Lokant (19 page)

‘You
escaped
from Krays.’ Indren’s voice was heavy with disbelief.

‘No,’ he said quietly.
‘I think not, in the end. He was using me as bait; he guessed I
would go straight to Llandry, or that she would come to me. I
imagine I was permitted to escape.’

Indren pondered that.
‘Dev, you should know something about Krays. We’ve never been
ordered to study the draykon bone or Llandry’s transformation; all
of our resources have been diverted into the genealogy project. I
get the impression that Krays knows exactly what is going on, and
that suggests that Llandry’s peculiarities have more to do with her
genealogy than anything else.’

Devary nodded. ‘Are
there others?’

‘Like Krays? Yes. I
don’t usually deal with him. There’s a woman too, or there was; she
hasn’t been seen in a while. I knew her as Ana. She was usually the
person who gave me my orders for the department.’

That name struck a
chord somewhere in Devary’s memory. Ynara had spoken of a woman
with that name; she was the white-haired summoner who had brought
back the draykon. Could it be the same person?

‘Describe her?’

‘She’s a white-hair.
Like Krays, only more colour about her. Arrogant manner.’

Devary couldn’t help
smiling inwardly at this. He knew that many people found Indren
herself insufferably superior. ‘Thank you, Indren,’ he said
seriously. ‘I appreciate it. And please, don’t share anything with
Krays that you don’t have to. Llandry’s safety may depend on it -
and others, if your project is successful.’

Indren bit her lip. ‘I
fear it must be, in time. I don’t like it, but what can I do? You
can’t say no to Krays.’

No; one couldn’t refuse
Krays anything. ‘Just drag it out as long as you can. And,
if
you can without endangering yourself, get word to me
about anything else you discover. I’ll keep you informed as
well.’

‘Oh? What is it that
you’re up to next? If you’re tracered you won’t get far.’

‘Tracered. What exactly
do you mean by that? And what did you mean by “promoted”? The way
you said it, it didn’t sound like a good thing.’

She gave a bitter
little laugh. ‘It isn’t. I’m a promoted official. I was thrilled
until I realised that I’d become fiercely entangled with the likes
of Krays. Suddenly I couldn’t avoid the white-hairs; they always
found me, wherever I was. They would appear without notice at any
time. Eventually I learned about the tracers. It’s a device of some
kind, embedded somewhere in the body. I don’t know any more about
it than that, but once you’re tracered you’re marked forever. I
suppose it’s a compliment, in a twisted way. They must have found
me useful.’

Devary was silent. He
knew why he was useful: he was a direct link to Llandry. This
tracer device must have been installed while he lay unconscious in
Krays’s world.

‘There’s no way to
remove it?’

‘Not that I’ve ever
heard about. I don’t even know where it is.’ She looked down at her
own body as she spoke, as if hoping to spot it.

Devary resisted the
impulse to mimic her gesture. His skin crawled at the notion that
his own body harboured a little traitor that reported his
whereabouts to his enemy.

‘To answer your earlier
question,’ he said instead, ‘I’ve got to find a way to help Llan. I
need to know who Ana and Krays are - more importantly,
what
they are. And I need to know why they want Llandry.’

Indren was about to
reply, but her mouth closed as they rounded a corner and almost
bumped into another walker. An elderly man was strolling placidly
across the grass, his hands clasped behind his back. He nodded
politely to Indren and Devary and smiled. His pale blue eyes were
friendly.

‘Morning,’ he said in a
gentle tone. Devary tipped his hat in response, but Indren made no
reply at all.

‘It’s time to get back
to my desk,’ she said to Devary. She grabbed his arm and hustled
him inside, leaving the old man alone in the garden.

Later, Devary stood in
the middle of one of the university’s smallest research libraries,
grateful to find it empty and silent.

I can show you my
research notes,
Indren had said.
Or rather I can tell you
where to find them for yourself. You’ll have to be quick, and very
careful.

Following her
instructions, he stood in the centre of the room and turned his
body towards the north corner. The sorcerer-warded door was
supposed to be somewhere here, with a five-hundred-year-old map of
the Seven Realms covering part of the adjacent wall. Finding the
map, Devary paused, scanning for any sign of a portal.

There was none. The
wall beneath the map was featureless and unremarkable, with no sign
of any mechanism. It was a good illusion.

Devary followed
Indren’s instructions, placing his fingers just under the aged and
wrinkled paper of the map and running them downwards. His first
attempt found nothing, but on the second he detected a notch in the
smoothness. Feeling his way carefully, he slipped the key into the
tiny keyhole and turned it. The door opened under his hands, though
he couldn’t see it: the wall remained apparently intact. Steeling
himself, he walked through, closing and locking the hidden door
again behind himself.

The chamber beyond the
door was larger than he might have expected. It was empty, but
several desks stood ready to accommodate researchers. The bookcases
lining the walls were all locked, but Indren had provided him with
another key for that purpose. He located the one she had described
to him and opened it up.

Inside was the bulk of
her genealogy research. It was Llandry’s records he was most
interested in, and it took him several long minutes to find them in
the stacks of papers. He found that Indren had been drawing a
chart, beginning with Llandry’s name at the top and the names of
her parents underneath. The tree was already complex, covering
several sheets of paper with the details of Llandry’s ancestors.
Most of the names were highlighted in blue or purple: Indren had
explained that blue indicated a summoner and purple denoted a
sorcerer. Llandry was descended from an enormous number of
summoners, it was clear, with more than a few sorcerers in her
family tree as well. No wonder she had so much raw summoning
ability.

How common was it to
have so many practitioners in the family? He wondered how many of
the current day’s most powerful sorcs and summoners could boast
such an impressive pedigree. But did it relate to her draykon shape
shifting? If so, how? There were many very powerful practitioners
across the realms who had not discovered any such latent ability as
Llandry’s. Sheer force of power couldn’t be the answer.

Indren’s findings
stopped eight generations back on the Glinnery side of Llandry’s
family and four generations back on the Irbellian side. She’d told
him that the research was incomplete; she had agents digging for
more information from within Glinnery and Irbel, but it took time.
She had promised to keep him informed, and he hoped she would.

He noticed one name on
the tree that was heavily starred: Orillin Vanse, apparently a
distant cousin of Llandry’s. He shared many common ancestors with
her, and where the trees diverged Orillin’s showed similar
characteristics. His parents were both Glinnish and both summoners,
and he had a sorcerer grandfather.

Intrigued, Devary
searched through Indren’s papers and found a separate file on
Orillin. The boy was currently nineteen years old, and enrolled as
a student at the Summoner Academy of Waeverleyne. Indren had
written notes in her own hand:
Model student. Year’s most
powerful.

Looking at Vanse’s
profile, Devary felt a sense of foreboding. The boy had so much in
common with Llandry, he would certainly attract Krays’s notice as
soon as Indren submitted her report. The boy had to be protected,
but he had no time to divert back to Glinnery himself.

A gentle voice
interrupted Devary’s reverie. ‘Good morning again, young man.’

The elderly gentleman
they had passed in the gardens stood a few feet away. Devary
started, astonished. He hadn’t heard the door open, and Indren
hadn’t behaved as if she knew this man. Did someone else keep keys
to Indren’s private library?

‘Morning,’ he said
warily, straightening up. He hadn’t been addressed as “young man”
in many years, but compared to this man perhaps he was indeed. The
newcomer looked at least eighty, though his age didn’t appear to
hinder his mobility at all. He sat easily at one of the desks,
though his gaze didn’t move from Devary’s face.

‘Can I help with
something?’ The man smiled again as he said it, though the
expression didn’t make Devary feel any more at ease.

‘Ah... I don’t know.
Who are you, if you don’t mind my asking? I wasn’t expecting to
meet anyone here.’

‘Just a fellow
scholar,’ the man replied. ‘My name is Limbane.’ The man stood up
and bowed. ‘Whom do I have the honour of addressing?’

His courtesy was
charming in spite of Devary’s unease. ‘Devary Kant,’ he replied
with an answering bow. ‘A colleague of Professor Druaster.’

‘I see.’ Limbane looked
at him for a moment, his eyes narrowing. ‘I am quite familiar with
this library,’ he offered. ‘Perhaps I could assist you with your
research.’

‘I’m finding my way
around, thank you,’ Devary demurred. Limbane may seem friendly, but
he hadn’t given his last name and he hadn’t explained what he was
doing there.

‘You’re one of Krays’s,
aren’t you?’ Limbane sat down again and rested his aged hands on
the desktop.

Devary’s wariness
increased. ‘You know Krays?’

‘Better than I’d like
to,’ Limbane replied dryly. ‘Tell me, are you a willing assistant
or a coerced one?’

‘Um... I haven’t been
working with him for very long,’ Devary stalled. He wasn’t sure how
much he could say to this man. Was he an associate of Krays’s?

‘Coerced,’ Limbane
concluded. ‘I disagree with his style, personally. People work
poorly under coercion. It’s a clumsy way to accomplish anything
useful.’ His smile was back. ‘That’s apart from its being morally
questionable, of course.’

Devary stared.

‘I do not number Krays
among my colleagues,’ Limbane said. ‘To my relief. You may set your
mind at rest on that score: I am not here for him.’

‘Then why are you
here?’

‘I came to meet the
young man who is championing the cause of that most interesting
young lady, Llandry Sanfaer.’

‘You know Llandry?’

‘I know of her. We have
not yet been introduced. But when I asked myself the question of
where to find that elusive young person, I came to the same
conclusion as Krays has apparently done.’

‘I don’t know where she
is,’ Devary said quickly.

Limbane nodded. ‘Good,
I do approve of loyalty. You need not fear, however; I do not wish
to capture or hurt your young friend. On the contrary, she is in
grave need of assistance and it is time she was offered some.’

Devary shook his head,
backing away. ‘How can I trust your word? As far as I’m concerned,
anybody connected to Krays is dangerous. Besides, I speak the
truth: I do not know where she is. I made sure that I would
not.’

Limbane’s pale blue
gaze sharpened. ‘Ah,’ he said after a moment. ‘A tracer.’

‘What do you know of
the tracers?’

‘It is certainly an
inconvenient device to be carting about,’ said Limbane cheerfully.
‘I may be able to help you as well, young man, but not yet. Miss
Sanfaer’s need is currently the greater.’ He stood up slowly,
though with no apparent sign of discomfort. ‘We’ll meet again, Mr
Kant.’ He bowed, turned and walked to the door. But before he
reached it, he vanished.

Exactly the way Krays
had done.

Devary sat down at the
desk and put his face in his hands. More vanishing people, more
cryptic hints, not nearly enough clear facts. He wished that, just
for a little while, life would make sense again.

Tren got as far as the
third Change before he ran into trouble.

His journey had begun
well enough, if one discounted the customary pain and nausea
associated with crossing the boundaries between the worlds. He’d
stepped into the Lowers to find a yellow moon in the sky and an
essentially benevolent, if hot, panorama of gold-tipped grasses
grazed upon by an array of herbivores. He’d found a rock to climb
up - the highest point he could find in the otherwise flat
landscape - and searched the horizon, but no spindly tower rose in
the distance. So he’d sat down on the rock to wait.

As if his weight gave
it more substance than it might otherwise have enjoyed, Tren’s rock
remained stationary as another Change passed. He stayed where he
was as the moon’s light darkened to deep green and a dense
evergreen forest took the place of the savannah. When the tower had
been visible before, the reigning landscape had been an undulating
whistworm meadow clustered with floral bushes, and Tren was hoping
that the light would change to the purple he remembered quite
quickly. So he waited on.

But the third Change
rolled around; the evergreen forest shimmered and vanished, and
instead of the gentle meadow he was hoping for came a dull grey
light and a rocky landscape.

And barely twenty feet
from where he sat roamed a muumuk.

His first thought was a
kind of gratitude that no muumuks had yet wandered into the Seven
Realms through the unstable rogue gates. The creature was easily
three times as tall at the shoulder as he was, its body so large
and heavy that the ground shook when it moved. Its hide was a dull
bronze colour, its eyes buried under folds of loose skin. This led
to a lack of precision with its vision that boded ill for anything
that managed to get under its enormous feet - and the muumuk tended
to be willing to eat anything that it happened across.