Dark Realm: Book 5 Circles of Light series

by E. M. Sinclair

  Gossamer grunted. Jenniah’s lips twitched.

  ‘I have travelled a gateway once,’ she said, and smiled broadly. ‘And nothing – nothing - will persuade me to repeat the experience.’

  ‘Was that how we got here?’ Shea asked through a mouthful of fresh fruit.

  The Palace-Keeper had arrived laden with a basket of fresh fruits and a tray of meat pies, vegetable pies and various kinds of fresh bread. ‘To keep you going until dinner’ she’d explained.

  ‘May I see my master?’ asked Grent. ‘I fear he was having another bad spasm when the Shield Master ordered the men to hurry on with him.’

  ‘Indeed you may. I’ll take you there myself when I’m sure everything is in order for you here.’

  She gathered her empty basket leaving the great pewter tray on a low circular table. ‘Now, is there anything else I can bring?’ She peered more closely at Shea. ‘I believe you came with no baggage. I will send a night gown and some fresh clothes for you. I suggest a bath would be a good idea for you young lady and a fairly early bedtime for you all.’

  She headed for the hall. ‘Oh. I nearly forgot. Do you see these buttons?’ she indicated a block of stone on the wall with six different coloured circles inlaid in the block. ‘Press these once and you will summon the Palace Master, myself, healers, guards, maids and cleaners. Press the button twice if you’ve made a mistake or changed your minds. When the bells ring in our different offices we know which rooms to attend.’ The Palace-Keeper smiled at the three. ‘I do hope you enjoy your stay with us.’

  Now, Gossamer stared from the window and wondered exactly what she’d got caught up in. She was almost sure Corman was dead, but in a different manner to herself. She’d observed Jenniah closely but the Palace-Keeper was most definitely living. As usual, Gossamer had not slept, just sat in this same chair, and thought. Once, in the hour preceding the first hint of light, she’d heard Shea call out. Gossamer went to the child’s room where a lamp, turned very low, still burned beside the bed. Shea looked flushed and her bed clothes were a tangled mess, but she remained asleep. Gossamer had no experience whatever with children so she left Shea and returned to her own room.

  Now she heard movement from Grent’s room across the hall from her own. A moment later there was a scratch at her door.

  ‘Come in Grent.’

  He joined her by the window, perching against the broad sill.

  ‘Did you dream last night?’ he asked quietly. ‘Sorry, sorry.’ He raised his hands in apology. ‘I keep forgetting.’

  Gossamer studied him in the pale light. He looked tired, more tired than when he’d gone to bed in fact.

  ‘I think Shea was dreaming. I looked in on her but she didn’t wake. What did you dream?’

  ‘The same dream I’ve been having for days now. It wasn’t quite so clear this time, as if I was looking at it through some sort of smudgy window. But I could still hear the scream.’

  ‘What is the dream?’

  So Grent told her of the young woman, the armsman and the cat, lying on the floor of a tunnel. He spoke of the howling scream and shivered as he tried to describe it.

  ‘It holds such pain, such despair. And Master Pule has had the same dream. He and Nenat both had it and they think it is a sending rather than a dream.’

  A door opened and closed and footsteps approached, along with the aroma of tea and hot bread. Gossamer went along to the sitting room to be greeted by two of the maids who’d served them yesterday. They were young girls, with round, open faces and short dark curls. They smiled at Gossamer and Grent and wished them good day.

  ‘Master Corman will be with you very soon,’ one girl said. ‘But please to ring if you need anything before he gets here.’

  ‘Can we go outside in a minute?’ Shea stood in the doorway still in her nightgown, her hair a snarled nest.

  ‘Of course you can.’

  Both maids looked rather puzzled by the question but then pounced on Shea.

  ‘We’ll get your hair tidy first though young lady.’

  Shea’s protest, although quite loud, availed her nothing, and eventually only giggles came from the direction of one of the bathrooms. Grent raised an eyebrow at Gossamer who ignored him. She was not going to be held responsible for the child just because she was a female.

  The sun had only just fully cleared the horizon when Corman joined them. He sat between two of the three windows in the sitting room, Gossamer noted, out of the sunlight.

  ‘You slept well I trust?’ he asked.

  Gossamer didn’t bother to reply but Grent and Shea spoke at once, saying they had dreamt. Corman inclined his head as though he’d anticipated the comment. He questioned Shea first and she related the same dream as Grent had described earlier. When Shea paused, Grent spoke.

  ‘I had the same dream Master Corman. My own master and Nenat have dreamed thus repeatedly.’

  Corman smiled faintly. ‘Was the dream as – vivid shall we say – as previously?’

  ‘No.’ Shea and Grent spoke simultaneously and Grent frowned. He hadn’t thought to ask the girl if she’d had the dream before.

  Corman nodded. ‘We have had to ward this Realm since it began. Many of our people were severely afflicted, mostly by the sound I believe.’

  ‘Do you have this dream Corman?’ Gossamer asked. She was positive Corman was not alive, as Grent and Shea were alive. She did not sleep and so she did not dream. How could Corman dream if he too were dead?

  Corman stared directly into Gossamer’s eyes. She realised his eyes were not brown as she’d thought but the dull gold of old worn coins.

  ‘No Gossamer Tewk. I do not dream. But I am aware of the sensations conveyed by so many of my people here.’

  Forestalling further questions, he rose. ‘A guard has been placed at your disposal, should you wish to look round the Palace, the grounds, or the town this morning.’

  ‘I’d much prefer to visit my master.’

  ‘Of course. You remember the way to the infirmary? A light lunch will be served here at midday and then the First Daughter has requested your presence.’

  Shea grinned at Gossamer, running her hand through her cropped hair. ‘My hair’s shorter than yours now Gossamer.’

  Gossamer gave a grudging smile in return. ‘The maids did a good job, I agree, but you no longer look much like a Lady of the Imperium.’

  ‘Good!’

  They followed Corman down the spiral stairs where Grent turned right and hurried along a broad corridor, presumably to the infirmary. Corman led the other two on, down more stairs, until they reached a shadowed oval hall. Gossamer gazed round it, then back up the stairs.

  ‘We didn’t come this way yesterday, yet I’m sure the stairs were the same ones.’

  ‘There are many stairs within the Palace,’ was Corman’s only explanation.

  Footsteps rang from one of the many passageways leading from the hall. A young man emerged from one and strode toward them. He was similarly dressed as the Shield Master’s men yesterday. He stopped in front of them and smiled.

  ‘The Lady Gossamer Tewk and the Lady Shea.’ Corman performed the introductions. ‘And this ladies, is Jemin. He is under the Sword Master’s command and will be your guide this morning. Please excuse me.’

  Corman’s tall thin figure merged into shadows and seemed to vanish. Gossamer noticed, but Shea didn’t. She was too busy staring at the handsome young guard. He turned to lead them to a door which gave onto a small garden, Gossamer bringing up the rear. Shea went from shrub to shrub, exclaiming over multi coloured blooms each too large for her to encircle with her arms at full stretch.

  ‘Jemin is an uncommon name,’ Gossamer remarked to the back of the guard’s head.

  He turned. ‘So it is,’ he replied easily.

  ‘Where might such a name come from?’ she pressed.

  Jemin’s smile widened. ‘Why from the Eagle Mountains, Lady Gossamer, as you have so swiftly surmised.’

  Gossamer glanced t
o where Shea was perched on the edge of a fountain, peering intently into the water. Jemin grinned.

  ‘I gather my niece was not much doted on by her dear mother.’

  Gossamer looked back at Jemin. There were countless pictures everywhere in Kelshan, portraying the Imperator Jarvos and the Imperatrix Veranta. The man standing before her had the same ruddy colouring of Jarvos although his features were finer, his eyes a greenish hazel rather than blue. There was not a scrap of similarity with Veranta. Gossamer was rarely lost for a caustic comment but at this moment she could think of precisely nothing whatsoever to say. Jemin laughed aloud and slipped his arm through Gossamer’s, drawing her to the fountain.

  ‘I think we will need most of this morning to explain quite a few things to my niece. And you can help me.’

  Gossamer opened her mouth to object, then closed it. Words seemed to have utterly forsaken her.

  ‘And perhaps you should explain yourself to her while we’re at it,’ Jemin added, depositing Gossamer on the gleaming edge of the black stone bowl into which the fountain cascaded.

  Grent found Waxin Pule on a couch on a balcony at the far end of the infirmary dormitory. Nenat lay on another couch and they appeared to be arguing. But both smiled when Grent wished them good day. They looked much healthier, Grent observed, and his master’s breathing was better than it had been for years. Pule read his apprentice’s mind.

  ‘The healers here have discovered a very great deal in the field of medicine since my youth,’ he said. ‘Nenat can’t wait to be let loose in the research rooms.’

  Nenat scowled, out of habit Grent was fairly sure.

  ‘Some of the plants they’ve used in your treatment Waxin Pule would not grow in our cooler clime.’

  Pule snorted. ‘I’ve seen rare plants cared for, and thrive, in heated glass rooms in Kelshan,’ he retorted.

  ‘And how many travellers cross between Kelshan and the Dark Realm to bring plants back in the first place you old fool?’

  Before his master could goad Nenat to fury, Grent put in a question.

  ‘Master Corman told us that the Realm has been warded to lessen the effects of the dreaming. How can an entire Realm be protected? The idea implies such immense power.’ He trailed into silence in the face of Pule’s apologetic expression. Grent drew a deep breath. ‘So there really is that much power here?’

  ‘Indeed there is my lad.’

  ‘Then why has this Realm kept itself so isolated? The healers alone could be of such benefit to Kelshan’s people.’

  Nenat sighed. ‘Dear Grent. Most people do not think as you do. Always they look for advantage over each other.’ She leaned her head into the pillows stacked behind her. ‘Imagine Grent, one healer who could walk right to Simert’s Gate and lead back a soul, heal the body and restore that soul. Imagine, a warlord, high merchant, the Imperatrix, holding that healer to do only their bidding. What would you give up to such a one if they agreed to allow their healer to cure your wife, your child? To save them from certain death? No, no, Grent. Kelshan must not know the secrets of this Realm – assuredly not with an Imperatrix like Veranta.’

  Grent had folded his gangly height onto a low stool and clasped his arms round his knees while Nenat spoke.

  ‘You have trained me in the Lesser Path, have you not master? But what else have you done to me?’

  Pule looked stricken, stretched his hand towards Grent, then let it fall back in his lap. Grent’s expression was determined.

  ‘I’ve always known you’ve taught me much more master. All those times I’ve fallen asleep. When I woke I felt I’d been dreaming – dreaming again. But what did I learn whilst I slept master?’

  ‘If we had been able to remain in Kelshan you would have recalled a few of those lessons lad. Now, if you choose to stay here, in the Dark Realm, and swear the oath of service to the Dark, you will remember all I have put into your mind.’ Pule’s steady gaze told Grent he had but to swear to the Dark and power hitherto unlooked for, would be his.

  ‘I know nothing of the Dark,’ he said softly. ‘How can I swear to something I know nothing of?’

  ‘Speak to Corman my dear lad. Ask him anything at all and he will answer you truly.’

  ‘Gossamer says he’s dead.’

  Pule gave a faint sad smile. ‘He is.’

  Grent nodded and unwound himself from the stool. ‘Where will I find Corman? I’d like to speak to him at once, before we see the First Daughter.’

  ‘He will probably be in the library at this hour, the archive annex. Ask anyone you see, they will direct you to the place.’

  Grent regarded his master gravely. ‘I’ll come back and tell you my decision.’

  Pule returned his straight look. ‘May the Dark bless you, lad.’

  Leaving the infirmary Grent found an elderly man sweeping the corridor just outside. He asked for directions to the library. The man nodded and led him through what felt like leagues of corridors, halls and public galleries. Turning one corner Grent nearly crashed into the Palace-Keeper Jenniah. She smiled when he explained his intent, his erstwhile guide retreating back the way they’d come.

  ‘Here.’ She took him only a few more paces to a plain door, opened it and indicated he should enter.

  Grent found himself in an enormous room, filled with books, scroll cases and what looked like piles of as yet unsorted books. Several tables were scattered across the middle of the floor, one of which was occupied by three women, their heads bent over books and a low murmur of discussion arising from them. A man appeared beside him and Grent blinked. He hadn’t heard or seen his approach. It was difficult to guess the man’s age but Grent would have said he was older rather than younger than he seemed. He wore a grey shirt of a silky soft fabric, bordered with black at collar and cuffs. Grey trousers of the same material were tucked into grey boots.

  ‘I am the Librarian, Chindar. Is there something I can help you with?’

  ‘I’m Grent, apprentice to Master Pule. I er was looking for Corman, the Palace Master. That is, I was told he would be here.’

  Chindar inclined his head. ‘Indeed he is. This way if you please.’

  Chindar’s boots made no sound on the red stone of the floor but Grent flushed with embarrassment as he clattered in the Librarian’s wake. A short passage between towering book stacks brought them to another door. Chindar opened it and stepped through.

  ‘A visitor for you Corman,’ he said, closing the door.

  Corman sat in a wing backed chair beside a large table. Books were piled on every inch of it except for a tall candle stand to Corman’s left. Grent glanced quickly round, realising there were no windows, only two skylights high above which seemed made of opaque rather than transparent glass. A small fire burned in a hearth behind Corman. Chindar strolled past Grent to lean against the mantel shelf, his arms folded loosely across his chest. Corman closed the book he’d been studying and waved a hand at a chair.

  ‘Do sit down Grent. I thought Waxin Pule would lose no time sending you to me.’

  Grent seated himself, started to speak, then stopped. Corman had sat back in his own chair and held a fine crystal goblet in his hand, gently swirling the contents which looked to Grent like the darkest of red wine. He tried to order his thoughts: one thing at a time. But Gossamer and Pule had both said this man was dead. Then why, how, could he drink? Chindar gave a soft chuckle.

  ‘He wishes to know of the Dark my friend.’

  Corman nodded. ‘I will tell you of the Dark Grent, but first, humour me if you will. What do you know, or think you know, of the Dark?’

  ‘Well, in Kelshan it meant the God of Death – Simert. It was held to be bad, unclean. Evil things came of the Dark.’ Grent waved his hands, furious that he couldn’t explain what he meant more succinctly.

  But both Chindar and Corman nodded.

  ‘Dark meant night in Kelshan?’ Chindar asked. ‘And plots are laid at night, wickedness planned – that sort of thing?’

  ‘More or l
ess,’ Grent agreed.

  Corman sipped from his goblet then stared into Grent’s eyes.

  ‘So the Dark equates with bad in Kelshan? And I presume light equates with good?’

  Grent nodded warily.

  ‘Where did you come from?’ Corman asked.

  Grent was thrown off balance by the inconsequence of the question. ‘From Kelshan, as you know. Through a gate . .’

  ‘No, no. You, personally, where did you come from?’

  Grent frowned. ‘I don’t know. Master Pule took me in when I was barely more than toddling. He’s always told me he found me in the gutters of the Oyster District.’

  ‘And did you get there by magic Grent, in a blinding flash of light?’

  ‘Well of course not. I suppose my mother was some poor young girl, or a whore, unable to support both herself and a child, so I was left in the street.’ Grent felt no resentment in the conclusion he’d reached long ago. Master Pule had tried to help many girls in difficult circumstances and taught his apprentice a deep tolerance of such matters.

  ‘We approach closer to the truth,’ said Corman quietly. ‘Now, where did you come from?’

  Grent thought hard before he answered this time. ‘I came from a woman’s belly.’

  Corman seemed pleased. ‘Indeed. From the darkness of a womb you came forth. Now tell me, where do plants – vegetables, grains, fruits, weeds come from?’

  Understanding was creeping upon Grent. ‘From the earth.’

  ‘From the belly of the earth, the soil, from the Darkness beneath. So then Grent, must the Dark be always bad?’

  ‘When you put it like that, of course not.’

  ‘It isn’t how I put it Grent, it is how it truly is. Tell me, is light always beneficent? Think of light: the blaze of a fire, sweeping uncontrolled through a forest, through a town. Light: searing from the sky to destroy crops and turn good soil to dust.’

  Corman fell silent, sipping from his drink, allowing Grent to readjust many of what had been accepted truths. Finally he sighed and looked between Chindar and Corman.