Vagrants: Book 2 Circles of Light series (15 page)

Hargon’s face was
slowly flushing and his Arms Chief answered before the Lord could
say anything unfortunate.

‘It has long been the
rule here in Sapphrea, that such skills are forbidden to females
Sir Lord. Females of great learning were the cause of terrible
catastrophes in cycles long past. There is no wish to encourage
another disaster among any Sapphreans, Sir Lord.’

‘How barbaric!’ Rhaki
muttered audibly.

Hargon had regained his
composure but now said through gritted teeth: ‘You said something,
Sir Lord?’

‘No. Nothing.’ Rhaki
twirled his goblet of water. ‘I would like to hear what your
females of ancient time could possibly have accomplished to make
you fear them now. Perhaps you could enlighten me?’

Hargon sipped his ale,
his mind racing. ‘It is an old tale, Sir Lord, long and
complicated. I will order a teller of such histories to attend us
if you wish. They travel widely but they are the ones who know the
fullest versions of the stories.’

Rhaki had lost
interest. He could only concentrate on his own plans lately he had
noticed, everything else was trivial in comparison.

‘I doubt there’s much
of interest in it for me anyway Hargon. I would hope though, that
you keep in mind that I have voiced an interest in your daughter’s
ability to be of service to me before dispatching her to the simple
Seboth.’

He swallowed the last
of his water and got to his feet. Hargon inclined his head slightly
but said only: ‘Sleep well, Sir Lord.’

Navan opened the door,
bowing Rhaki on his way, and rejoined Hargon.

‘Poison?’ he
asked.

‘He drinks only water,
it would be instantly noticeable.’ Hargon grunted. ‘I feel the
power around him now. Do you Navan?’

‘Yes Sir. It seems to
cover him more thickly the thinner his body grows.’

‘Can he die do you
think? Die of using the power? Or would he just become an invisible
demon of undiluted powers?’

‘What happens when one
of the People die Sir? I do not recall hearing of burial customs
connected with them.’

Hargon poured himself
more ale. ‘I heard once that it is a great festival of celebration
among them. They call it ‘going beyond’. I know no more than that.
Why?’

‘I wondered if they did
actually die. We know they live longer than we do; I fear perhaps
they live forever.’

Mallit reported, the
following day, that Rhaki had dismissed the labourers when the last
blocks of stone had been unloaded that afternoon. Rhaki had told
Mallit masons would be needed in two days time, and many loads of
bricks. Someone had muttered about payment, and Rhaki’s gaze had
swept the crowd of workmen. He had not divined the man who had
dared such a remark, and he had made no reply.

Later, over their meal,
Rhaki himself raised the subject. ‘Once my tower is built and I
move into it, my debts will be paid in full Hargon.’

‘I expected nothing
less from a Lord of the People,’ smiled Hargon.

Rhaki rose even earlier
than usual in the morning. The sun had still not touched the
horizon as he sat with his back to the hill where lay the hidden
caves. He surveyed the blocks arranged at his order around the
foundations. Then he drew in his breath. By midday, the first
storey was in place and the pain in Rhaki’s head deafened and
blinded him.

He did not lose
consciousness, but wished he had. Sleep was far more preferable
than this agony in his mind. And every time the pain eased, he was
aware of the tiny, coiled worm of rage inside him. Except it was no
longer tiny. As his power grew, so did the rage-worm. Rhaki’s pain
slowly lessened as he forced his usual bread and fruit into his
increasingly frail body.

He had hoped to
complete the raising of these base blocks in one attempt but he
admitted it would be impossible, if not fatal, to continue now.
Eventually, he was able to get to his feet and go closer to inspect
his work. Each block, meticulously cut to allow for the wider curve
on the outside edge, lined up perfectly. Not a hair could be
pressed between two blocks. He paced right round the tower and
straightened, smiling.

The smile vanished.
Without moving from his apparent study of the base of the tower, he
let his senses expand around him. A faint tickle in his mind had
alerted him. There, a hundred paces or less at an angle to the
trail. Rhaki’s mind touched another’s, the rage-worm coiled, and
smoke drifted lazily along the trail towards the tower. The pain
flickered as the rage-worm twisted and writhed inside his head, on
top of the first pain. Rhaki gasped, holding himself as still as he
could until the world stopped its agonising spin.

The sun was halfway to
setting by the time he felt strong enough to walk to Return without
stumbling. A short way down the trail from his tower to the main
track, was a pile of grey ash. He only glanced at it, failing to
notice the end of a knife hilt protruding slightly from the
ash.

When he reached
Hargon’s manor, he went to his chamber, washed, slipped a robe over
his shoulders and made his way to the dining hall. Two other men
were with Hargon and Navan, and they were introduced to Rhaki as
Zalom of Andla and his Arms Chief Niram. Hargon explained that the
Lords of Far and Tagria would be arriving in a few days – Seboth
was concerned about an increase in the activities of Gangers along
the main routes to the Middle Plains once more.

Rhaki found the
introductions boring and the ensuing conversation equally so. He
scarcely made any attempt to conceal his disinterest and excused
himself immediately he’d finished his food. A servant hurried to
catch up with him as he reached the stairs.

‘This message came for
you Sir Lord. A man left it with the gate guard. He said he will
ask at the gate each morning and evening should you be gracious
enough to reply.’

Bowing, the servant
held out a small scroll. Rhaki took it, frowning. Who would write a
message to him in this forsaken land, where, it seemed, most of the
inhabitants were unable to write anyway? He went on to his chamber
and opened the scroll as he sat on the edge of his bed. He scanned
the strangely formed but readable letters quickly, then began at
the beginning again.

It was signed clearly
by ‘Serim’. Serim described briefly how he had lived inside the
mountains that Rhaki had believed to be his Realm alone. How his
race had chosen to join with the Gaharnians and how he, Serim, felt
this to be wrong. He offered what service he could to the Lord
Rhaki, true Guardian of the Realm of Ice, and awaited an answer to
his offer.

Rhaki rubbed his chin.
He felt no untruth from this scroll, no trap, or devious
undercurrent. He went to the dark window and thought. He rang the
bell cord and a servant rapped softly at the door almost at
once.

‘A man will ask at the
gate for a reply from myself in the morning. Have him told the
direction to my building and tell him to be there at
midday.’

Rhaki shut the door on
the still bowing servant. He would see what this Serim had to
offer, anyway.

Moments after Rhaki had
left the dining hall, Fryss asked permission to enter. He saluted
the men at the table.

‘Sir, another armsman
is killed.’

As Hargon scowled,
Navan asked quickly: ‘The same as the other two?’

Zalom sat back while
his Arms Chief leaned forward eagerly listening. Fryss
nodded.

‘The man partnering him
saw and heard nothing Sir. He had been at the opposite side of the
area. When Lord Rhaki left the building work to walk here, my
armsman went to join his fellow. He found a pile of ashes, and
this.’

Fryss gently placed a
knife on the table – standard issue for Return armsmen.

Niram touched the knife
with a fingertip.

‘Sir? You say he has
reduced three men to dust now, but each time their knives remain
intact? Have you tested these knives? Have they been altered? I
mean are they blunted, brittle, useless – or unchanged?’

Hargon looked at Navan,
who shook his head.

‘No, I
haven’t.’

Zalom coughed before
saying: ‘So if they are unchanged, the Lord’s power would seem to
have no effect on metal weapons. And thus we have uncovered one
weakness at least.’

Chapter
Eleven

Lorak and Mim were in
the lower levels of the stronghold where, not so long ago, Rhaki
had penned the Cansharsi. Now, the chambers were being inspected
for possible use as crop growing areas, as in the Domain of Asat.
Four Delvers were with Lorak and Mim and the Snow Dragon, Talli.
Mim was using his power to test the thickness of the outer mountain
wall, and the Delvers were trying to sense for the strange warm
waters that flowed beneath their Domain and thus, logically,
beneath this side of the mountain range also.

Lorak was pacing out
the size of the largest cavern with Bikram, the Delver expert from
Arak. Torim, remembering how complicated Mim and Lorak’s
questioning had been when he’d shown them his settlement’s
cultivated areas, had prudently thought to beg Bikram to join him
on this visit to the stronghold.

Mim left the lower
levels to ask Ashta and Fenj to fly outside, to see if they were
able to break through the rock wall. Jeela joined Talli below, one
each side of the section hopefully to be breached. The Dragons were
bespeaking each other to confirm the line along which Ashta and
Fenj would direct their fire. Lorak and Bikram stood near the two
small Dragons and waited.

‘Now they begin,’ Lorak
said, resting a hand on Jeela’s back.

‘Yes, we wait to see if
they can weaken the rock enough. We cannot use our fire while Ashta
and Fenj are so close to the mountain.’ Jeela replied.

Gradually a creaking,
cracking sound reached those inside. Fenj spoke in their
minds.

‘We have shattered
rock, enough for my body to lie in. I think we will lift to the
entrance and let Jeela and Talli use fire from inside. Gently mind,
and only briefly.’

They waited to give
Fenj and Ashta time to move to a safe distance and then Jeela and
Talli belched fire at the rock. The Delvers stepped back as the
rock glowed red then white with heat.

‘Stop!’ Lorak
called.

The air had a metallic
taste and smell to it as the rock cooled rapidly. With its cooling,
cracks rattled across and down, through which fresh air gusted.
Bikram went closer, peering at the rockface.

‘It’s enough Lorak,’ he
said aloud, as Talli bespoke Fenj with the same news. ‘It will be
easy enough to cut out what is needed here.’

Lorak took off his
battered old hat, slapped it on his arm then gleefully rammed it
back on his head.

‘A small celebration,’
he said, producing a leather flask.

Bikram’s grey eyes lit
up. ‘You must teach me this beverage making, Lorak.’

‘All in good time,’
Lorak chuckled.

When they’d climbed
back up to the great hall, Fenj eyed Lorak knowingly.

‘A celebration, Lord
Fenj,’ said Lorak. ‘You did a very good job on the
rockface.’

‘Splendid creature,’
Fenj rumbled. ‘Lula might like a sip.’

The tiny Kephi daintily
licked a drop of the liquid from Lorak’s finger and backed hastily
away, sneezing and spitting. She sat dividing a furious glare
between Lorak and Fenj.

‘That is not suitable
for Kephis,’ she began, but hiccoughed before she’d
finished.

At Lorak’s roar of
laughter, she turned her back, her minute body shaken by periodic
burps. Lorak drew Bikram into his workroom, leaving Fenj to coax
and wheedle Lula into a friendlier mood again. Mim entered Lorak’s
workroom having been down to check how effective the Dragons’ fire
had been.

‘Now all we have to do
is get soil,’ he grinned as he dropped onto the short bench beside
Bikram.

‘There are specialists
in Alaf settlement who can organise the disposal of waste matter
from the stronghold. That helps, but you will have to get quite a
lot of soil brought in here.’

‘Alaf?’ Mim
asked.

‘I don’t think you
visited Alaf, it is a lower settlement.’ Bikram waved expansively,
an eye on Lorak’s flask.

The flask disappeared
as Lorak grunted. ‘I suppose your soil came from the
Wilderness?’

Bikram nodded. ‘There
may be entrances low enough this side of the mountains where
suitable soil could be reached. Otherwise, it will have to come
from beyond the entrances far south, or the Wilderness.’ He
shrugged. ‘It would take about the same time to get it either
way.’

‘I do not find the
taste of plants pleasing,’ Fenj observed from the doorway. ‘I do
not understand then, why Lorak of the Garden’s beverages, made from
plants, is so extraordinarily pleasing.’

Mim, Lorak and Bikram
stared silently at the great black Dragon for a while, then
returned to their planning.

Kera sat with Mim at
supper that evening, taken by all at the long table in the hall. He
told her what had been done to start a plant-growing place, and
explained they now had to arrange for soil to be hauled in. Kera
listened closely.