Draykon

by Charlotte E. English

  'I don't see this ocean miraculously disappearing,' Tren murmured against her neck.

  'Doesn't mean it won't, any minute now.'

  'It is not looking hopeful,' he replied. 'Let's make a deal. If it comes to it, you're to eat me for survival first. I have more meat on me.'

  'Raw, is that?'

  'Well, Lady Glostrum, if it's a matter of survival I expect you to make sacrifices.'

  'I'll make you a counter offer. If it comes to it, I'll eat one of your arms for survival, and you may have one of mine. Which would you prefer?'

  He considered for a moment. 'The left one, please. There's a shapeliness to the bicep that's very appealing.'

  'Done. Meanwhile, when the light changes the very first thing we'll do is make a fire. That's a promise.'

  'Great. Here's your chance.'

  Eva opened her eyes. The unsteady green light was indeed fading. They waited in silence as a yellowish glow built in the skies and the ocean began to churn. Eva's makeshift raft dipped and plunged on the choppy waters, and she nearly slid off into the sea; only Tren's grip on her waist prevented her descent. She clung grimly to the edge of the raft, ignoring the bite of the wood into the tender flesh of her hands. In another moment the sea abruptly disappeared. The now bone-dry raft lay marooned atop an expanse of white sand dotted with delicate objects resembling seashells, though Eva didn't think any living creature could conceivably make a home in these highly artistic creations.

  'You mentioned something about a beach?' She tried to sit up, but her frozen limbs refused to obey her. She winced as pain shot through the frigid muscles.

  'So I did,' answered Tren. 'You think it has something to do with this?'

  'No,' Eva replied honestly.

  'Well anyway, next time I'll include a timeframe with my request.'

  Eva tried to push herself to her feet, her frozen muscles screaming in protest. 'You can release me now, Tren.'

  'It's no good, I can't move.'

  'How very defeatist of you.' She unlocked his arms from around her waist and forced herself into a sitting position, biting her lip on a cry of discomfort. Tren rose shakily to his feet and stood over her, swaying. His shirt and trousers were plastered to his body and he wore a length of seaweed in his hair. He looked so dejected, she couldn't help but laugh.

  'What's funny?'

  'We are,' she said, simply. 'Like a pair of half-drowned kittens. Let's make that fire.'

  He extended a hand to her, pulling her up beside him. 'Your ladyship,' he said, with a half-bow that he obviously regretted. Wincing, he went to work on the raft, breaking it into pieces.

  'Poor raft,' said Eva. 'It wasn't exactly a work of art, but somehow I feel responsible for its fate.'

  'It's performed a noble service, and now it shall perform another.' Tren laid the sodden pieces in a circle. Then he collected driftwood and seaweed from the beach - mercifully dry - and piled these up in the centre. Finally he touched a finger to the heap and the wood caught fire. The flood of light dazzled Eva’s eyes until Tren dampened the radiance, after which she sat gratefully beside the little blaze, stretching out her legs and arranging her disgusting, sodden skirts. Tren seated himself to her right, tending to the fire until he had a comfortable blaze going. Eva relished the warmth that washed over her, allowing herself a small sigh of contentment. She opened her sodden satchel, removing the book. Some of the pages had taken a little water, but it was largely in one piece. She laid it open on the sand, weighing the pages down with a couple of the colourful shells.

  Bartel sat as close to the fire as he could without burning himself, panting happily. Eva was amused to see Rikbeek clinging to the dog's back, wings spread out to dry. Neither hound nor gwaystrel seemed to have any objection to the arrangement.

  'Is this the part where I get to study the book?' Tren smiled hopefully.

  'In a minute,' she replied. 'When it's had a chance to dry.'

  'I'll hold you to that, m’lady.' Tren stretched himself out by the fire, holding the sodden fabric of his shirt away from his skin, letting the air pass through it.

  'You know, I wish I'd come down here sooner. There's so much to explore. Studies should be conducted, publications written-'

  'All of that's been done before,' Eva interrupted. 'There's one of them right there.' She waved a hand at the book.

  'I've never seen any research material on the Lowers.'

  'Obviously they aren't left on the public shelves.'

  'Obviously?'

  'What do you think would happen if any of this was publically talked about, documented? There'd be a stampede to see the wondrous Lowers; hundreds of people would be jumping through the rogue gates, people poorly equipped to deal with the dangers down here. Most of them would never come back.'

  Tren frowned. 'People should know, at least. They can make those choices for themselves.'

  She snorted. 'When you're a little older, you'll understand about the essential idiocy of the average human being.'

  'Not that that's in any way patronising.'

  She shrugged. 'Patronising or not, Glour's citizens are alive and well in the Middle Realms. Down here, most of them would perish. Or did you forget the part where I said even I tread very, very carefully in the Lowers these days?'

  'Where are these mythical publications kept?'

  'I can't tell you that.'

  'Oh my, it's a conspiracy,' Tren said, delighted. 'How do you even know?'

  'Because when research teams are sent down here, a couple of summoners with experience of the Lowers are always sent along.'

  'And sorcerers, right?'

  'Right,' she said, warily.

  'Where do I sign up for that job?'

  'It's more that you're signed up for it.'

  'Well, I want to be.'

  'You may well be anyway, once it's known you've spent time down here and survived.'

  Tren sat up, turning his still-damp back to the fire. 'That's not the whole story, though, is it? People come down here pretty regularly. Summoners, herbalists after the plant life, and what about the tales?'

  'What tales?'

  'Tales of the people who go looking for gates because they feel like they need to be down here. The ones who're never seen again in the Seven Realms, and all that.'

  'The fact that they're never seen again seems to bear out the notion that it's a bad idea, doesn't it? As for the others, well. Summoner groups are sent down by the guild to collect examples of approved companion species. That's a regular thing. Other than that, there's a huge market for rare Lowers plants and animals, and as long as that's the case there'll be people who flout the conventions and mount their own expeditions. Some of them are successful, if they know what they're doing.'

  'Some of them aren't?'

  'Mm. People will risk a lot for untold wealth.'

  'Untold wealth? Maybe I'll join that team instead.' Abandoning his efforts to dry his shirt, he shifted until his back was turned to her and stripped it off. For a scholar and a sorcerer, he was in surprisingly good shape.

  'You've gone quiet.' Tren threw her a curious look over his shoulder. To her dismay, Eva actually felt herself blush. That hadn't happened in years.

  'Er, I was just thinking.' Eva busied herself with rearranging her skirts, turning so the wetter parts were nearer the fire. She absolutely wasn't staring at the play of firelight over Tren's marvellously supple back muscles. Not even a little bit. 'All this upheaval. Gates appearing and vanishing, animals going bonkers, the landscape convulsing. It seems to have started when the istore was dug up. But none of it makes any sense.'

  'The timing is interesting,' Tren replied thoughtfully, 'but it doesn't follow that the discovery of the istore is directly causing all of it. Don't forget Ed's mysterious sorcerer and the white-haired witch. And there may be more. They seem to be motivated by the istore, but who knows what they've actually been doing all this time.'

  'True. Besides dragging whurthags out of Ullarn's Lowers territory and
stockpiling istore.'

  'Maybe "Ana" just likes jewellery.'

  'And the tall sorcerer-without-a-face just likes black cats with the eyes of death.'

  'Right. Mystery solved. Now can we go home?'

  She grinned, opening her mouth to retort, but something flickered on the edges of her perception and she caught her breath.

  'Tren,' she said softly. 'There's a whurthag floating about here somewhere.'

  'Floating? That's new.'

  'Now would be a good time to be serious,' she said pointedly. She picked up the book and returned it to her satchel, grateful to find that the leather was nearly dry. Tren was on his feet, staring around at the sand.

  'I'm not seeing any cover, are you?'

  'None whatsoever,' she replied, drawing herself up. A brief word brought the shortig to heel, Rikbeek leaving the dog's back and soaring into the air. 'Tren, it's approaching fast. They, because there are two. This could be our friend coming back.'

  'That's what we came here for,' said Tren grimly. He sighed deeply as he fetched his still-damp shirt and shrugged it back on.

  'Yes, but I thought we agreed that staging an open fight isn't likely to be productive, even with the two of us. We need information, not a twin set of early graves. You need to hide us, fast.'

  'Eva, sorcery isn't made-to-order! There are no Cloaking enchantments I can produce that will do much for us under strong moonlight-'

  'You're meant to be a top sorcerer, Tren, and this is a little bit important! Make something up!' She glanced nervously about, senses on edge, tracking the progress of the two whurthag beasts as they moved inexorably closer. She couldn't physically see them yet, but it wouldn't be long.

  Tren muttered something. She hoped it was something constructive. She ignored him, maintaining her vigilant posture, until he spoke again.

  'How's that?'

  Turning, she saw empty beach. No, not entirely; if she worked at it she could discern a faint outline, a shimmer of movement working against the drift and flow of the pale sand.

  'Good. Hide the animals too, please. This is not the natural environment for a shortig and a gwaystrel.'

  The dog vanished, and Rikbeek's small shape disappeared too. Looking for Tren, she suffered a moment of disorientation. She jumped when his voice spoke right beside her.

  'Best to keep together,' he murmured, gripping her hand. She nodded, forgetting that he couldn't see her. They waited in tense silence, watching for the first sign of the enemy's approach.

  A speck of black on the horizon appeared, growing and spreading into two distinct shapes. Whurthags. Close behind them walked a human figure, tall, shrouded in a thick cloak. He wore the hood down, revealing a head of pale hair; Eva could determine nothing more definite about his appearance. The man was walking at a diagonal angle to them, heading in the direction of the small, sickly yellow-gold moon that hovered low in the sky.

  'Let's follow,' whispered Eva. She and Tren mimicked the slow, measured pace of the sorcerer, keeping him in sight while maintaining a clear distance between themselves and his two brutal companions.

  'I still don't understand this,' Eva whispered. 'Edwae said he was a sorcerer. One with powerful disguise skills. And yet he's manipulating those beasts like they were puppies.'

  'Hmm. Might be possible for him to have someone else cast on him, but I doubt it. Not if it was that good a job. And he stinks of sorcery.'

  'Tren, I think he's a summoner as well. He has to be.'

  'That isn't supposed to be possible. Couldn't a summoner bind the whurthags to him?'

  'No,' she said, bluntly. 'Weaker beasts, yes. Not those.'

  'That's a problem.'

  'Definitely, because if I can sense those whurthags from a distance, he should be able to sense my companions too.' She halted, letting the sorcerer-summoner gain a greater lead.

  'It doesn't look like he has.'

  'He probably isn't trying. He isn't disguised, either. I don't suppose he's expecting to meet anyone down here.'

  She broke off, staring. The man and his whurthag companions had disappeared.

  'Where did they go?'

  'No idea,' breathed Tren. 'Come on.' He strode towards the place they'd last seen the sorcerer. She had to half-run to keep up with his long stride. Reaching out with her summoner senses, she found nothing.

  No! There was a presence, weak and irregular, moving away from them. It was coming from below ground level.

  'There,' said Tren, stopping suddenly. Embedded in the white sand before them was a round door without a handle.

  'He's down there,' muttered Eva. 'I can feel those beasts moving away downwards.' Tren crouched down to the door, still retaining his grip on her hand. She was obliged to join him in the sand.

  'Tren, this actually makes perfect sense. I was thinking, how could you live down here with the landscape so unstable? Maybe it's possible to maintain an essential structure of some sort beneath ground level, where the moon doesn't shine.'

  'All well and good,' replied Tren, abandoning his attempts at the door, 'But how do we proceed from here? I can't get this open. It's securely locked and warded.'

  'We're running out of time to try it; the moon's changing.'

  Tren swore softly. 'We're so close!'

  'We've learned something very important. Unhide us, quickly. I don't want to lose you if we're dumped in another ocean.'

  'Let's hope for anything but.' Tren's lanky figure abruptly appeared, dark against the shimmering sand. Glancing down, Eva was reassured to be greeted with the sight of her own hands, solid again. The rest of her soon melted into existence.

  'Keep hold of me,' she instructed. He nodded, moving close and tightening his fingers around hers.

  The yellow light developed overtones of red, and Eva thought for a moment that the forest was returning again. But the hue brightened and paled, until it was undeniably not red.

  'Pink,' muttered Tren.

  'Looks that way,' she agreed, with a small smile at Tren's dismay. The soft white sand of the beach vanished. She found herself suddenly up to her waist in tall, flourishing grasses, flanked by feathery shrubs on all sides. The night-darkened sky gained a decided rosy glow, and the heady, even cloying scents of flowers assaulted her nostrils. Soft wings brushed past her face and something light and delicate settled in her hair.

  'You cannot be serious.' Tren stared in complete disgust at the beautiful daefly meadow, abundantly decked with pink-and-purple flowers. The gentle buzzing of lazy insects mingled with the distant sound of bright, tinkling bells. All that was missing, Eva thought with amusement, was a fragrant, beribboned boudoir equipped with a fountain.

  'Don't you like my garden?'

  Eva spun around. A woman stood a few feet away, wearing several colourful daeflies like jewellery. She smiled at Eva's obvious shock, her pale face satisfied, even smug. Her hair was bright white like Eva's. There could be no doubting this woman's identity.

  They had found Ana.

  Chapter Twenty One

  Panicked, Llandry knew she was losing the fight. Her attacker was strong, and he lifted her easily from the ground. Her arms were held fast in an iron grip and kicking proved futile. She took a breath, trying to calm her mind.

  Think, she admonished herself.

  She opened her wings, fast and with full force. A voice muttered a startled oath - a male voice, she noticed peripherally - and the grip on her body loosened. She struggled anew, twisting sinuously in the arms of her captor. Her diminutive size and lithe figure saved her: holding her captive became as difficult as restraining a cat. She slid out of the man's grasp and fell to the floor. She was up in an instant and aloft, her wings carrying her above the tree cover.

  Llandry flew fast and hard towards the food garden, landing amid the tables of the rooftop diners. She ran for the stairs, ignoring the exclamations and protests of the customers as her spread wings and tattered, flying cloak knocked dishes and glasses asunder.

  Devary stood up as s
he approached, his face registering alarm. 'Llandry? What happened?'

  'I went to the garden over there. Someone seized me. A man.'

  'Stay here.' Devary darted through the archway and ran for the trees. Llandry was momentarily tempted to follow him, but she reconsidered: her presence had already caused trouble. Instead she resumed her seat, adjusting her dishevelled hair and clothing as best she could.

  Indren Druaster was staring at her with none of her customary superiority.

  'Gracious,' she said faintly. 'I admit, I thought Mr. Kant exaggerated the danger that follows this trinket around.' Llandry ignored her, sitting in silence while Devary was gone, breathing deeply to calm her shakes.

  'They appear to be gone,' said Devary at last, approaching from behind her. 'But we should leave, now.'

  The return journey passed in a blur, conducted at a considerably faster pace than the journey out. Llandry rested her head against the cushions and closed her eyes, trying to still the whirling of her thoughts. Her hand was taken and held, gently and tenderly; she opened her eyes and turned her head, surprised. Devary's face was filled with concern, and the smile he offered her was half-hearted.

  'Poor Llandry,' he murmured.

  'I'm all right,' she said, suddenly uncomfortable. He nodded and opened his mouth to speak again, but he was interrupted by the carriage slowing to a quick, jolting stop. He jumped up instantly and opened the door. Llandry saw that the vehicle had pulled up barely a few feet away from the door to the Silver Harp. Devary handed her down and ushered her into the porch.

  'Wait here a moment. Pull up your hood,' he instructed in a murmur. Puzzled, she obeyed, instinctively drawing the remains of her dark cloak over her clothes. He nodded approvingly.

  'I'm not leaving you here tonight; it isn't safe, even with a guard. But it must appear that you returned here.' He spoke in a low whisper, and she had to lean towards him to hear the words.