The Aware (The Isles of Glory Book 1)

by Larke, Glenda

  ‘Blaze, what is it?’

  ‘Niamor’s dead. The dunmagicker got to him.’ I turned to Duthrick. ‘Niamor was the friend I spoke of. I think he found out who it is we’re after, though. It’s—’

  Duthrick raised a hand to stop me. ‘Let’s have this conversation in private, Blaze.’

  I looked around at the others. ‘No. Why? Flame and Noviss have both suffered at the hands of this man, and Tor is a friend of mine.’ To my surprise, it was Tor that Duthrick was looking at. I had thought it must have been Ransom who had upset the Keeper, now I realised my mistake, it was Tor that Duthrick objected to—even hated. Something had happened between them that had changed Duthrick’s initial indifference at their first meeting on the ship to an intense dislike and mistrust now. I shrugged and continued. ‘It is Janko the waiter who’s the dunmaster.’

  Ransom digested that, then looked appalled. For a moment I thought he was going to faint. Tor frowned, Flame stared, Duthrick looked bewildered. ‘Do you mean the deformed potboy downstairs?’ he asked. I nodded. He shook his head. ‘How can that be? I don’t have your abilities, Blaze, but surely that crippling of his is the result of a dunmagic spell. It doesn’t look natural. No dunmagicker would allow himself to be so deformed, least of all one as powerful as this. And I can’t believe it’s just another one of his dunspelled disguises. And you’d see through that anyway.’

  I shook my head. ‘No, it’s not a disguise. That’s his real self, for the moment anyhow. I rather think he fell victim to his own magic. Sometime in the past, he raised a spell of such power that he was unable to control it—part of it whipped back on himself. He was turned into a twisted deformity, far worse than what we see now, and he was left powerless. All he could do was wait. Time restores power to its normal levels, as you well know. I suspect that he has had to wait decades. Now, however, he is recovering his power quite fast and is using part of it to restore his body; in the time I have been here his left foot has straightened and his dunmagic is noticeably stronger.’ I sighed. ‘I always did smell dunmagic on him; I just thought it wasn’t his. My Awareness didn’t let me down after all; I just jumped to the wrong conclusions.’

  While I was speaking, Ruarth, ever on the window sill, had been doing a fine imitation of an agitated hen, hopping from foot to foot and flapping his wings, chattering all the while. Duthrick ignored him; I doubt that he even noticed the bird. Even so, I stepped across so that I blocked his view of Ruarth and I gave Flame a signal behind my back, hoping she would guess that I wanted her to shut the wretched Dustel up.

  Flame hastily translated the essence of what I guessed was exciting Ruarth so much. ‘Morthred the Mad perhaps—’

  ‘Oh, beach pebbles!’ Duthrick interrupted, mocking. ‘Morthred’s been dead a hundred years.’

  ‘I’ve heard skilled dunmasters can be very long-lived,’ I said mildly. I had come around to Ruarth’s way of thinking as far as Morthred being alive and well was concerned. ‘That dunmagicker I killed in Porth—there were people of eighty living there who swore he’d been old when they were toddlers. And there is—’ I broke off and stiffened. I looked automatically at Tor to find he was looking at me, alarmed. Ruarth was poised on the sill, head raised, as if listening. Three Awarefolk, and we’d all smelled and felt the same thing.

  Ransom was the first of the others to realise something was wrong. His eyes widened and his head swung up like a frightened seal pup’s. ‘What is it? What’s wrong?’

  ‘Dunmagic,’ Tor said tersely. ‘Our friend is very close. He just let lose a spell.’

  Ransom began to shake.

  Duthrick acted. Fast. He had the room warded in a flash; four pillars of light undulated in the corners like silver sea-snakes and power flowed between them to form walls of light. Poor Ransom couldn’t see any of it; not knowing we were protected, he continued to tremble. As it turned out, he was the wisest among us: we were far from protected.

  Ruby magic met silver-blue head on. Ruarth, Tor and I could see the dunmagic as a ball of dull red, its potency veiled, just as dying embers conceal their power to burn; Duthrick saw only that the sylv wall shivered and then began to crack; Ransom and Flame saw nothing except our horrified faces, although I’m sure Flame must have known enough about sylvmagic to realise what Duthrick had done.

  The crack spread, shooting out in all directions like explosive ruptures in sheet ice, then the wards shattered with the inrush of unbridled power. That, even Ransom felt. The room was filled with wind, Ruarth was blown right out of the open window and everything loose went flying. Air was sucked out of my lungs and I found myself gasping and in pain as I dragged in a breath.

  By the time we had all recovered from the blast of sylvmagic, the red ball was in the centre of the room, hovering between Duthrick and Ransom. The stench curled my toes.

  Duthrick looked at me. His golden skin was suddenly an unhealthy sallow shade. ‘Where is it?’

  ‘About an arm’s length to your right, at waist height,’ Tor drawled. ‘I wouldn’t move if I were you.’

  Nobody budged. The seconds dragged. I felt mesmerised, unable to drag my eyes away from the floating sphere. Even though it could hardly threaten me, I was afraid of its malevolence and I ached for Flame. What must she have been feeling?

  ‘Is it directed at me?’ she asked, and her voice was steady enough. I noticed, though, that sweat shimmered the skin at the sides of her eyes and that the hair in front of her ears curled wetly. ‘Could he have sensed that I am no longer suffering from his spell of subversion and sent another?’

  ‘It’s not likely,’ Duthrick replied. ‘I doubt he knows you have rid yourself of his spell.’

  She wasn’t reassured. ‘Then who?’

  ‘Well, it’s not for Blaze,’ Tor said calmly, his voice soft, ‘that’s obvious. It could be for me, as Janko may not know I have Awareness, but then I doubt that he knows I’m here in this room. Which leaves Noviss and Duthrick. There’s always a good possibility Noviss would be in your room, Flame, as I’m sure all the inn’s servants know, so it could well be aimed at him. Presumably Janko knows Duthrick is here somewhere because he came in through the taproom.’ He looked at the Keeper. ‘Or did you conceal your entry with a spell?’

  Duthrick shook his head regretfully.

  ‘What—what will it do?’ Ransom stammered. He was staring around wildly, trying to see what was not visible to him. Nobody answered for the simple reason that nobody knew.

  Duthrick, to do him justice, was now icily contained. Those violet eyes of his were flatly unemotional. He was also busy, warding just himself this time. Strands of silver wrapped around him until he was encased in a glowing cocoon. A moment later he conjured up another spell, aimed at blurring his outline at the same time as giving reality to illusory versions of himself. There were suddenly six Duthricks in the room, all clearly visible to everyone. It was perfectly obvious to Tor and I which was the real Duthrick, of course, because we could see the spells that made the illusions as well as the illusions themselves. I looked across at Flame, but she shook her head to indicate that she was too weak to try any warding of herself.

  ‘I doubt whether that will do much good, Syr-sylv,’ Tor said, and his voice quivered with amusement. Then before any of us could stop him, he stepped forward and plunged his hand into the middle of the red ball of light. He winced as he touched it, there was a wave of putrefaction, and the ball disintegrated in a myriad of red wisps, none strong enough to do much damage alone. But still the smell continued to burn away at my nasal passages; it was hard to believe at times like this that the unAware could not smell dunmagic.

  My laconic, ‘It’s gone,’ was a cover for the stomach-churning fear that Tor’s action had only managed to increase.

  ‘There’s no need,’ Tor added, as Duthrick and Flame started to look around to see if they could see any damage resulting from dunmagic attack. ‘It has dissipated. There was no specific ill intent there. And I can’t smell magic outside any more ei
ther.’

  ‘What the bloody hell is he up to, then?’ Flame asked, her face regaining its colour.

  Ransom’s eyes widened; evidently he had never heard her swear before and he didn’t like it.

  ‘He’s toying with us all,’ Tor said. ‘He enjoyed that. He wants us to know he can have any of us any time he wants us, the Syr-sylv included.’

  Ransom went as white as wave tops in the wind. ‘God help me.’ Then he changed. He drew himself up to his not inconsiderable height and turned to Duthrick. The transformation from a confused and frightened youth to regal Holdheir was startling. ‘Syr-sylv,’ he said, ‘my name is not Noviss as you have been led to believe. I am Ransom Holswood, Bethany Holdheir.’ Flame’s head jerked up in surprise, which surprised me in turn. Evidently, for all that she knew he was noble, he had not told her just how royal. ‘I ask protection of you and your ship for myself and for Syr-sylv Flame Windrider of Cirkase.’

  Windrider? I raised a quizzical eyebrow at Flame when I heard the name, and she returned a defiant look. My heart grieved to think how much pain she was storing up for herself there. As they say in the Spatts about unlikely couplings, ‘When you marry the wind to the clouds, you should expect it to rain.’

  Ransom continued, ‘I wish to return to the Bethany Isles as soon as possible on board your vessel. I believe my father will reimburse you handsomely.’

  Duthrick’s eyebrows had also shot up. He obviously hadn’t known Ransom’s identity either. He looked at me. ‘Is this true, Blaze?’

  It was a compliment, I suppose, his assumption that I would have known. I shrugged. ‘I believe so.’

  Now it was Ransom’s turn to look astonished. ‘How did you know?’

  He knew I had searched his room—Ruarth had told Flame, and Flame had told him—yet it had never occurred to him that I might have seen the flyleaf of his breviary. I smiled at him, but didn’t explain.

  ‘Blaze,’ said Duthrick, ‘makes a point of knowing things. However, young man, last I heard, Bethany Isles had no Holdheir.’

  Ransom flushed. ‘I am certain that the rift between my father and me will be healed as soon as I return.’

  Duthrick bowed politely. There was a touch of irony in his next words, indicating he had also heard about the Holdlord’s ire, but I doubt if Ransom caught it. ‘Ah well, in that case, I will be delighted to return you to Bethanyhold, as soon as possible. However, we do have business in Gorthan Spit that may take some days to complete. You are welcome on board the Keeper Fair in the meantime. As I am sure you know, it will be impossible for us to sail out for several days anyway; the currents and winds and tides do not allow it.’

  ‘And Syr-sylv Flame?’

  Duthrick turned towards the bed. ‘I have helped her healing at considerable inconvenience to myself. If she wishes any other service from me, then she knows what to do to obtain it.’

  For a moment Ransom struggled with himself, torn between seeking sanctuary with the Keepers, or staying with Flame whose power was obviously insufficient to protect him. Flame, bless her kind heart, made it easy for him. I wouldn’t have. ‘Go, Noviss, um, Syr-holdheir,’ she said. ‘I would rest easier if I didn’t have your safety to worry about too.’

  There ensued a short argument, with her saying go and him saying no I can’t leave you like this, an argument which Flame of course won. Then there was a tearful goodbye (from Ransom) and a much more prosaic farewell (from Flame) followed by a passionate kiss (bestowed by Ransom, received matter-of-factly by Flame). I would have clobbered him.

  I turned to look at Ruarth, now back on the window sill. He was preening his feathers and apparently taking no notice, but I wondered.

  Duthrick’s parting shot was addressed to Flame. ‘You know what you have to do to receive Keeper protection.’ He nodded to me and ushered Ransom out.

  ‘Hmph,’ said Tor, scathing. ‘As if his protection is so wonderful! Janko could make fish chowder out of Duthrick’s spells.’

  ‘What,’ I asked him, ‘did you do to upset the Councillor?’

  He looked injured. ‘Me? I was perfectly polite!’

  Flame grinned. ‘Duthrick didn’t want Tor or Noviss in the room, so, not knowing Tor had Awareness, he tried to remove them with sylvmagic. Tor stopped him and told him what he could do with his spells. I’d never heard that expression before, but it was quite graphic. Something about using them in a way that would ensure constipation, wasn’t it, Tor?’

  ‘Something along those lines. I can’t say I like the man. He has the hide of a leatherback turtle and about as much compassion. He doesn’t like Awarefolk, Blaze.’

  I shrugged. ‘What Keeper sylv does? Tor, where do we go from here?’

  It was his turn to shrug. ‘My baby’s been sort of removed from my jurisdiction. I’ll just wait around and see what happens next, I think. I suppose we can hope that Duthrick will deal with Janko; with all the other Keeper sylvs behind him he may manage something. Why don’t I bring some bedding in here, and then you and I can take it in turns to keep a watch on Flame while the other sleeps?’ He looked at Flame apologetically. ‘Not that we’d be able to do much if Janko decided to harm you again, I suppose.’

  ‘He must know just about all there is to know about us,’ I said gloomily, ‘seeing we’ve all been living right under his nose since we arrived in Gorthan Spit.’

  ‘Well, let’s hope he doesn’t know about the amputation yet,’ Tor remarked as he left the room to get the bedding.

  I went to sit by Flame and took her hand.

  She said, ‘I’ve no right to involve you at all. Either of you.’

  I ignored that. ‘How are you really?’

  ‘Weak, but recovering.’ She looked at her stump. ‘I can feel it, you know. It’s as though my arm is still there. I can move the fingers—everything. I have to keep looking at it to convince myself that it’s really gone.’ She gave a small heartrending laugh. ‘I’ll be able to make a new one with sylvmagic, you know. Then only you Awarefolk will know it’s not real.’

  Us Awarefolk—and her. You couldn’t hold anything, or feel anything with a sylvmagic replacement. Sylvmagic illusions were just that—illusions. It has always puzzled me, though, how other people could be so completely fooled by them, to the extent of being able to touch and feel what wasn’t there.

  I changed the subject. ‘Flame, about Ruarth—be very careful to conceal your friendship. Especially from Keepers. It could be used against you,’ I added vaguely.

  Fortunately, Tor returned before she could ask what I meant. He laid the bedding on the floor and smiled at me. ‘Who’s first for sleep?’

  ‘Me. I’m—’ But I had no words to describe how I felt.

  He reached out and touched my cheek. ‘I’m sorry about Niamor. Do you want to talk about it?’

  I shook my head. ‘Never. Not ever.’ And I turned away from the comfort he offered.

  SIXTEEN

  Nothing more happened that night, except that I had enough bad dreams to supply a storyteller with a lifetime of horror tales. When I awoke to take over the watch, roused by my own nightmares, I didn’t feel rested. Fortunately Flame seemed to have slept well in the first part of the night, and she only woke up again just before sunrise. I fetched her a glass of water and as she didn’t seem to want to go back to sleep, we chatted for a while. She was uncomfortable, but there was no sign of fever, and what was left of Garrowyn’s medication kept the pain to manageable levels.

  As she seemed inclined to talk, I asked her about her life in Cirkasecastle. At first, she was evasive, but I persisted and she eventually opened up. ‘You’ve been to Cirkasecastle,’ she said, ‘you’ve seen how people live there. But maybe you don’t know why the nobles live in the inner castle, right under the nose of the Castlelord? Because they live where the Castlelord says—and he prefers his nobles to be where he can keep an eye on them. Of course, they can go to their country estates in the summer, when the Cirkasecastle gets noisome and the summerfever starts up, but
for the rest of the year, everyone lives right there within the castle walls. And everyone has a titular appointment: Keeper of the Seal, perhaps, or Mistress of the Chambermaids. You can refuse to conform, of course—but your country estate will be confiscated, and your appointment given to someone else, along with its income, and there’s nothing you’ll be able to do about it.

  ‘And so aristocratic families stay in the inner castle. Every day, the men report to the Castlelord, the women to his consort, and they decide what everyone is going to do that day. Go hunting in the country perhaps, or play one of the court games. The men might choose to go down into the city proper to carouse in the inns; the women may call their dressmakers or practise their dances. If there’s someone the Castlelord doesn’t particularly like, then he’ll give them some work to do: supervise the collection of taxes, perhaps, or preside over the legal courts. And everyone is so scared of losing their position, of losing their income, they jump to his bidding. Even the children are caught up in the politics of it: “No, dear, you can’t play with Nasko today; that wouldn’t be wise. The Castlelord doesn’t like his father any more.”’

  She shuddered. ‘You know what the worst thing is? Growing up thinking that all that is normal. That it’s a good way to live. I would have accepted it all, been just as shallow as everyone else, just as cowered—if it hadn’t been for Ruarth and his family.’ She glanced at the foot of the bed, where the Dustel slept, head tucked under his wing. ‘The Dustels of Cirkasecastle, they taught me that there was another world out there, where things were done differently. And that it was a better place.’

  I had to ask, of course: I’d spent an inordinate amount of time pondering about just how a young girl started talking to a bird. ‘Tell me how you and Ruarth—’ I began.

  She laughed softly. ‘To understand that, you have to understand the kind of life I had. I spent a lot of time in my personal rooms… Children don’t mix with the adults in noble households, except for servants and dancemasters, fencing teachers and protocol tutors and such. They don’t even see their own parents except in formal settings; in our family it was one dinner a week. I didn’t see other children much either. There was an enormously complicated protocol involved when one noble child went to visit another, so those who looked after me couldn’t be bothered with it. The result was I spent a lot of time alone in my own rooms.