medicinal herbs now. And I thought – who better to learn
from?’

‘Would this new
interest have anything to do with your smelling the aroma of mint?’
Thryssa’s voice was calm, but Pachela looked first startled, then
embarrassed.

‘I have spoken of it to
no one High Speaker, but yes. It seems to happen much more often,
although it must surely be my imagination.’

Thryssa studied the
girl, then sighed. ‘Read these while I find us some tea child. Then
tell me what you make of it all.’

Pachela was standing by
the window when Thryssa brought in a tray of tea, the papers she
had been given to read stacked neatly on the edge of the table.
Thryssa poured two mugfuls and sat looking at the girl’s slender
immature figure.

‘Your tea grows cold,’
she said finally.

Pachela stirred and
turned slowly from the window. She picked up her mug of spice tea,
the grey of her eyes suddenly dark against the silver.

‘I do not understand
very much of what the Observer writes – the Order of Myata?’ She
faltered over the unfamiliar name. ‘But it seems right to me High
Speaker. I know nothing of this woman he talks of, yet it feels as
if I do.’

‘You could go through
the circle and speak of it with Observer Babach if you wish?’
Thryssa suggested.

‘No!’ The negative was
immediate and decisive. ‘I cannot leave here now.’

Pachela looked at the
High Speaker as though surprised by her own vehemence.

Thryssa raised a brow
and waited, a tactic that had rarely failed her in a multitude of
situations. It did not fail her now. Pachela leaned forward
earnestly, clutching her mug to her chest.

‘I can give you no
sensible reasons High Speaker, but I have to remain
here.’

‘Is this to do with
Gremara – can you at least tell me that much?’

Pachela sat back in her
chair and sipped her cold tea. She grimaced and set the mug down on
the table.

‘It has something to do
with Gremara. It also has to do with my sense that I must learn
from Healer Chalo, as much, and as fast, as I can. I sense too that
I must be here when the trouble finally erupts within Fira.’ Grey
silvered eyes met Thryssa’s steadily. ‘And that will be all too
soon High Speaker.’

Chapter
Eighteen

After only a few days
of her mind being unshielded and the intensive instruction from her
strange guests, Lallia was amazed at feeling so bereft once Tika’s
party were beyond mind speaking her. The Lady of Far was no fool,
and she took heed of the repeated warnings they had given her
regarding using the power. Especially with Hargon of Return in such
a bellicose mood. It was only two days since the Vagrantian Maressa
had bid her farewell with the news that Navan was close to their
company after his escape from Return.

Now Lallia paced a high
balcony, anxiously watching for the arrival of her husband, Lord
Seboth. She had dismissed her maids: she hoped that there were none
who might be disloyal, but she preferred them not to see how
worried she was. At last! Lallia stood on tiptoe, pressed against
the lattice work screen to peer down into the stable yard as the
sound of hooves clattered on stone.

She hurried down the
winding stairs until she arrived at the side entrance as Seboth
strode in with two officers beside him. He glanced at his wife and
she bowed low in greeting. Seboth crossed to where she stood and
put his hands lightly on her shoulders. Bending to kiss her cheek,
he listened to her rapid murmur. He stepped back.

‘I shall join you
later.’

Lallia bent her head
again. ‘I have moved into the sun tower in your absence my Lord. If
it displeases you, I will return to our old apartments.’

Seboth paused then
nodded. ‘No doubt those rooms could do with a good cleaning and
repainting.’

‘My thought exactly, my
Lord.’

He nodded again and
headed for his work room, his officers at his heels. The house
steward approached.

‘Will my Lord need a
proper meal, Lady?’

Lallia shook her head.
‘Bread and meat will do Meran. But plenty of it. And a dish of
pastries in the tower rooms later, if you please.’

Drawing her shawl
closer around her head and shoulders, Lallia climbed back to the
balcony. Stars glimmered through the lacy metal grill and she
watched them for a moment, before entering the apartments she now
used. This whole section of the huge, sprawling house of Far was
the oldest part. It had once stood as a solitary tower until
buildings grew round it like chicks clustered about a hen. Another
lower tower stood squarely at a distance from this round sun tower,
but was used mainly for storing things – old furniture in its upper
floors, weapons below.

The top two of the sun
tower’s five floors, were hers alone. A later building adjoined the
tower’s middle floor and her maids had the use of that floor.
Lallia had remembered hearing Seboth and Olam joking about being
able to bar the access doors and make the sun tower impregnable.
The two lowest floors had no windows and for ages past, had been
used, like the square tower, as a repository for unwanted
furniture. But there was a well in the basement: Lallia had made an
opportunity to investigate and discovered the water was still
there, still sweet.

Now Lallia settled
herself on a heap of great cushions and waited for Seboth. She had
braziers heating the room, she had not bothered to have the small
fire lit as the weather was warming unusually quickly. Meran
entered and put a wide platter of pastries on the low table near
Lallia.

‘Thank you
Meran.’

The man hovered and
Lallia raised her brow at him.

‘Some of the armsmen
have spoken of Lord Hargon’s madness Lady. They disapprove quite
strongly of some proposals he has ordered that all the towns carry
out.’

‘Proposals such
as?’

Meran shook his head.
‘I did not hear. Shall I enquire further Lady?’

‘No Meran. Lord Seboth
will tell me, I am sure. But thank you as usual.’ She smiled up at
the elderly steward.

He allowed himself the
faintest of smiles in return and retreated to the door.

‘I have ordered extra
armsmen to watch your doors Lady.’

‘Do you think that
necessary Meran?’ Lallia felt the stirring of alarm within
her.

‘I am afraid that I do
Lady.’

The door closed behind
the steward and Lallia chewed at her thumb nail. By the time Seboth
joined her, Lallia’s nail was beyond repair. The Lord of Far
dropped onto the cushions beside his wife with a groan. He slipped
his arm round her shoulders and hugged her close, then released
her.

‘It is much worse than
we feared,’ he said at once. ‘I could not decide if Hargon is
overtired and distraught, or if he is suffering from this
affliction of which the Lady Emla and Maressa both told us. His
eyes are reddened more than one could think normal due to grief or
tiredness.’

He reached absently for
a pastry. ‘He ordered us to kill anyone we suspect might carry the
old blood. He ordered us to kill all Merigs we see. He ordered us
to have no contact with Lady Emla and “her cronies” as he so
delightfully phrased it. He “ordered” us Lallia!’

‘But did any agree with
him?’ Lallia clung to his sleeve in her urgency.

‘Raben of Tagria lost
his temper. He said that no one gives Tagria orders except for
himself, and Hargon’s orders were mad anyway. That was not well
received, as you might guess. Raben stormed out, saying that the
circle near his town was his and it would be well protected if
Hargon had any foolish ideas of appropriating it.’

Seboth helped himself
to another pastry and bit into it thoughtfully.

‘I have never seen
Hargon so angry. But the anger was all within – he did not shout
back at Raben. His rage was cold, and perhaps more frightening
because of it.’

‘What of
Andla?’

Seboth shrugged. ‘You
know Zalom as well as I. He tries to please both sides in the hope
that they will leave him alone to go his own way.’ He frowned. ‘I
believe he will not join with Hargon, or with us, until he
absolutely has no alternative left. Hargon was annoyed that none of
the lower towns sent representatives to his council. Raben has sent
men to warn the southerners to beware Hargon – he told me before he
rode out.’

‘I presume we stand
against Hargon?’

‘Yes of course we do.
But whether he will try to change my mind, or attack both Far and
Tagria, I couldn’t guess. Although his words greatly angered me, as
always I tried to lighten all his worries. Eventually, I had to
admit that I did not share a single one of his views and thus I
would hold aloof from any of his “orders”.’

‘So he may believe it
worth his while to try and persuade you to join with him?’ Lallia
studied her husband thoughtfully. ‘What if he comes here with a
full complement of armsmen, on the pretext of further discussions?
Before, they would have been housed within the town and within this
House. Could we risk that now?’

Seboth considered
Lallia’s question carefully.

‘No,’ he decided.
‘Hargon, his Armschief and two officers would be permitted within –
the town and thence here. His men would have to wait outside the
town walls.’

He struggled up from
the cushions. ‘I will order it so right now. Who knows when he
might choose to descend on us.’

Lallia settled back to
wait again for her husband, then sat up suddenly and stared around.
Tubs of cream and blue flowers, grown from bulbs, stood against the
walls beneath the shuttered windows, but it was not their heady
perfume she could smell. She frowned. Surely it was
mint?

Three quarters of
Hargon’s force of armsmen were encamped at a way station in the low
hills less than half a day’s ride south east of Far. The men were
unusually quiet, wary of this new Hargon. Their old commander had
been harsh but fair in their opinion. Now Hargon was as
unpredictable as an untrained konina. There had been mutterings
when the armsmen heard that sentence of death had been passed on
Navan. The men had willingly followed Navan in everything, whereas
to follow Hargon had been merely their duty.