Dark Realm: Book 5 Circles of Light series

by E. M. Sinclair

  ‘But the Darkness also has to do with death, doesn’t it?’

  Corman shrugged. ‘We are born from the Dark, we go back into the Dark when we die.’

  ‘Or not, as the case may be,’ Chindar interposed with a grin.

  Grent decided he had nothing to lose. ‘Gossamer Tewk, and my master, say that you are dead Master Corman.’

  The Palace Master smiled. ‘So I am. There are subtle differences to death in this Realm. Some of us have a degree of choice. I chose to continue in the physical world as I believed I had much more service to give to the First Daughter and Mother Dark herself. The Dark apparently felt the same and I have been permitted to remain. I suspect for this particular period in our history, but I am not privy to such knowledge.’

  ‘I’m dead too,’ Chindar offered. ‘Quite a lot of the residents here are dead actually.’

  Grent suddenly felt quite faint and Corman moved quickly, tilting his goblet to Grent’s mouth.

  ‘Thank you, I’m so sorry.’ Grent licked his lips. ‘What is that?’

  ‘Ah. It’s blood.’ Corman hurried to explain further in the face of Grent’s pallor. ‘Goat’s blood, diluted with spring water. It has a tonic effect, although I admit it is an acquired taste for the living.’

  Grent wished he could imitate one of Gossamer’s more scathing glares but suspected he just looked rather sick. He swallowed hard.

  ‘If I swear to serve this Realm, will I never leave it?’ he asked.

  Corman resumed his seat. ‘Waxin Pule was born here,’ he pointed out.

  Grent considered. ‘Was he a spy then?’

  ‘No.’ Chindar’s tone was definite. ‘He was instructed to keep watch, to send warning if Kelshan ever decided to invade this Realm. He became a member of the Imperium Councils, an Advisor to the Imperator Jarvos, but never did he seek out information to use against Kelshan.’

  Corman grunted. ‘He can’t even tell us the full complement of armsmen available to the Imperatrix for her “expeditionary force.”’

  ‘But he has now left Kelshan, and stretch my imagination as I might, I cannot see him being able to return now. So will I live out my days here too?’

  Corman and Chindar exchanged glances. ‘That is not for us to say. But by your own admission, Waxin Pule is your only tie – you have no family to worry over. Your master is here. You have known the herb woman Nenat most of your life I understand, and she will not return to Kelshan.’

  Grent frowned. ‘I thought she came from this Realm anyway?’

  ‘No. She was born to one of the wild clans far to the north. Their wise ones know much of the ways of power. They can travel – some of them anyway. What we call gateways they call portals and the constructing spell is differently cast.’

  Chindar nodded his agreement with Corman’s words. ‘She could use a portal to return to her clan, but I do not believe she would do so at this time.’

  Grent stood up. ‘May I speak with you again on these matters Palace Master, when I have thought on all you have said here?’

  ‘Any time Grent, any time. What will your answer be to Waxin Pule? He asked you to serve the Dark, didn’t he?’ Corman smiled and Grent realised he shouldn’t be surprised that the Palace Master knew far more than he logically should.

  ‘I believe I will swear to serve,’ Grent replied. ‘You are quite right to say there is nothing, and no one, to whom I need to return to in Kelshan.’

  He followed Chindar towards the door but stopped and turned to Corman again.

  ‘Gossamer Tewk is dead and yet she cannot drink or eat.’

  ‘Perhaps I should have a talk with her.’ Corman laughed. ‘I don’t eat much these days – the odd tasty mouthful very occasionally. But the blood drink is most beneficial. Yes, I should have thought to speak to her before now. And before you go back to Waxin, did you take any meaning regarding the guard who came to escort Gossamer Tewk and the Lady Shea?’

  Grent shook his head, vaguely recalling a handsome man, around thirty-years-old.

  ‘His name is Jemin.’

  ‘Oh.’ Grent waited but nothing more was forthcoming so he followed Chindar out into the library.

  Chindar took him through a maze of passages and up several flights of stairs until Grent recognised the wide frescoed corridor which led to the infirmary. Grent began to thank Chindar and then gaped.

  ‘Jemin?’ he managed to gasp. ‘The Imperator Jarvos’s son? That Jemin?’

  Chindar patted Grent’s shoulder kindly. ‘Exactly.’

  Chapter Five

  When Gossamer, Grent and Shea arrived back in their rooms for lunch, it was a very quiet affair. All had a great deal to think about. Even Shea’s hearty appetite was subdued as she went over and over what she’d learned from Jemin. Uncle Jemin. She had an uncle! She felt a twinge of regret that Kerris wasn’t here. Kerris was not yet old enough to become another Mellia. Shea had a sneaking feeling that Kerris would have welcomed this adventure. And what Gossamer had told her! That needed a lot of thought.

  Gossamer went straight to her own room and sat on the bed, staring at her hands. It had been extraordinarily difficult to explain to the child that she, Gossamer, was dead. Gossamer had never before had to explain her situation she realised. People just knew. There were those who’d read of her murder in one of the many news sheets that proliferated in the City, and had then been horrified to meet her strolling down a street. There had been a few, a very few, others who had simply accepted the fact of her death. Waxin Pule, the herb woman Nenat, and Snail the Embalmer had shown her a certain sympathy but then got on with the practicalities of existing as she now must. Explaining to Shea had shaken Gossamer far more than she cared to admit.

  After a lengthy silence, Shea began to talk to Grent of the guard, Jemin. Grent put aside his worries over what serving the Dark Realm might actually involve, and listened closely to Shea’s report. Jemin had told of his childhood in the fortress in the heart of Eagle Mountain, told of being aware from a very early age of his household being constantly alert for infiltrators who intended him harm. His father, Jarvos, managed to visit once or twice each year when he and his court hunted through the lower reaches of Eagle Mountain.

  Jarvos had also written regularly to his son. Only as Jemin neared his eighteenth name day, and Jarvos neared his death, had those letters contained explicit warnings against Veranta. Seola had visited Jemin throughout his youth and had been present when news of Veranta’s accession reached the fortress. She had already discussed this eventuality with Jemin’s devoted and loyal advisors – now the time came for Jemin to choose his future.

  He could remain in the fortress in Eagle Mountain and live as a recluse, suspicious of every stranger, of every gift sent to him from the Citadel. He could dispute Veranta’s accession and raise the disaffected clans against the Imperium. Or he could exile himself in the Dark Realm and allow Kelshan to remain at peace. Jemin chose exile. Over the last fourteen years he had reached the highest standard in armed and unarmed combat, had learned from impartial but highly intelligent tutors, and had been kept informed of events in Kelshan through reports by Seola and several of her colleagues. The Dark Realm never allowed many of its citizens to go into Kelshan, and those that did were under stringent rules of conduct whilst in the Confederacies.

  Shea told Grent a few of the things her mother had done within her own family. She wasn’t shocked, she was fully aware of what her mother was capable of. But she had been surprised to learn that her grandfather Jarvos had three sisters. They had fully approved of the arrogant and bullying ways of their niece. But they had suffered bizarre, and fatal, accidents soon after Mellia’s birth.

  Mellia’s father had been an insipid but very wealthy banker, but he had not survived to learn of his daughter’s birth. Kerris’s father was not known for sure: Jemin told Shea bluntly there were half a dozen possible candidates for that honour.

  ‘And me?’ Shea asked, her voice as steady as she could make it.

  �
��Your father was a member of a delegation sent by the wild clans to Kelshan for parley. As far as is known, he still lives.’

  ‘What is his name?’

  ‘His name is Cawlin and he is of the Weasel Clan.’

  She had never heard of the Weasel Clan. Indeed, she’d not known the clans had separate names, but she determined instantly to discover all she could of the northern people, those of the Weasel Clan in particular.

  Parts of this she related to Grent. He opened his mouth to say something but the sound of the outer door stopped him. The Palace-Keeper appeared in the sitting room.

  ‘I will take you to the First Daughter’s chambers if you’re ready?’

  Gossamer joined them and Jenniah led them along a corridor on the same floor as their rooms for some distance. When they reached the foot of a broad staircase she halted. She gestured up the first curving flight of black steps to where a solitary guard waited.

  ‘On you go. Don’t worry, the First Daughter is such a dear. You have no need to fear her.’

  Gossamer said nothing. A dear? The ruler of the Dark Realm a dear? She feared she was beginning to miss Drengle List’s conversation. They climbed four flights of the curving staircase, a single guard at each landing, until they reached a huge, double-leafed door. Grent stared at it as they approached. He was sure it was wood, a pearly grey such as he’d never seen, but carved with an overlapping scale pattern. Two guards stood in front of this door, their swords drawn, resting point down between their boots. When Gossamer, Shea and Grent came closer, the guards raised their swords, holding the blades upright before their faces in salute.

  The doors were opened from within and Corman stood to one side, gesturing them in. He took them along a passage as wide and high as the great door, until it opened into a large room. At the far end a hearth held a blazing fire, they could feel the heat from where they stood. There were several people in the room, some of whom they’d not yet met, but Waxin Pule and Nenat were there with a woman in the brown robe of a healer. The Librarian Chindar leaned over the back of a chair talking to Seola. But the three new arrivals had seen the slender figure of the woman in a great carved chair drawn close to the fire. The woman was talking to Jemin and another man but now turned to smile at Grent, Gossamer and Shea.

  ‘Come closer, my friends,’ she called, and apologised for the heat as they drew nearer. ‘I feel the cold quite dreadfully but if you sit across from me, that screen will protect you from the worst.’

  They saw a bench opposite the great throne, a screen shielding it from the ferocity of the hearth fire. Once seated all three stared at the woman who inspired such mystery and terror among the people of Kelshan. She wore a black dress, a shawl around her shoulders, and rings on every finger of each hand. Those hands, long and slim, rested on the chair arms and the rings, each bearing a large stone of a different colour, sparked and flashed in the firelight. Gossamer studied the woman closely. She was incredibly old but unmistakeably alive. And while Gossamer had the impression of an unbelievably vast age the woman’s face and body suggested she was still healthy, still fit.

  ‘I am Lerran, First Daughter of Dark.’ Golden eyes, like Corman’s but far more brilliant, studied her guests in turn.

  Lerran rose to her feet and instinctively, Gossamer, Shea and Grent also rose in respect. Lerran was tall and the dress she wore seemed to move around her although no air stirred it. It was of a fine material, as delicate as cobwebs, close fitting except where a ruffle flared from the cuffs.

  ‘I ask that you swear to the Dark, Grent, apprentice to Waxin Pule, before we talk further. Are you able to do this?’

  Grent found himself on his knees with no recollection of how he’d got there. He tried to reply, cleared his throat and tried again. He had never been in the presence of such a person, of such a power.

  ‘I will so swear my lady.’

  ‘And how will you swear, Grent, apprentice to Waxin Pule?’

  Gossamer noticed hands move among those through the room as in ritual gestures, then turned back to watch Grent.

  Grent’s left thumb touched his forehead. ‘I swear with my mind.’ His thumb moved to his lips, ‘I swear with my breath.’ He touched his chest. ‘I swear with my strength.’ His hand reached towards Lerran, palm upwards. ‘I swear with my life.’

  ‘And the Dark accepts you Grent. Accepts your mind, your breath, your strength and your life.’

  Lerran bent slightly to lay the palm of her left hand against Grent’s for a moment. Grent felt a tearing within his mind, not painful, but as though curtains had drawn open and sunlight rushed in. Lerran withdrew her hand and Grent swayed but Jemin moved quickly to help him up and then back onto the bench. Grent understood what had occurred. The First Daughter had somehow released the knowledge Waxin Pule had hidden in his mind over all the years. He felt light headed and confused, rather as if he’d just woken after a fever.

  Shea leaned close. ‘Are you all right Grent?’

  He was touched by the concern in her voice. ‘I’m fine,’ he replied. ‘A little dizzy, probably the heat.’ He found his chin drooping to his chest and his eyes heavy but felt no alarm.

  Lerran sat back on her throne: Gossamer and Shea could not think of such a magnificent seat as a mere chair.

  ‘I must introduce some of my people,’ she smiled at Gossamer. ‘You’ve met Jemin I think.’

  Shea grinned while Gossamer simply nodded.

  ‘Corman of course and my Shield Master and Armourer, Garrol.’

  Gossamer hadn’t noticed him but recognised the man who’d retrieved them from the meadow yesterday.

  ‘This is my Sword Master, Favrian.’

  The tall man beside Lerran’s throne inclined his head. His eyes were nearly the same bright gold as the First Daughter’s.

  ‘My brother Peshan.’ Yet another tall, golden eyed man stepped forward.

  Shea voiced Gossamer’s own thoughts. ‘My word, you all seem very tall.’

  Lerran smiled at the girl but did not reply to her comment. ‘More introductions can come later but now I think Grent should be taken to the infirmary to rest.’

  To Gossamer’s astonishment Waxin Pule got quickly to his feet and came to Grent’s side. She had never seen him move so sprightly. Pule glanced at the First Daughter. ‘I’ll take him myself lady. I’d prefer to stay by him for a while.’

  Lerran nodded. ‘I’m glad you found an apprentice so worthy of your affection Waxin. I do not underestimate the pain of your years away from us.’

  The brown robed healer helped Waxin Pule get a sleepily unsteady Grent to his feet and lead him slowly from the room.

  ‘I think the rest of you may leave but for Seola and Peshan for now. I would like to speak with our two guests.’

  The room gradually emptied and Lerran leaned her head back, closing her eyes. Before Gossamer thought to stop her, Shea had moved to lean against the great throne.

  ‘Are you unwell Lady Lerran? Would you like a drink of water? Or tea perhaps?’

  A man’s laugh came from near a long dark sideboard at the other end of the room. He was pouring a dark red liquid into a goblet.

  ‘Lerran has been ill from the dreams. I think you have experienced the dream of which I speak Lady Shea?’

  ‘Oh Peshan, I am quite recovered, don’t fuss.’ But Lerran accepted the goblet and sipped gratefully.

  Gossamer was startled when Peshan offered her a similar goblet filled with wine.

  ‘But I can’t. .’

  One gold eye closed in a wink. ‘Oh yes you can.’

  Gossamer looked at the drink and wondered, with a hint of panic, if they had embalmers in the Dark Realm who were as skilled and understanding as dear Snail. She sipped cautiously. Oh my. It was slightly warmed and it tasted – well, it tasted utterly wonderful. And she could feel it, going down inside. Her hand shook suddenly. How could she feel any such thing when she didn’t have any insides anymore?

  Peshan was still beside her and he caught h
er hand, steadying it. ‘A healing has begun on you Lady Gossamer,’ he said softly. ‘This is the blood drink of our people. You know I think, that Corman is what you term dead. He drinks this, as most of us do. We will explain more whenever you ask. But for now I will advise you to drink a glass or two of this each day for a while.’

  Twice in one day, Gossamer realised. Twice in one day she had found herself speechless.

  By the time Gossamer and Shea reached their rooms, escorted by Jemin, neither of them were really sure what had been said during their time with the First Daughter. The conversation seemed to twist and jump, from one topic to another. Gossamer found herself wondering just what conclusions Lerran had come to after that apparently casual and inconsequential conversation. To Shea’s disappointment, Jemin couldn’t stay. He had other duties he must attend to, he told her. In fact, he had to collect other members of Lerran’s innermost circle and return with them to her chamber.

  When all were gathered again, Lerran gazed into the flames beside her.

  ‘They are far stronger than they know. And far stronger than we could have dared hope.’

  Seola moved restlessly in her chair. ‘You can’t think of sending the child, Lerran? I understand how Gossamer Tewk may be an asset but surely you won’t risk the child?’

  Lerran turned her gold eyes on Seola. ‘I will risk anything Seola, and anyone, in this cause.’

  Seola’s lips tightened but she said nothing more.

  ‘Have you decided which we should attempt first?’ asked Sword Master Favrian.Lerran shook her head, her thick white hair loosening from its ties and curling over her shoulders. ‘There will be two teams. One for the tormented one, one for the sleepers.’

  Silence reigned as this was considered. Jemin was the first to speak.

  ‘How many to each team and which one will I serve?’

  Lerran laughed. ‘I had already decided you will go Jemin. But you will go to the hurt soul. It will be easier to open a gateway there, and to get you back here if Veranta’s forces move more swiftly than we hope, and we have need of you.’