Draykon (37 page)

Because if the
draykon didn't feel any kinship with the fools who had woken him
up, then they were all in very deep trouble.

Chapter Twenty Five

Llandry couldn't
move. When she tried, the world tilted and fell and she fell with
it. She suffered nausea so intense she could only lie in the damp
moss and clutch her belly, waiting to vomit. The winged
daefly-thing flew into her face, beating at her with its
tissue-paper wings. She ignored it. The pain and nausea seemed a
fitting end to the events of that day. But Devary's face rose in
her mind's eye, fighting against dangerous odds, his attackers
closing in around him. She pictured him bloodied and weak, wounded,
even killed. The image was enough to force her to her knees, then
to her feet.

The world swam
before her eyes and she closed them. She felt wings against her
face again.

'Stop that,' she
muttered. 'I'm up.' She caught the thing carefully in her hands and
opened her eyes. She could focus on it without falling:
good.

'We have to go
back,' she told it, firmly. 'There must be another gate nearby, or
maybe one will open. There've been enough of them
lately.'

The coloured
thing beat against the prison of her fingers, trying to release
itself. She frowned down at it.

'You need a name.
I can't call you “Thing” forever.' She thought for a moment. 'You
can be Prink.'

Prink sank its
sharp proboscis into her thumb. She winced, releasing
it.

'Well, Prink, can
I rely on you to help me?' Prink fluttered away from her,
distracted by a passing insect. Llandry sighed. 'No. I suppose not.
Come on.' She looked around. A twisted replica of the forests of
Glinnery surrounded her completely. She could see nothing but
towering glissenwol, draping vines and moss. At length, she picked
a direction at random. Unfurling her wings, she climbed into the
air, ignoring the pain of overuse in the muscles of her arms and
back. She didn't care if it hurt. She could make much faster
progress on the wing than on foot. She gritted her teeth and flew
on.

She flew until
her back was screaming with pain and her eyes were sore with
staring into the misty skies, searching for the tell-tale ripple in
the air that revealed the presence of a gate. She saw nothing, no
sign of gathering mist or building heat that might suggest she was
drawing close to a gate. Around her the glissenwol rose in unbroken
ranks, so similar to her home that she began to doubt herself. Had
she indeed crossed over at all? Perhaps she was merely confused.
But no: no glissenwol of Glinnery grew to such impossible, regal
heights, nor were they decked with such vividness of colour. The
jade-green sky spiralling with lights was no figment of her
imagination.

She was angling
in circles around the location where she'd come through, intent on
searching every inch of the forest until she found a way back. She
stopped circling when she felt a distant tug, a faint pulse of
energy that drew her irresistibly to her left. She'd never felt
that kind of a pull before, but things were certainly different
here. She followed the sensation, feeling it grow stronger as she
flew.

She landed after
a time and proceeded on foot. Prink fluttered ahead of her,
frequently distracted by the prospect of a fat insect or two. After
a few minutes she passed between two particularly majestic
glissenwol forming a kind of archway over a silent clearing. Here
was where the energy came from: she could feel it filling her body,
pulsing in her bones. But no gate was in evidence. Just what was
it?

Instinct drew her
eyes to the ground. She saw a carpet of moss, blue like the forest
floor at home but twinkling in a way no Glinnish moss had ever
done. She knelt, ignoring the seep of moisture through the fabrics
of her trousers. Running her fingers over the soft, cushiony moss,
she felt the coolness of stone.

She inhaled
sharply. Buried in the mosses were motes of indigo colour, shining
softly silver. She tugged gently at a piece of the stuff and it
came off easily in her hand.

Istore. No doubt
about it.

She could feel
it, a lattice of stone spreading through the ground beneath her. It
felt alive, like some dormant energy struggling to awaken itself.
It stirred in response to her presence, straining towards her like
a flower tilting its petals towards the sun. Llandry felt
instinctively that she held some kind of power over it; that if she
lent it some of her own life and vibrancy, the sleeping vigour that
lay dormant underground would burst forth. The pattern of energy
spread so far around and beneath her that she felt engulfed by it,
tiny and insignificant in comparison to its vastness.

No, not
insignificant. The piece of istore in her hand pulsed in tandem
with its brethren, sending waves of energy through her, sharp and
invigorating. Somehow she held a link to this behemoth. It needed
her.

The thought
terrified her. She jumped to her feet and backed away, spreading
her wings. In another moment she was in the air, hurrying to leave
the clearing and its mysteries behind.

***

Hours later,
Llandry was ready to despair. Her efforts had availed her nothing;
only once had she glimpsed a gate in the distance, and by the time
she had reached it it was gone. For the first time she cursed the
sorcerers of Glinnery for their efficiency; if only they were not
so quick to close up the gates that spiralled out of the air, she
might be home by now. At last she dropped slowly to the ground,
dejected. She'd flown too far, too fast, too hard, and her muscles
were worn out. Perhaps she could rest, just for a little
while.

She sat
carefully, easing her weary muscles into something approaching a
restful posture. She composed herself to sleep a little, hoping to
wake refreshed and ready to resume her search. She closed her eyes,
wishing she had Sigwide to curl his comforting warmth against her.
What had become of him, left behind in Glinnery? She felt a stab of
loss, missing him fiercely. She hadn't been without him since she
was nine years old.

Llandry sighed
and twisted, turning onto her side in the hopes of easing her
muscles. She resented the tear that crept from beneath her closed
lids, feeling it a betrayal of her dignity. A crushing wave of
embarrassment, humiliation and despair filled her, and she only
cried more, wiping her face futilely with her sleeve.

At last the tears
slowed. It occurred to her to wonder if her enemies knew where she
was, whether there would be a renewed pursuit. A flicker of fear
rippled through her at the thought, and all thought of sleep
receded. Sighing, she dragged herself into a sitting
position.

'That's right,
duck. Shouldn't think you could sleep here in all this damp. And
don't you know there are beasts about?'

Llandry sprang to
her feet, heart pounding. A woman stood ten feet away, grey-haired
and a little on the stout side. She was wrapped in layers of
coloured fabrics so bright they competed with the bejewelled glory
of the foliage around her. In fact, with her rumpled features,
bright smile and wispy hair, she resembled some kind of Uppers
blossom herself.

'Who are you?'
Despite the woman's inoffensive appearance, Llandry backed away.
She would trust nobody at present.

'There now, duck,
no need to be afraid o' me. A right dance you've led me, all over
the dunes, like.'

'The dunes?'
Llandry blinked, puzzled. Was the woman mad?

'Well, it won't
look like no dunes now, will it? You're homesick.' She spoke
kindly, but Llandry had no idea what she meant.

'I haven't seen
any dunes,' she said tiredly. 'I've been circling the forest for
hours. Do you know where to find a gate back to
Glinnery?'

The woman shook
her head, advancing slowly. 'I don't think that's the right idea
for you just now, duckie. You're in no state to travel. Your
Grandpa's out looking for you; he'll be glad you're in one piece.
Come along with me, now.'

Llandry backed
away again, confusion deepening into a wisp of fear. 'I don't have
a Grandpa.'

'Course you do,
dear. That's a silly thing to say, isn't it?'

'Who are you?'
Llandry repeated, holding her ground against the woman's
approach.

'I'm your
step-grandmother, or what they call it. But you can call me Mags.'
The woman smiled gently, full of apparent kindness. 'I'm to take
you home, duckie, and not a moment too soon I'd say. You look
bushed. A good meal and a proper bed's what you need.'

Bushed? Llandry
supposed she meant 'tired'. 'I don't have a grandfather,' she
repeated. 'Mamma's father died ten years ago, and Pa's...' She
stopped. 'Pa said his father went through a gate one day and never
came back. He said he was killed up here.'

Mags looked
sincerely surprised. 'Well, isn't that just like men. To think of
that. Years, and him hiding up here like a spider all that time.
I'll be giving him a thorough scolding, you mark my
words.'

Mags didn't look
like she was capable of scolding anybody. 'You... live up
here?'

'Going on twenty
year, now. Twenty years of Middles time, that is, near as I can
tell.'

'Just like
that?'

'It's not too
bad, duck, if you know what you're about. Course, most don't, not
these days. Come along, now, it's not far to the house.' Llandry
watched her, her resolve wavering. Mags had made no move to push
Llandry into anything; certainly she had not tried to attack her.
Then again, the very mildness of her appearance and manner could be
a trick.

'How did you know
I was here?'

'Your Grandpa
brought you through, dear.'

Llandry's head
spun. 'You were watching me?'

'Now, dear, I
think you ought to lie down before you do anything else. You're
looking a bit peaky.' She was close enough now to furrow her
rumpled brow at Llandry's face. 'What's that, tears? Had a bad day?
I've got just the thing. Nice hot food on the stove at home. You
come with me, now.'

Llandry was aware
of her tiredness like a physical burden, threatening to overwhelm
all of her attempts to be wary. She was about to accept Mags' offer
when a new voice spoke from behind her, a low, rather rough male
one. She turned around so fast that she almost lost her
balance.

A man was
approaching through the trees, slowly, using a cane to support
himself. He was aged, but the life in him shone through his bent
frame and shuffling step. He stopped a few feet away from her,
looking into her face intently. He didn't smile.

'Hello, Llandry,
my dear. I've been wanting to meet you since you were
born.'

His hair was pale
grey instead of blonde, and his eyes were hazel rather than blue,
but she knew him nonetheless. The shape of his face, his broad
shoulders, his short nose, heavy brow and thick eyebrows were all
so familiar to her. If he hadn't had the cane - if he was, perhaps,
a few years younger - he would walk with the same controlled power
as his son.

There was no
question at all whose father he was.

'Oh,' said
Llandry, faintly. Her knees trembled. On top of everything else, it
was far too much. The world blurred as more tears leaked into her
eyes. She closed them, welcoming the darkness.

'Mags,' said her
grandfather warningly. Llandry felt Mags' plump arms catch her as
she swayed, but when she opened her eyes again she saw only grey
mist. She submitted gratefully as the mist closed around her and
she lost consciousness.

***

Llandry woke up
under a patched duvet in a small bedroom. She opened her eyes to
see whitewashed walls, exposed wooden beams in the ceiling and rag
rugs on the floor. She sat up, feeling dizzy. Mags instantly
stepped into the room, as if she had been waiting for Llandry to
wake.

'You feel better,
duckie?' She bent to look into Llandry's face. 'Still a bit white,
but you'll perk right up after some breakfast.' She left the room
and returned almost immediately with a tray, setting it in front of
Llandry. She had prepared some fresh bread, serving it with butter,
cheese and fruit. A cup of hot milk steamed next to the plate piled
full of food. Realising her hunger, Llandry ate quickly and well,
feeling rapidly stronger. Mags watched with smiling
approval.

'If you come down
in a minute, lovie, your grandpa's waiting.' Llandry couldn't help
smiling back as Mags collected the tray and departed. She climbed
out of the bed, moving carefully: she still felt weak. She stood
still for a moment, testing her strength, and thankfully her legs
held. She was wearing a voluminous cotton nightdress that she
suspected might belong to Mags. Her own clothes had been pressed
and hung up to air in the wardrobe, and she dressed quickly,
enjoying the feel of fresh-smelling clothes next to her
skin.

But as she
ventured downstairs, her stomach fluttered with nerves and she knew
her old shyness had come upon her again. Her grandfather sat in a
wooden rocking chair near to a homey stone-built fireplace. He had
a patchwork quilt over his legs - was it Mags who made all these
comfortable things? - and a book lay open in his lap. He looked up
as Llandry entered the large, open-plan room. Mags stood at a large
stone sink washing up the breakfast things; she threw Llandry a
quick, encouraging smile before turning back to her
work.