Vagrants: Book 2 Circles of Light series (41 page)

Ren found some small
comfort in knowing that Babach would do all he could to guard them,
but why should either he or Voron need guarding? And from whom?
Round and round went the thoughts in Ren’s mind until finally,
sleep overtook him just before another dawn.

In the next day and a
half, they were occasionally soaked by sudden downpours. Once, they
were battered by a ferocious hail and snow storm just as they
reached the highest point of their route round the Garah. Ren told
Voron that the pass he had spoken of was considerably higher, so,
to judge by this snowfall, they had been wise to take the longer
detour.

It was mid afternoon
when they rounded a shoulder of rock and saw below them the town of
Valoon. A stone bridge with three spans straddled the fast flowing
river. The water was high due to the snow melt and chunks of ice
bobbed, glittering, in the current. Most of the buildings were
huddled on the further side, their distance from the river
suggesting regular floods had taught the town dwellers
caution.

Making their way down
to the bridge, they could see a few people moving in the one street
that ran through the town. The biggest building, set to their right
and higher than most of the other structures, was clearly the inn.
A signboard creaked above its central doors, but wind and weather
had reduced its paint to a grey smudge that was
indecipherable.

The people they passed
were on foot and none spared the travellers so much as a glance.
Reaching the inn, Voron dismounted and handed Ren his
reins.

‘I’ll see if there is a
room for us – I should think custom is fairly slack by the look of
things though.’

Ren watched Voron push
through the heavy doors and was glad he had insisted they wore
ordinary trousers and shirts, rather than their usual robes or
tunics which bore the insignia of the Order of Sedka upon
them.

The men moving past
were all lean and hard looking, as if the struggle to survive in
this bleak region had pared away all excess flesh. Ren thought a
few women also strode by, but as they were dressed in the same worn
leather trousers and coats as the men, and had the same harsh
expressions, he was not entirely sure.

Voron interrupted Ren’s
study of the local populace, emerging from the inn and retrieving
his horse’s reins.

‘The stables are at the
back,’ he said, leading his horse round the side of the building.
‘A copper for a stall, two for hay, three for grain.’

Ren raised his brows
but said nothing, realising that most supplies of hay and grain
would have had to be transported from much further down
river.

A skinny boy opened a
barn door, inside which they found a row of stalls extending the
length of the barn. Only five stalls were occupied as Ren and Voron
led in their mounts. Scrawny hens scrambled underfoot and two cows
regarded them placidly from a pen on the further side of the
barn.

Removing their gear,
Ren and Voron gave their horses a thorough rub down, checking their
hooves and legs, but Ren had chosen well and the horses were
sound.

‘Bring all your gear
inside,’ Voron told him.

Ren opened his mouth to
protest, thought better of it and heaved his saddle off the shelf.
Voron instructed the silent boy to give both horses hay and grain,
first insisting on seeing the quality of the grain for
himself.

‘That’ll cost yer six
coppers fer each one, mister.’

‘Quick at arithmetic,
aren’t you?’ Voron tossed a coin to the boy. The coin was caught,
examined closely and then vanished somewhere beneath the ragged
layers of clothes. ‘Make sure they are well tended and there will
be another coin for you when we leave tomorrow.’

In contrast to the men
Ren had watched in the street, the innkeeper was a man of less than
average height but of massive girth. His small eyes were sharp in
the moon of his face though, and Ren guessed him to be an astute
judge of his customers.

‘Name’s Volk’ he
announced, his pudgy hands flat on the broad bar counter in front
of him. ‘Owner of the North Star Inn. Three coppers a bed and three
coppers for supper.’

‘A bath?’ Ren asked
hopefully.

Volk gave him a long
look. ‘Two coppers a bath and you have to carry the water
yourself.’

Voron grinned at Ren’s
broad beam of delight.

‘What have you to offer
for supper?’

‘Roast goat, bear stew
or fish stew with fresh bread. Dried fruits, nuts and cheese to
follow. Ale or brandy is extra. Be ready for you by the time you’re
cleaned up. Which is it to be?’

‘Roast goat,’ Ren said
promptly.

‘Bear stew,’ was
Voron’s order.

By the time they had
lugged their saddles and packs up to a small room with two beds
which was, Ren noted, spotlessly clean, Volk bellowed that the
water was heated for a bath. Voron made do with a wash but Ren
soaked blissfully until the water cooled, grateful for the heat to
loosen his aching muscles.

When they returned to
the common room, a handful of men were seated at tables, four
playing a card game, the others chatting quietly. Silence fell as
Voron and Ren made their way to a small table to the side of a
great fireplace. They sat down and the low buzz of conversation
resumed around them. Volk worked at the bar and a young woman,
amazingly similar to him in build, carried food and drinks to
customers.

She finally arrived
with their order and Ren stared in disbelief at the plate set
before him. It was piled high with an enormous helping of roast
meat and an equally large heap of vegetables. Voron had a great
bowl put in front of him, brimming with stew, and a basket of fresh
bread went between them.

‘Eat hearty sirs. Be
you wanting any ale?’

Voron smiled at her. ‘A
jug of water if you please and could we have some berry tea
later?’

She nodded. ‘No charge
for water, one copper for tea.’

She waited until Ren
placed the copper in her outstretched palm and then headed back to
the counter.

‘Everything has its
price, the moment it is mentioned,’ Voron remarked, digging into
his stew.

‘Living here, things
have value which we would regard as commonplace,’ Ren replied
through a mouthful of goat.

Replete, warm and
aching less than he had for the last few days, Ren sighed
contentedly as he pulled the bedcovers round his shoulders. Voron
blew out the lamp that stood on the table between their
beds.

‘How many more days to
travel do you think?’ he asked.

‘Three with luck,’ Ren
spoke through a yawn.

‘Is the shield still
working?’

‘Of course it is. How
many times do I have to reassure you?’

Ren slept, but it was
Voron’s turn for a sleepless night. He lay in the dark, listening
to the wind rattle and howl through the window shutters. He told
himself he was foolish to imagine that words were being whispered
on the wind’s voice.

In Vagrantia, healers
and assessors were working non stop to try to discover the cause of
the strange affliction which was characterised by the dramatic
change to the sufferer’s eyes. They now had eighteen cases, of whom
thirteen had died. Thryssa and Kwanzi had allowed Elyssa out of bed
the day Lady Emla and Shan appeared in the Chamber of Harmony. The
girl had been shocked when she first saw her reflection although
Kwanzi had tried to prepare her.

She had offered to let
the healers test her, apprehensive of the outcome but wanting to
know what might have happened to her. The dreams and memories she
had described to Lashek were corroborated by the healers’ recall
but, but no one was any nearer a conclusion.

Emla had been quickly
accepted by Thryssa and the other Speakers. She had freely offered
to open her mind to them that they might see she was who she said
she was. She was unaware that her mind had been thoroughly explored
whilst she and Shan recovered from their journey through the
circles.

The Lady of Gaharn had
been fascinated by all she found in the Cordiva and especially by
Elyssa. The day a younger girl was brought to the Cordiva by her
distraught parents, with her eyes scarlet and glaring, moderated
Emla’s fascination. She watched as Kwanzi and four healers
struggled to gain control of the girl’s mind, to no avail. Appalled
though she was, Emla remained until the child died, the body
contorted in its final convulsions.

Fascinated by the
Vagrantians as Emla was, they were just as intrigued by her.
Kallema, Speaker of Fira Circle in particular, seemed drawn to the
tall thin figure of the Golden Lady. This morning, Emla was sitting
by the window of the room she’d been given, Kallema and Maressa the
air mage, to either side of her.

‘According to the
scrolls that have been returned from both the Stronghold and my
House in Gaharn, no cases such as these have appeared in either
place,’ Emla was saying.

‘I am interested by the
fact that most of the red cases have occurred in Fira,’ said
Maressa. ‘It is eight reds is it not Kallema, and two
silvers?’

Kallema nodded, making
her long green blonde hair ripple about her. ‘I too find it most
strange. We are water adepts and nearly all the water in all five
Circles has its source within the ground here. I fail to see any
reason for the higher number of cases in our Circle.’

‘Are you thinking it
could be water-borne?’ Emla frowned. ‘I think air more likely, yet
there have been only three cases in Kedara I think?’

Maressa nodded. ‘And
only two here in Parima.’

The three sat in
silence until Kallema said: ‘Rumours are already gaining pace. We
have made no attempt to conceal these events from the people – it
is not our way. But I think Thryssa will have to send out public
callers to tell everyone the little we know before there is
panic.’

Maressa nodded again
and had just begun to speak when Thryssa entered without
warning.

‘Three more,’ she told
them tersely. ‘Here in Parima. Two silver, one red. They are being
brought into the infirmary.’

Hurrying after the
three Vagrantians, Emla felt utterly helpless. The memory of Iska
rose in her thoughts and yet again she mourned the loss of a dear
friend and a supremely gifted healer. Thryssa could not restrain a
gasp as she entered the infirmary ahead of the others. Emla could
only see Elyssa, standing pressed against the wall, horror on her
face. Moving further into the long room, Emla saw the other
woman.

In an uncanny silence
the woman writhed in the arms of several healers who struggled to
get her onto one of the beds. When a healer’s face came within
reach, the woman clawed frantically, raking her fingernails through
flesh. Maressa and Kallema came to an abrupt halt and both caught
Emla’s arms to stop her going any closer to the woman.

Emla freed herself and
moved sideways to Elyssa. Instinctively, she pulled the girl close
to her and felt her violent trembling. Pressing Elyssa’s face to
her shoulder, Emla looked back at the struggling woman. Brown hair,
loosened from a braid, flew wildly as she tossed her head back to
bite at a restraining hand and Emla saw the red glow of her
eyes.

‘Hush now,’ she
murmured to Elyssa. ‘Let me take you from here my dear.’

‘No.’ Elyssa
straightened but still clung tight to Emla’s arms. ‘I must stay. It
is Alya – I am her assistant. Oh dear stars! Poor Alya!’

A healer approached
Thryssa and spoke quietly to her. The High Speaker’s shoulders
slumped although she nodded at the healer’s words. Kallema drifted
forward and slipped an arm round Thryssa’s waist, drawing her back
from the grotesque scene in front of them.

Kallema glanced at Emla
and tilted her head at the doorway. Emla began to move Elyssa as
Kallema guided Thryssa, and Maressa closed the infirmary door
behind them. Thryssa freed herself from Kallema, reaching instead
for Elyssa. She hugged the girl close.

‘Come child, let us
find Kwanzi. He will make things right, he always does.’

Clinging to each other,
they crept along the passage, leaving Kallema, Emla and Maressa
watching them with heavy hearts. The three women made their way to
the rooms set aside for Kallema’s use on her visits to the
Cordiva.

Kallema waved the other
two to chairs but Emla could not sit still. She paced from one long
window to the other as the silence grew. At last she dropped onto a
low stool and hugged her knees.

‘There seems no way
those whose eyes redden can survive?’ It was half statement, half
question. Maressa heard the underlying despair in Emla’s voice. She
guessed that as Emla did not know Alya, the Golden Lady’s thoughts
were of someone else, dear to her, who she had been unable to
save.

‘No way at all. And
would we – or they themselves – wish to keep them alive with their
minds destroyed?’ Kallema’s voice washed over Emla as soothing as
water from a fountain.

A tap sounded at the
door.

‘Come,’ Kallema
called.