Vagrants: Book 2 Circles of Light series (33 page)

He squinted skyward as
they approached the cleared area around the way station but saw no
sign of Dragons. This station was more substantial than those along
the southern routes – sudden snow or rain storms meant travellers
could be forced to stop two or three days at a time. The koninas
were led around to stabling behind the squat stone building while
Hargon, his sons and Navan hurried inside.

Navan began to build a
fire in the large hearth from kindling stacked dry and ready for
use beside the wall. Hargon hung his cloak to drip from one of a
row of hooks and watched two armsmen carry in armfuls of
logs.

‘Sir?’

Hargon glanced down
into Bannor’s face.

‘Well?’

‘Why did the Dragons
offer to carry Mena, and why did you permit it – she is but a
female.’

Hargon pursed his lips.
‘It appears certain things must change.’ He shrugged.

‘But you spoke with
that Chena female as if she was a man!’ The words burst from Bannor
indignantly.

Hargon studied his son
for a moment. ‘I admit I was – annoyed – when I first realised who
she was. But Bannor, she somehow survived in these mountains,
somehow made contact with the Great Dragons. I suspect she knows
how to use that sword she wears, and I think she has probably seen
fighting such as even I have not endured.’ He sighed at the
disgusted expression on Bannor’s face as the boy turned
away.

‘Bannor.’ Hargon called
his attention back quietly. ‘Did you know what Bartos does to
Mena?’

Bannor shrugged. ‘She
is only a female. She irritates him he says.’

Hargon stared at the
boy. ‘Have you seen me mistreat anyone, female or slave, for no
solid reason?’

Bannor’s face reflected
mingled disdain and disappointment and he made no answer, scuffing
the toe of his boot on the rough stone floor.

‘Sir.’ An armsman
saluted as he approached the Lord of Return.

Bannor sidled away as
his father turned his attention to the armsman.

‘The Dragons are
settled further back in the trees. One of their guards just came to
tell us. They will stay there tonight.’

‘What about the Lord of
the People and the Captain of the Guards? Will they not join us
here in shelter?’

The armsman shook his
head. ‘The guard said they were all settled where they
were.’

Hargon dismissed the
man and turned to watch most of his men gathering round the now
blazing fire. They had cold rations but a kettle had been swung
over the flames so they would have hot tea at least. He caught
Navan’s eye and tipped his head slightly. Navan eased his way
through the crowd of men.

‘The Dragons are
sheltering within the trees,’ Hargon told him. ‘I thought to take
the opportunity to have more private speech with them.’

Navan nodded his
agreement and spoke to a senior armsman of the Lord’s intention.
They pulled their still damp cloaks around their shoulders and
Navan lifted down a lantern. The storm had brought darkness early
and even such a paltry light as this was some help as they crossed
the track and pushed into the forest.

‘There Sir.’ Navan
pointed to one side and Hargon glimpsed light silhouetting dark
figures.

A guardsman approached,
Hargon thought it was the one called Sket, and he led them a few
paces further under the trees. Navan noted that the crimson and the
deep blue Dragons were missing from the group gathered round – a
fire? No. He realised that four large rocks sat in a patch of
cleared earth, and glowed red hot. He blinked but already the Lord
Kemti was getting to his feet in welcome.

Hargon’s eyes were
immediately held by the sight of his slave Chena leaning against
the gleaming gold flank of the Dragon Kija. The smaller blue Dragon
slept, his head on Chena’s lap, and curled against her side was his
own daughter Mena. The Dragon did not stir, but Mena’s eyes opened
as Hargon and Navan sat opposite.

Kemti indicated the
sleeping Dragon. ‘Farn is wearied – he has never flown in rain. It
is harder apparently than flying through snow.’

‘And he insisted on
carrying two even though he is far from recovered.’

Hargon looked at the
golden Dragon whose words had just snapped through his
head.

‘Why do you call
yourself Tika now?’ The words popped out before he could stop them.
What a foolish question he chided himself, but his head did still
ache after all.

‘Kija gave me the
name.’ Tika looked affectionately up at the great creature beside
her. ‘It means “small one” in Dragon speech.’

Hargon continued to
stare at Tika, aware that Mena’s eyes in turn never left
him.

‘Why have you allowed
your son to so abuse Mena?’ Tika asked as bluntly as he had
spoken.

Hargon looked then
directly at his daughter. She had paled despite the rosy glow from
the rocks.

‘I have not “allowed”
him to do so. Until I saw what he did at the lodge two days ago, I
had no knowledge of it.’

The listening silence
around the glowing rocks seemed to deepen, urging Hargon to break
it.

‘I know. If I had seen
her more often, I would have noticed her injuries.’ He took a deep
breath and locked his eyes on Mena’s. ‘I apologise for your
suffering. It will happen no more.’

Khosa stretched
languorously on Gan’s knee. ‘It will happen again as soon as your
back is turned unless you change a great many rules, and make
justice your goal not law.’

Hargon glared at her
then caught back the retort on his lips. ‘I would like to hear more
details of what happened in the north – if you feel you can tell
me.’

Gan gave a detailed
account of events in the north, including the battles with the
Shardi, Linvaks and Cansharsi, ending with Farn’s wounding. Navan
and Hargon stared at Farn’s neck, at the long sinuous line of
leathery hide bare of scales, then stared at Tika. Green eyes
glittered with tears as she relived those terrible moments when she
believed herself unable to heal her soul bond.

Kadi and Brin arrived
then, rain gleaming on their huge bodies, their appearance causing
a change of subject among the group round the heated rocks. Kija’s
head suddenly swung in Hargon’s direction, her eyes whirring honey
coloured prisms. From beneath the undergrowth an extremely
bedraggled Merig plodded into their midst.

Khosa’s eyes narrowed
and Gan put a restraining hand on her back. The Merig shook himself
vigorously, water droplets hissing on the rocks. When he had
finally rattled his feathers into some semblance of order he
blinked at Tika.

‘A message for you
lady.’ He clattered his beak in obvious irritation. ‘Flying at
night and in a rainstorm is not easy or much fun you know.
However.’ He drew himself up. ‘The Dragon Lord says you must on no
account engage the Grey One alone. He asks that you remain in this
area, discovering what you can of his activities or intentions, but
keeping your presence concealed from him.’

Tika leaned forward in
consternation. ‘But why? What has Mim discovered?’

The Merig rearranged
his plumage. ‘He did not discuss the matter with my relative. We
merely relay the specific message.’

The Merig was clearly
nearing the limit of his patience.

‘We are most grateful
that you have risked flying to us in such conditions Merig.’ Kemti
spoke in soothing tones.

Keeping a wary eye on
Khosa, the Merig edged closer to the Senior. He sounded at least a
little mollified: ‘Well, the Dragon Lord did say it was most
urgent.’

At almost the exact
place where Lashek’s knife point had pierced through the opposite
side of his apple map in his demonstration for Thryssa, a meeting
was in progress. The meeting was being held in a structure very
similar to the Asataria in Gaharn and the Corvida in Vagrantia, all
being tunnelled out of natural rock formations.

Long, long ages past,
the hot core of the world had thrust upward in many mighty heaves,
pushing the land into ever higher terraces. Finally the hot core
found a weaker spot and surged triumphantly up, blowing the top off
the highest terrace. Lava flooded over the terraces and poured
leagues further before the volcano died. The core of the world
wandered on underground, southwards, in a curve which now stretched
into the western sea.

When humans found the
high lava covered terraces in the land called Drogoya, they were
impressed by their size and grandeur. Generations toiled at
excavating the lava, carving out small rooms and huge chambers
alike. The High Emperor of the Second Age had claimed the uppermost
levels as his own, and had lived there, so the stories told, until
his death nearly two and a half thousand years before. The building
was called the Menedula, and it was regarded with nearly as much
awe as were the present occupants.

There was still an
Emperor in Drogoya, but not quite so High as in past times, and the
present one much preferred his Palace at Krasato, a city pleasantly
located at a lower altitude amidst a scatter of hills and lakes.
The Emperor was the figurehead and representative of the people of
Drogoya, but the Sacrifice, the head of the Order of Sedka, was
answerable only to the land and to the magic of that land. It was
the Sacrifice and his Offerings who now occupied the Menedula and
who were in conclave as a new moon rose, framed perfectly in the
central window of the chamber as if by arrangement.

Seven of the Offerings
were in attendance. The other seven were away from the Menedula, as
were most of the one hundred Aspirants, criss-crossing the land,
ever watchful of the natural growth of plants and animals, and
stern when faced with human encroachment onto the wild lands
themselves.

The white-haired man
seated at the head of the long table raised his head.

‘We all know why we are
convened tonight. Rumours run riot in the corridors already so we
must be prepared to give the Emperor a satisfactory statement as
soon as he demands one.’

The Offering seated to
the left of the speaker grunted.

‘We can give statements
any time Cho, but what are we actually going to do about dealing
with the situation? A situation that seems to have arisen, I might
point out, with undue speed.’

Cho Petak drummed his
fingers in a rapid tattoo on the arm of his chair. He looked into
the face of each Offering seated at the table with him, the
brilliant blue pupils in his silver eyes forcing all to meet his
gaze.

‘We all know what is
happening. So far I have discovered absolutely no reason why it is
happening. Have any of you made any headway?’

The Offering furthest
on his right cleared his throat nervously. He was the youngest to
be called as Offering and still found these meetings a great
trial.

‘Sacred One,’ he began,
and was aware of a ripple of amusement through the other Offerings.
More firmly he repeated: ‘Sacred One, I suspect the disturbances
are due to the Night Lands.’

The amusement
vanished.

‘What gives you that
idea Ren Salar?’ asked Cho Petak quietly.

‘At the moment I am
working on the beginnings of our Order’s use of the Menedula as its
prime centre – as you know,’ he added, belatedly remembering who
had set him the task. ‘There are accounts that tally significantly
from fifteen hundred years past, which were definitely pinpointed
to a severe disruption in the Night Lands.’

Another Offering
intervened, one of the three women present. ‘How did they know so
much of the Night Lands? You know we cannot travel so far using
mind travel and we have always discouraged the building of boats
capable of sailing far from the coasts.’

‘That is what I am
trying to work out Finn.’ Ren looked a trifle abashed. ‘I could do
with some help with the equations.’

Finn Rah studied him
for a moment. ‘I will rearrange my schedule for tomorrow and you
will show me what you think you have found.’ The green pupils in
her silver eyes glinted at him. ‘And it had better be worth
it.’

Discussion continued in
a circular fashion until Cho Petak called a halt.

‘We will convene each
evening I think, until we have some real idea of what we might be
able to do.’

He got to his feet and
the Offerings accepted his dismissal, filing quietly from the
chamber. Cho Petak sighed, slid his arms into his sleeves and
crossed to the window. The constellation of the Weeping Willow was
just rising below the new moon. He watched for a while, his mind
turning over possibilities and ideas, and discarding them
all.

Ren Salar was in his
small set of rooms three levels below Cho Petak, but still high
above the ground. He too was staring out at the night, watching the
constellations move in their familiar rhythms. He had an affinity
with all four elements, an absolute requisite for all Aspirants,
and a much stronger feeling for two in particular – earth and fire
– which had led to his selection as Offering.

Ren always thought of
Cho Petak as the Sacred One, aware of how amusing his attitude was
to the more senior Offerings. But to him, Cho Petak was truly the
Sacred One, a man amazingly gifted in all four elements yet always
approachable and willing to listen to the humblest
student.