The Draykon Series Books 1-3

Chapter Nine-1

Chapter Nine

Llandry swung her legs out of bed and stood up, gingerly. Her legs trembled, but she didn’t fall. She moved her arm carefully, gently working the muscles. Days of her mother’s diligent care had considerably lessened the pain, and she felt herself to be healing. She still felt weak and shaky, but that was due to inactivity as much as injury. It was high time she left her bed.

She took a few steps, smiling when she didn’t topple. Sigwide sat on his haunches, watching as she pulled a woollen shawl around her shoulders. He was overwhelmed with excitement when she moved towards the door; he raced around her feet and then darted on ahead of her, making his way unerringly to the kitchen. Obviously he’d been making himself at home while she slept.

‘Ah, Siggy.’ She felt a surge of affection for her friend. He had barely left her side during her confinement to her room. Whenever she had woken, she’d found him curled up on her stomach or tucked against her side, purring at any sign of life from her. If she was immobile, he would be immobile too. It was comforting to be the object of such unconditional devotion.

Her pleasant feelings evaporated as she reached the kitchen door and heard two male voices inside. The dark, gruff voice was her father’s. The other was Devary Kant. She froze. She had assumed he would have left by now.

Peeking into the kitchen, she saw Devary sitting in one of the dining chairs with a large book spread across his lap. She hung back in the doorway, studying him covertly from the safety of the shadows.

He wasn’t a young man precisely, but he didn’t look very old either. Perhaps he was about her mother’s age, just entering his forties. His skin was a little weathered, as if he travelled a great deal. He said he was from Nimdre, and his accent seemed to confirm it, but his complexion was as pale as any Darklander’s. He wore his longish brown hair tied into a tail. She noticed smudges of ink on his face; as she watched he absently brushed back an errant lock of hair, transferring more coloured inks from his fingers onto his temples.

Ynara wasn’t visible, but her voice could be heard speaking.

‘…timing is interesting, Dev. Twenty years without a word from you, and then you turn up, all of a sudden, in the middle of an interrealm crisis?’ Devary started to say something but she cut him off. ‘I don’t care to hear your tales again. You can’t expect me to believe this is just a social visit.’

‘But it is,’ said Devary. ‘Wait a minute, let me explain.’ He sighed and closed his book. ‘I admit my arrival at this time is no accident. I was sent, yes. But when I said I was retired, I spoke the truth.’ Ynara snorted derisively but he ignored her. ‘My employers have refused to accept my resignation from duty. They required somebody to visit this household and discover the truth about this istore stone. I believe their motives are above board, as far as that counts for anything. If I had not accepted the assignment, they would have sent someone else - someone less sympathetic to your family. And, Ynara…’ He leaned forward, his expression growing earnest. ‘This is a social visit. I’ve wanted to come back, for years I’ve thought about it. This merely gave me a reason to overcome my fears of seeing you again. I don’t know if you’ll forgive me, but I want to make it up to you. I do. Just tell me. Anything I can do for you or your family, I’ll do it. Anything.’

Llandry felt curiosity and discomfort in equal measures. As interesting as this was, she shouldn’t be eavesdropping. She backed away from the door, meaning to return to her room and await her mother’s visit, but Sigwide had grown tired of waiting for her. He ran heedlessly ahead and nudged open the door with his nose. His thoughts were full of food - as usual - and he sent her an excited image of a bowl brimming with fruits and nuts. Before she could prevent him, he had darted into the kitchen.

Devary had seemingly learned that where there was Sigwide there was generally Llandry, too. His sharp hazel eyes followed the orting’s casual progress across the kitchen floor, then travelled to the doorway where she stood. He smiled, looking remarkably at ease for a man with ink all over his face.

‘Hello,’ he said. ‘Welcome back to the living world. Your mother hoped you’d be up today.’

Llandry reflexively drew her shawl closer around herself, avoiding his gaze. She went to her father and leaned against his side, pressing her face into his shaggy blond hair. He didn’t say anything, which she appreciated; he merely wrapped one muscular arm around her and gave her a squeeze.

A muffled squeak caught her attention. Sigwide stood beside his empty bowl, his small body quivering with indignation. He squeaked again as she looked at him, and she recognised the sound as his polite, apologetic interruption. She grinned in spite of herself, bending to refill his supplies. The wounds on her back pulled and she bit back a cry, bending at the knees instead. When Llandry straightened, she immediately found herself wrapped in a tight hug, her mother’s distinctive scent enveloping her.

‘Llandry, love. How are you feeling?’ Ynara lightly investigated her wounds, turning her around to check the damage to her back. Llandry winced slightly, feeling the skin pull against the half-knit wounds.

‘Quite a lot better, Ma. I’ve a sense I may live after all.’

She heard a chuckle from behind her. Probably Devary. She turned back into her mother’s embrace, hiding her face against her shoulder.

Her father spoke. ‘Llandry, you were right about the border.’

Llandry looked up quickly. ‘Oh?’

Aysun cleared his throat and nodded. ‘The border’s moved, all down the southeast side of the forest. Some places only twenty feet or so. Others, more like eighty.’

‘How? Why?’

‘Hard to say,’ said Aysun gruffly. ‘Elders are working on it.’

‘Also. I don’t suppose you heard the news from Glour before you went haring off to that precious cave of yours, hm?’ Ynara’s tone had taken on that disapproving quality that Llandry so dreaded, but she couldn’t blame her mother for being annoyed.

‘What news?’ was all she said.

Ynara tutted. ‘I didn’t think so. I’m glad, though, or I’d have to have you certified as insane.’ She guided Llandry to a chair and gently pressed her into it. ‘That beast you saw - black, pale eyes, and so on - has been sighted in Glour, too. Not just sighted. Three people were killed, all of them former customers of yours.’ She fixed Llandry with a hard stare. ‘All carrying istore around, Llan, and stripped of it after they were dead. The connection is obvious. There’s little doubt it all has a lot to do with that cave of yours. It’s southeast of the city, isn’t it, near the Glour border?’

Llandry nodded, her throat too dry to speak. Three people dead? Because of her jewellery?

Aysun grimaced. ‘That’s it, then. The Night Cloak was moved in order to absorb that cave into Darklands territory. No saying why, just yet, but you must stay well away from it from now on, Llan.’

‘Promise, Llandry, please,’ said Ynara.

‘No fear of that,’ said Llandry faintly. ‘I’ve no wish to die by death claw.’ She felt numb. Her injuries might be severe but she had been lucky indeed to avoid a far worse fate. Probably it was only her wings that had saved her; her chances of outrunning a beast that moved with such horrifying speed were minimal.

‘Does… has anybody identified it?’

‘The word “whurthag” is being thrown around,’ said Ynara. ‘That’s what the papers are saying. Sensational stuff, scare stories, the usual. It might not be true. The bulletins haven’t backed it up yet.’

Llandry nodded. The papers were mostly independent, and they reported whatever they pleased - the more sensational the better. The bulletin boards, on the other hand, operated via Irbellian technologies licensed by the Glinnery government, and their content was carefully screened. Many people waited for the bulletins to pick up a story before they would give it any credence.

She cast a questioning look at her father. As an expatriate of Irbel and a talented engineer, Aysun was employed as a technician - among other things - with Irbel’s local engineering outpost. Part of his job was to maintain and update the boards with new headlines. If a story on the so-called “whurthag” was planned to appear soon, he would know.

Guessing her question, her father shook his head. ‘Haven’t had any orders on that kind of news.’

‘What do you know of this ‘istore’, Llandry?’ Devary’s enquiry was mild enough, but Ynara shot him a look of deep suspicion. He spread his hands. ‘That the istore is important is beyond question, Ynara. It must be identified.’

Llandry disliked having his attention fixed on her. She averted her eyes, instead watching Sigwide devour his dinner. ‘Not very much,’ she admitted. She told him, rather hesitantly, about her cave, how she had discovered it. ‘I wish I had a piece to show you. It’s more or less opaque, but with a bit of translucency. Indigo coloured, shines silver. It isn’t like any gem I’ve ever worked with before.’

‘It emits light?’ Devary sat tapping his fingers against his cheek, apparently in thought.

‘No. Well - only in the cave. When I remove it, it stops glowing.’

‘When you say it is unlike a gem, what do you mean?’

Llandry pondered the question for a moment, trying to recall the way the stones felt in her hands. ‘They don’t feel like gems,’ she said at last. ‘They aren’t cold the way stones are. But I’ve never cut one. Somehow I didn’t want to.’

‘The interest they have caused is … feverish,’ said Devary. ‘Do you know why?’

‘Well, I…’ For some reason Llandry did not wish to share her connection with the stone with this stranger. But he was right: the questions were important. ‘When I wear it, or hold it, I feel different. I feel less… less anxious. Calmer, stronger even. And I feel almost like I could - could -’

‘Could what, love?’ asked her mother. She smiled encouragingly at Llandry, squeezing her hand.

‘I don’t know. I feel like I could do things I’ve never been able to do before. I can hear animals better. Once I could almost talk with Sigwide, in a way. His thoughts were clearer to me and mine to him. And I could sense more than before. Like hearing better, but not the same.’ She stopped talking, embarrassed by this long speech. A hated blush crept up her cheeks.

‘Clearly it is remarkable,’ observed Devary. ‘If it has this same effect on others, then it is no wonder it has taken the fashionable world by storm.’ He smiled at Llandry. ‘Thank you for answering my questions.’

Llandry merely nodded awkwardly. She was growing tired now, her limbs heavy, and her wounds were hurting.

‘Back to bed, Llandry, love,’ said her mother, looking narrowly at her. ‘You’re tired. I’ll dress your wounds again first.’

Llandry was quite ready to leave the room and escape Devary’s scrutiny. She stood up, slowly, but her knees weakened halfway across the room and she almost fell. Her father and Devary both reacted; Devary was the closest and reached her first. She found herself scooped up and carried to her room. She was gently laid down on her bed, and a moment later Sigwide was placed on her pillow. She barely noticed as her mother bathed her wounds and replaced her bandages. She fell asleep with Sigwide curled against her face.

Llandry was aloft, suspended in the skies over Glinnery. She was lost in the clouds, enclosed within a dense, drifting white fog that utterly obscured her surroundings. Downwards she drifted, down and down until the fog cleared and she could see the wide caps of the glissenwol beneath. She landed gently, sinking up to her knees in a carpet of spongy moss; as she fought her way through it the clouds cleared overhead, revealing a sky tinted with lavender. The glissenwol were so tall she could barely see their caps from the ground; they gleamed with a vividness that hurt her eyes. A heady scent of alberries, nara-fruit and luminaef blooms assaulted her nose and she felt she could hardly breathe under the onslaught of that tangled aroma. She gasped for breath, tasting the blood that trickled steadily from her nose. Birdsong pelted her ears with rich notes both raucous and intensely melodic.

A streak of grey fur shot across her vision, disappearing into the waving grasses ahead. The colours were wrong, she noticed abstractedly; yellow where she expected green, blue where she expected red. She followed the grey creature, calling for Sigwide to wait, wait. Hands gripped her feet and she fell into an expanse of moss that changed its colours dizzyingly, reaching up to grasp her and pull her down into the depths...