Draykon (31 page)

'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 she 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.

'Where am I to
go?'

'I shall keep you
with me. Now, back we go. Keep close to me. Under my cloak, now.'
He held open the folds of his own voluminous cloak, and she tucked
herself under its shadow. A few steps, cumbersome in this peculiar
arrangement, and she was back inside the carriage with Devary
beside her.

Devary's dwelling
was only a few minutes from the Harp. Llandry was relieved to see
that Indren returned the wrapped pendant to Devary before he
alighted. He turned as if to address a last few words to Indren,
and Llandry slipped down, back into the enveloping folds of his
cloak. She had time only to address a brief word of thanks to
Indren, but she received in response a far kinder smile than the
lady had offered her before. Then she was through a tall archway
and a door was closing behind her, blocking out the sound of the
carriage drawing away.

Devary bade her
remain where she was and disappeared into the house. She stood, her
discomfort rising, trying uselessly to neaten her disordered hair.
She heard the sounds of curtains being drawn and shutters closing,
then lights twinkled into life somewhere ahead of her. In another
moment Devary reappeared.

'Come inside,' he
said, lightly taking her arm and guiding her to a chair. 'Here. You
need a drink.' He handed her a handsome glass full of dark liquid.
She sipped and tasted wine, strong and sweet.

'Thank you,' she
said gratefully, relishing the gently soothing sensation generated
by the contents of her glass.

'I must speak
with your guard,' he said. 'They had orders to remain near
throughout the evening, yet you were almost taken. I saw one of
them at the Harp just now. Why are they waiting there when you were
elsewhere? This alarms me.'

'All right.' She
hesitated. Her near escape was vivid in her memory, and she was
reluctant to be left alone. She watched anxiously as he moved about
the room, collecting - to her alarm - a pair of knives and slipping
them into sheathes on his belt and boots. She wanted to ask him to
stay, or to take her along, but her pride objected and she remained
silent.