That prompted the seed of an idea. He waited, on the edge of a realisation, as his aged and deeply knowledgeable brain worked its way through this mass of information.
The air trembled, breaking his concentration. That whisper of disturbance meant one thing: somebody was translocating. Not a breach of security, this: it was a normal translocation procedure, which meant the traveller was someone whose implanted translocator device contained fully updated access codes.
All his Lokants knew never to translocate into his personal reading room except with explicit permission granted. This, then, must be their new recruit.
It was about time.
Another instant, and she appeared. But not as he expected. A mass of tangled limbs fell onto the floor of his reading-room, two bodies clinging to one another. One was his new partial. The other, he swiftly realised, was Warvel. He saw red, smelt blood on the air.
He was on his feet immediately.
‘Tell me what happened,’ he barked. ‘Quickly.’
‘Griel happened,’ replied her ladyship. ‘I’ll tell you everything, but first, fix him. ’
Limbane dropped to his knees beside Warvel’s inert body.
‘Get Andraly in here.’
***
Some time and a deal of mess later, Limbane was restored to his reading-room, though he was obliged to invite her ladyship to join him. His newest recruit sat slumped in a chair opposite, her face white with exhaustion and worry. Her clothes were stained with blood now dried to an ominous dark red colour.
In spite of her drawn, dishevelled state, the woman was still exquisite. His race in general were blessed with fine symmetry of feature, and many would have been called beautiful by human standards. But this lady’s mixed heritage gave her an unusual softness that elevated her looks still higher.
No wonder the foolish young sorcerer was transfixed by her.
‘You may talk,’ he informed her. ‘You promised to tell me everything, mind.’
She nodded, but she did not commence speaking. He waited somewhat impatiently. This was information he needed now. He sympathised with her over the boy’s fate, but this was important.
He had given her a cup of cayluch, a drink she professed to enjoy. The steaming mug sat by her side, untouched, as she stared somewhere into the middle distance and said nothing.
‘Evastany,’ he said. ‘Now, please.’
Her eyes snapped back to focus on his face. ‘Sorry,’ she said with a slight cough. After clearing her throat a second time, she began.
Her narration took some time and was given with considerable detail, in spite of her distracted state. He did not interrupt, letting her relate all of her findings and experiences in whatever manner she chose. When she fell silent at last, he fell into a brief meditation.
Rousing himself after some minutes, he said, ‘The use of the partial, Griel.’
She started a little, as if she’d fallen into a daze herself. ‘What of it?’
‘The substitution of original parts for draykoni matter is interesting. It is a pity Krays did not share his intentions with Mr Ruart.’
‘I have a theory,’ replied the lady in the dull tone of tiredness.
‘Oh?’
‘Have you ever held or worn any draykon bone yourself?’
His lips twitched. Gracious, what a question. She clearly had no idea. ‘Yes,’ was all he said in reply.
‘How does it make you feel?’
Limbane shrugged. ‘I recall no special experiences.’
She smiled briefly. ‘Thought so. That is not true for humans. Those with draykon blood are benefited by wearing a piece of bone, as it will amplify their natural magical capabilities. But even those without draykon blood can feel some effects - can make some use, even if minimal, of latent draykon energies contained in draykon matter. You said that yourself. They went to war over it.’
‘Yes, yes,’ he agreed. ‘All this I know.’
‘Yes, well. I notice that draykoni magics and Lokant abilities bear some similarities. Draykoni may regenerate themselves or others, as Lokants may heal. The methods are different but the effects are almost the same. Likewise summoning and domination via the will: on beasts the outcome is similar.’ Her ladyship leaned forward, apparently woken from her semi-stupor. ‘In a few cases the two can be combined. Ana, for example, wields both the power of summoning and that of domination. It makes her very formidable when it comes to beast mastery. I am the same myself. If you can combine the two types of magics, then, the results can be powerful indeed.
‘But so far the only way to do that is via inter-breeding. I believe your friend Krays is looking for another way.’
Limbane froze. He saw it all in an instant. Krays had always sought power, always more and more power. He sought to escalate his organisation’s rivalry with the original Library into serious competition. If an opportunity such as this was offered him, he would grab it with both hands.
A sickening thought occurred to him. ‘That’s why he has been looking for the likes of Llandry Sanfaer. From what you have said, I collect that Griel’s bone implants were clumsy. They were taken from a draykon grave, that’s why, and refashioned as best as possible to fit a human frame. If he wishes to leech draykoni magics by literally embedding draykoni matter within himself, he would need to find a better source, wouldn’t he?’
If possible, her ladyship paled even further. ‘Hideous thought. When Llandry took on her draykon form, how much of her biology changed? Was she altered down to the very bone? If she’s draykoni in human form -’
‘- then her bones are human but probably brimming with the same energies Krays seeks to usurp,’ Limbane finished.
She shuddered. He felt a sense of true horror himself. That woman he had taken from Sulayn Phay had not been there merely to locate draykon bone: she had been expected to provide it. Krays would aim to force the change on her in some way, then harvest her bones for installation in himself.
Though a female’s anatomy would not be the best fit. Krays thought it through again. The boy, Orillin Vanse: it was his physique that would be the better match with Krays. He, then, was intended for the transformation of Krays himself; and Limbane would be willing to bet that the man had two loyal female Lokants lined up to receive the benefit of Llandry’s and Avane’s bones.
‘That explains some of it,’ he said out loud. ‘But his machinery: what of that.’
He fell back into his thinking haze. The key lay in Krays’s motivation. He might be testing the procedures before he applied them to himself, but it was still risky. His goal, then, must be a high one.
The one thing Krays had always wanted, yet never been able to achieve, was mastery over the true and original Library itself. Always unpopular, he had lost the election to Limbane; soon afterwards he had quit the Library and formed his rival group. But it was not enough for him, of course. A mere offshoot of the glorious original was Sulayn Phay; poorly populated, weak, absolutely inferior.
Limbane had always assumed that Krays’s goal was to build up Sulayn Phay’s strength and significance until it equalled, and subsequently exceeded, the importance of the real Library. What if he was wrong?
What if Krays was aiming to take mastery of the Library itself?
Limbane shot to his feet. Lady Glostrum stared up at him in surprise.
‘Things to be done,’ he said energetically. ‘Llandry Sanfaer must be brought here. She must never fall into Krays’s hands. Krays’s workshops must be infiltrated and his projects uncovered. And finally, I must find that boy.’
‘Which boy?’ He had evidently lost her ladyship; she blinked at him in a befuddled state.
‘Vanse,’ he snapped. ‘I’ll be needing your help in Ullarn. But for now, rest. I’ll return.’
He left, translocating away without waiting for her reply.
Chapter Twenty Eight
Two pale, composed faces, framed in night-black hair spread out over white pillows. Eyes shut, breathing steady and slow.
One lay alone in her narrow infirmary bed; upon the torso of the other rested a small bundle of grey fur, curled into a sleeping ball.
Aysun had scarcely looked on any other image in days. He had placed a chair between the two beds in which lay his wife and his daughter. Hour after hour he sat there, gazing first upon Ynara’s face and then upon Llandry, so like her mother and yet so different also. The signs he craved never came: no quickening breath announced a wakening from slumber, no flutter of the eyelashes, no slight movement of hands or fingers. They remained still as statues, white as marble.
Pensould sat on the other side of the room, by Llandry’s side. He and Aysun hardly spoke; both maintained their dejected vigils in near silence, unable to find anything to say. Pensould had been optimistic for a time, after whatever feat he had pulled using Aysun’s own vitality. But when Llandry still didn’t wake, his spirits had steadily sunk further and further.
Aysun still found the draykon-man unnerving, and he certainly didn’t know what to make of his relationship with Llandry (of whatever nature it was). But his devoted guardianship over her warmed Aysun’s heart. Whatever he might be, his affection for little Llan was obviously sincere.
Aysun shifted in his chair, his muscles cramping with inaction. He was neglecting his duties, he knew. In the aftermath of the draykon attack, there had been calls for new weapons to be developed, for Glinnery possessed nothing with which to respond to the attacks of those vast, airborne beasts. As a leading engineer of the realm, he had a clear duty to participate in the project.
He did try. Every day he left the infirmary for a few hours and turned his thoughts to the problem of city defence. But it was hard; all he could see was those two still faces, their beloved features as much dead as alive. Who could think of war machines under such circumstances? Not him. He was not equal to it.
Sigwide woke and stood up, stretching his short legs. Seeing Aysun, he gave the tiniest wag of his stubby tail, then wobbled over to install himself in the big man’s lap. Aysun petted him abstractedly. The orting’s fur was dense and matted; he hadn’t been grooming himself properly. He hadn’t been eating properly either, though he was regularly provided with food. Sigwide had always been so in tune with Llan; Aysun was afraid that this listlessness was the product of that bond. Was Sigwide already mourning?
The door clattered open and Rufin almost fell through it, his enormous feet tripping over the mat. He cursed loudly, barely managing to catch himself before he fell headlong to the floor. A mug he’d been carrying dropped and shattered.
Aysun sighed. If even Rufin’s regular clumsiness couldn’t wake his ladies, they were heavily asleep indeed.
‘Still moping?’ Rufin thrust the surviving mug at Aysun, scowling. The cup contained strong-smelling soup, the scent of which turned Aysun’s stomach immediately.
‘I am keeping them company,’ he replied stiffly. ‘Any moment there could be a change. Someone should stay with them.’
Rufin snorted. ‘Has it escaped your notice that we’re under attack? You’re needed out there. Those creatures aren’t done yet.’
Aysun shrugged. ‘I’m not the only engineer in Glinnery.’
‘Luckily for us, you’re the only useless one.’
Aysun said nothing. Rufin couldn’t rile him, not now.
‘You going to drink that?’
‘Can’t. Sorry.’
Rufin held out his hand. ‘Give it back then.’ The gunman reclaimed the mug. He offered it perfunctorily to Pensould, who mutely shook his head. With a shrug, Rufin drained the contents in two gulps.
‘Feels like a mausoleum in here,’ he muttered. He turned to leave.
Blocking his exit was a tall gentleman, elderly, with a full head of white hair and a commanding air. Aysun frowned, puzzled. He hadn’t heard the man come in.
‘Llandry Sanfaer,’ said the newcomer. ‘Which one is her?’
Aysun stood up and advanced. ‘Who are you? What do you want with her?’
The man merely brushed him aside. ‘Never mind that. She must be removed from here, with the utmost haste. Her well-being depends on it. Which one is Miss Sanfaer?’ He stared into both sleeping faces for an instant or two in turn, then pointed to Llandry. ‘This one, I conclude?’
‘Back off,’ Aysun said, his fits clenching in anger. ‘You’re not taking her anywhere.’
Pensould spoke, for the first time in some hours. ‘It’s all right. I know this man. He intends no harm.’
Aysun’s brows snapped together. ‘What? Then who is he?’
A small, hopeless smile crossed Pensould’s strange face. ‘It would take far too long to explain.’
‘And I decline to make any more explanations at present; there’s been enough of that,’ said the impatient and autocratic old man. ‘Pensould, you’ll help me.’
‘You will not!’ Aysun cried as Pensould rose from his chair. ‘Llandry is safe here, with her family. She stays.’
The old man rounded on him. ‘She isn’t safe anywhere, you fool. Do you think you can protect her? You are far out of your depth, whoever you are. The only way she has a chance is if I take her. She must not be left in this Cluster of worlds.’
Aysun stared, dumbfounded, as the man turned his back on him and, with Pensould’s help, picked up Llandry’s sleeping form. Sigwide whimpered at his feet: Pensould stooped to collect him, too.
‘Drop the young lady,’ came Rufin’s command. He had drawn a pistol - where he had hidden it Aysun couldn’t guess, as his weapons were always stripped from him in the infirmary. The pistol was aimed at the old man’s head.
‘Gently,’ Aysun amended.
The old man rolled his eyes and let out a sigh of pure exasperation. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. You drop it. Now.’ He stared the gunman down, his blue eyes cold as winter.
To Aysun’s complete amazement, Rufin let the pistol fall.
‘Good. Any other objections?’ His cold stare turned on Aysun, whose indignation and anger melted away like butter in the sun. He had tensed himself, ready to rush the man. Now his muscles relaxed, all desire to attack withering away.
‘I gather you have some interest in this young lady’s condition, so Pensould shall keep you informed,’ the man continued, relentless. ‘But with me she must indeed go. I assure you, it is the only way to preserve her life.’
Aysun’s lips fought to form words, some silent command working to keep him quiet. ‘Wh-where are you taking her?’
‘Somewhere Other,’ was all the reply he received.
‘Then I go as well.’
‘That is not acceptable.’
‘Just try to leave without me,’ Aysun growled.
The man simply ignored him.
‘Pensould?’ Aysun turned to the draykon-man, placing all his hopes of an explanation in the goodwill of his daughter’s admirer.
‘All will be well, I swear it,’ Pensould replied.
Aysun grunted. Remembering the voice-box, he groped in his pocket for it and tossed it to Pensould.
‘You will keep me informed,’ he growled. ‘If anything happens to her, it’s you I’m coming after.’
Pensould merely nodded, storing the device in his own garments.
‘If that’s everything, it’s past time to go,’ said the white-haired man, his tone dripping impatience. On Pensould’s nod, he secured his grip on Llandry and clamped a hand around Pensould’s arm.
Released from the old man’s stare, Aysun regained his will. He prepared himself, standing ready to follow the group as they left. He couldn’t be kept from accompanying Llandry: he refused to be left behind.
But then they vanished.
Aysun stood dumb with shock. It was a true vanishment: there one instant, gone the next, while he had been watching them closely enough to detect any trickery.
‘Huh?’ Rufin rushed past him to stand where the three had been only moments before. He walked in circles, sweeping his hands through the air, as if to discover by that means some manner of trickery.
Finding nothing, he stared incredulously at Aysun.
Unease spread rapidly through Aysun’s body, choking his breath and sending his stomach clenching with trepidation.
Whatever his Llandry had got herself into, it was clearly far beyond his power to comprehend.
‘You’d better keep her safe,’ he muttered to the empty air, trying desperately to trust in Pensould’s confident endorsement of the man.
Taking up his seat by Ynara’s side, Aysun took his wife’s hand. Still cold; still senseless.
Cold metal touched his temple, startling him. Rufin stood over him, his pistol retrieved and once more in his hand. The barrel of it was pointed at Aysun’s head.
Aysun slowly lifted his brows at his friend.
‘Can’t let you waste any more time sitting here like a gormless idiot,’ Rufin explained. ‘I mean, yeah, that was freaky beyond all reason, but you’re needed.’
‘Ynara needs me,’ he replied.
Rufin waved the pistol at her. ‘How? She doesn’t even know you’re there. And what are you going to do to protect her when the next attack comes?’
‘Put it down, Ruf. You’re not going to shoot me.’
Rufin hesitated, then lowered the weapon. ‘Reckon you’re right, though you deserve it.’
His old friend was right, of course. Much as it pained him to be torn from Ynara’s side, he ought to do more. He must do more.
But he wouldn’t leave Ynara unattended either.
‘One hour, Rufin. Give me one more hour and I’ll join you.’
Rufin grinned. ‘I’ll be back if you don’t.’ He swaggered off.
Leaving a final kiss on his wife’s brow, Aysun stood and left the infirmary room. He needed to find Nyra. If his father’s house in the Uppers was safe enough for Orillin Vanse, it was safe enough for Ynara, too. He would ask Nyra to take them both up to Rheas’s house. He knew he could rely on her and Mags to tend to his wife and keep her company, and his father and Eyas would protect them all.
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