Lokant Page 3

  ‘I didn’t want to entrust these to the city library,’ she said. ‘If Angstrun gets his hands on them, we might never see them again.’

  He liked that she had said “we”. He picked up the topmost book and opened it. This was a series of memoirs written by Andraly Winnier; the title declared her to be a Savant and a Lokant, though he had no idea what that meant. This was the book they had discovered in an isolated tower in the Lower Realms, apparently the home of at least one of the two individuals who had woken the draykon. Tren had been waiting with anticipation to discover why Griel had wanted this book. Handling it with care, for it was very old and fragile, he scanned the first few pages.

  Eva settled on the arm of the sofa, reading over his shoulder. She was barely two inches away, close enough for him to feel her warmth and smell the light perfume that she wore. Her breath stirred his hair.

  ‘I think I’ll study these at home,’ he said abruptly, closing the volume and standing up. ‘I really need to get some sleep now, if I may be excused.’

  Eva blinked at him in mild surprise. ‘You may certainly be excused, but I must oppose the plan to take these books home. It’s a matter of security, you see. Griel may be gone, but we have no idea what has become of Ana. If she wishes to recover these books, I’ve no doubt she will attempt to do so with all due force. This house is well guarded and protected, more so than yours. I would prefer for you to come here to study them.’

  Tren looked at her for a long moment, trying to read the truth of her motives. It was the sort of scheme he might have concocted in order to compel the regular presence of someone he very much wanted to see; could he hope that any such thoughts influenced her?

  No. Her expression was friendly but no more than that; she looked upon him with an air of polite solicitude mingled with brisk pragmatism. Her concern was for the books, and for his continued health; not for his proximity.

  Studying the books in her house, especially if she herself was present, would be much harder, but her reasoning was impossible to argue with. ‘As you wish,’ he said finally. She rose with a smile and gave him her hand; finding himself obliged to kiss it, he attempted to do so with an air of easy nonchalance, which he suspected failed completely.

  ‘Thank you for coming,’ she said as she withdrew her hand. ‘I was disappointed when you did not come before.’

  And with that she nodded pleasantly to him and left, leaving him to enjoy the sensations of confused gratification that her words excited.

  Chapter Three

  Lying in bed in a house not his own, Devary Kant could not help reflecting that the last few weeks had not gone particularly well.

  He did not enjoy fighting for its own sake. Indeed, he would rather avoid it and he had always felt that way. But he was, once in a while, called upon to defend himself and so he had dutifully committed many hours of his life to the development of considerable combat ability.

  He was also periodically required to defend others. This, he felt, was the more important duty. To fail so completely to defend a woman committed to his care was intolerable; worse when that charge had been Llandry Sanfaer, daughter of his oldest friend. That he himself had been injured almost to the point of death in her defence was no consolation. He should have died rather than allow her to be taken.

  But taken she had been, by some means he had been unable to prevent. And whatever had been done to her afterwards was irreversible. World-changing.

  Draykon. The word still rang in his thoughts long after he had heard it from Ynara. He connected it with the images in his memory: of the great, winged, ghost-grey beast sailing down out of the skies and carrying him away. At times he concluded he was merely hallucinating again; in moments of greater clarity he was obliged to dismiss this most convenient of excuses. But there was no absorbing that piece of information. He had been warned that the furore over Llandry’s istore stone was a greater matter than he realised, but nothing had prepared him for this.

  Such reflections were not only unproductive, but outright destructive. Nonetheless, lying as he was immobile and in constant pain, Devary’s mind refused to turn on any other topics. It was as he attempted, with the utmost care, to turn himself slightly in his bed that a man appeared out of the air.

  The man was tall, looking down on Devary with an imposing air. He wore a slight frown on his too-white face, and his pale hair looked as though it wouldn’t dare to drift out of place. His appearance - his strong features and the pale grey colour of his eyes - belonged to no race that Devary had ever met; he couldn’t place the man’s nationality at all. But he addressed Devary in perfect Nimdren.

  Devary might wish he did not know this visitor, but sadly the man was all too familiar.

  ‘Clearly there has been some error,’ he said slowly. ‘None of your reports have been received by our office. A problem with the postal service, no doubt, or with our messengers, for I am sure you have sent regular reports as usual.’ He lifted his brows as he spoke, though his voice never rose above a moderated tone.

  Devary said nothing. Seeing that man here, standing with casual impunity in the heart of Ynara Sanfaer’s house, was both deeply wrong and deeply disturbing. He had never really expected to escape the pressure of his former employers, but he must have entertained some hopes, for his heart sank with dismay.

  ‘No matter,’ the intruder continued. ‘Your assignment has changed. There is no further need to maintain surveillance on this house while Llandry Sanfaer is no longer within it. Find her and bring her to us.’

  Devary weakly clenched his fists, and shook his head. ‘I am no longer your employee. I accept no further assignments.’

  The man lifted his brows, surveying Devary’s wounds with pointed attention. ‘You do not appear to be healing very fast. It would be a shame if you were to suffer a relapse.’

  Devary fought down a flutter of panic. ‘This family above all others will not be targeted by me. I have won back their trust only recently and I will not betray them again.’

  ‘Your proximity to this family is precisely why you are suited to the task,’ the man replied relentlessly. ‘Llandry trusts you. When you find her, she will follow you.’

  Devary swallowed his pain and fixed his unwelcome visitor with a cold stare. ‘Why do you want her?’

  ‘That information is not necessary for you to know.’

  ‘Then my answer stands. I will have no part in this.’

  The man said nothing for a moment. Then, ‘You’re a rational being so I’ll make this plain for you. Your injuries are severe. Your recovery will take months; months of lying here, useless and in pain. And you may not recover at all.’ He leaned down towards Devary’s face, his eyes cold. ‘If you accept the assignment, I will ensure that you recover. If you do not, I will ensure the opposite.’ He straightened again and shrugged. ‘And if you persist in refusing my offer, I will be obliged to send another after Miss Sanfaer. Someone less sympathetic to her.’

  Devary closed his eyes. He knew the sort of operatives that would be sent after Llandry if he refused. If she was to be protected, he had no choice but to go after her himself. Once he found her, he would discover a way to hide or defend her.

  He opened his eyes. ‘Very well,’ he said coldly. ‘But this is to be my last assignment. I must be allowed to retire.’

  ‘Agreed,’ said the man, pleasant now that his purpose was achieved. Devary found his arm seized in an uncompromising grip, and before he was aware of his resented employer’s intention his surroundings dissolved into a mess of colour and they were gone, spinning across the worlds to the last place that Devary wished to go.

  ***

  ‘Aysun, slow down. You’re going too fast.’

  The person speaking from behind him was out of breath and just a little bit frantic. Frustrated, Aysun didn’t pause to acknowledge his companion’s request, but he did slow his pace. A little.

  ‘Thanks,’ the voice muttered darkly.

  Aysun ignored the words. Strapped t
o his wrist was his locator; the device was locked onto a ring that his daughter wore, and its function was to guide him to her. As long as he had remained in Glinnery it had displayed nothing at all, and for a time he had feared that Llandry had lost her ring. But then a greater fear had occurred to him: perhaps she had instead gone off-world. Perhaps she was in the perilous Uppers.

  Now he himself stood in the light-drenched Upper Realm. The moment he had stepped through the gate, his locator had flashed, and a winking point of light had appeared on the display. The confirmation of his suspicion had both relieved and dismayed Aysun: Llandry was alive and still wearing her ring, so it would be possible to find her. But the longer she remained in the Uppers the harder that task would be, and the greater the danger that she would be injured or killed before he could reach her.

  Hence his hurry. His companions, however, felt differently.

  Footsteps beat rapidly behind him and then Eyas drew level with him, panting and wearing a scowl on his tanned face.

  ‘If you want me to keep you from being eaten, mauled or gored, we’re going to have to work on this arrangement,’ his friend said. ‘That means I, the trained and experienced summoner, must be in front, in order to ensure that our surroundings are clear of dangers before you advance. If you insist on leading the charge, I can’t answer for the consequences.’

  ‘You’re too slow,’ said Aysun. ‘While you dawdle, she’s moving further away.’

  Eyas threw up his hands. ‘Then I don’t know why you asked the rest of us to come.’

  Aysun glanced over his shoulder. Behind him walked Nyra, a tall and gloriously winged citizen of Glinnery. She was a sorceress and a friend of his wife’s. He had needed a sorcerer to open a gate to the Uppers, and he would need one again when it was time to return home. Nyra had insisted on accompanying him in the search for Llandry.

  Their other companion, however, was nowhere in sight.

  ‘Where’s Rufin?’

  Eyas shrugged. ‘He circled around us a moment ago and went into the trees. He was loading his gun.’

  ‘Trouble?’

  ‘I’m not sensing anything.’

  Aysun nodded. Eyas was a fellow Irbellian expatriate. He had moved to Glinnery years ago to train his summoner abilities - for there was little quality training to be had in Irbel, with its focus locked firmly on engineering - and he was now one of Glinnery’s best. Which was why Aysun had chosen him for this expedition. If Eyas’s summoner senses found nothing to cause alarm, his word was to be trusted.

  But that being the case, why had Rufin left the party, and taken his gun?

  A shot rang out off to the left. Aysun immediately altered his direction, heading towards the sound; but he’d no sooner drawn his own hand gun out of its holster than Rufin himself appeared, his weapon slung over his shoulder and a large, dark object dangling from his free hand.

  Eyas halted. ‘Rufin. Tell me that isn’t a desente bird.’

  ‘A what? Here.’ Rufin thrust the dead thing at Eyas, who fumbled it. It fell to the ground, wings splayed.

  ‘It is a desente bird.’

  ‘Nice.’ Rufin nudged it with his toe.

  ‘Nicer when it was alive,’ Eyas replied. ‘And not dangerous, I might add. They’re herbivores.’

  ‘And dinner.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘They’re also dinner.’ Rufin allowed his big body to drop into a cross-legged position on the ground. Deft with his large hands, he began to pluck the bird.

  ‘What? No! These birds are rare, and marvellous. Did you know that a desente can stay aloft for eighteen hours without-’

  ‘Who cares?’ interrupted Rufin. ‘All I want to know is whether it tastes good.’

  ‘It’s dead already, Eyas,’ interceded Aysun. ‘Let’s get it over with and move on.’

  Rufin’s head came up at that. ‘Aysun, old friend. You know about sleeping, I presume.’

  ‘Heard of it.’

  ‘Weren’t we planning to do some at some point?’

  Aysun shook his head. ‘Got to keep moving. Llan needs us.’

  He heard Eyas sigh faintly. The summoner was younger than both he and Rufin, but he wasn’t as physically robust as the two older men. To his credit, though, he didn’t complain.

  Nyra, typically, said nothing at all.

  As the bird cooked over a hastily assembled campfire, Aysun sat by himself to think. He needed to try to guess where Llandry might be, but that required some understanding of her motives and in that he was entirely stumped. He had always taught his daughter to be wary of the Uppers. He had always feared the possibility that she or his wife might someday suffer the same fate as his father; his father the summoner, who had crossed into the Uppers one day many years ago and never come back. Since then he had lived with the constant fear that his wife or daughter might be killed up there as well.

  Llandry must have been in peril when she had gone into the Uppers, that he knew: she would never have done it otherwise. If it had saved her life, he couldn’t blame her for it. But why hadn’t she returned in the weeks since? What could she possibly be doing? He couldn’t shake the thought that she would have returned if she could. Something must have befallen her, but he couldn’t imagine what.

  For it could be anything in this strange place. Intent as he was on his location device, he had often been oblivious to the scenery through which they passed. But he couldn’t entirely ignore the way the landscape changed subtly, minute by minute, until the apparently vast forest of tall-stemmed, wide-capped glissenwol trees that stretched before him faded away and he was striding instead through open hills. There was nothing abrupt about these changes; it appeared as a gradual process, so much so that one hardly noticed it happening.

  As he and his companions ate their meal - with less haste than Aysun would have preferred - he could feel the grass steadily lengthening underneath him. That alone was interesting, for an hour previously they had been sitting on deep blue moss. When Eyas noticed the change he grew troubled.

  ‘This may not be a good time or place to sleep after all,’ he finally announced.

  ‘Oh?’

  Eyas made no immediate reply. He appeared to be listening; whether with his ears or with his summoner senses was unclear. Then he rose and walked slowly around the campfire until he was close to Aysun, and stood staring into the grass. Aysun had seen him in such a posture before; he was working his summoner magic, striving to impose his will on a nearby creature. Aysun stiffened, for if Eyas was so employed it meant that a dangerous animal had moved up on them without his hearing or seeing any sign of it.

  At last Eyas moved and took a long breath. Twining around his leg was a snake, its scaled ivory-coloured hide liberally splotched with vivid purple. Nyra hissed and backed away from the fire.

  ‘Don’t leave the fire, Nyra,’ said Eyas quickly. ‘I can sense six more of these within a few feet of us.’

  Nyra froze.

  Aysun stood and shouldered his pack. ‘Best move on, then.’

  Standing, Rufin was a couple of inches taller than Aysun. He grinned down at his old friend and unstrapped his shotgun.

  ‘I’ll take the lead, shall I?’

  A few hours later, Aysun was close to despair. His device was malfunctioning; it had to be. According to the display, Llandry was moving far faster than they were. No matter how quickly he forced his company to move, she continued to draw further away. He knew she could fly fast with her Glinnish wings - she and her mother had often outpaced him on the ground, even when Llandry was a child - but even so, it shouldn’t be possible for her to put so much distance between them at such a rate.

  A halt was called some hours after they had encountered the snakes. Eyas at last declared it safe to rest, but while the others slept Aysun worked on his location device. He worked relentlessly, ignoring his tiredness, searching for the fault in the machinery that was causing the problems with the display.

  But all his efforts only made it worse, for after an h
our’s work something remarkably strange happened. The point of light that represented Llandry’s position abruptly reversed its direction and began to head back towards Aysun’s group. He calculated that her position must be more than fifty miles ahead of them, but she closed that distance with impossible speed. Over the space of a mere few minutes, her path traced an arc around them, passing a few miles to the northeast. Then that taunting dot of light veered away once more.

  Aysun was an engineer, hailing from the realm of Irbel where talent with machinery was common and highly valued. He was a skilled practitioner of the mechanical arts himself, and had long worked with the outpost of Irbellian engineers based in Glinnery. He was aware of several projects developing vehicles that would move faster than nivven-drawn carriages, but he had never heard of anything that would allow the kind of speed his display was showing. It was unimaginable.

  It must be broken, but he could find no fault and as such there was nothing to repair.

  Without the reliable help of his locator, how could he ever expect to find Llandry in this fluid place, where nothing stayed the same and no landmark could be relied upon? Despairing, Aysun tossed the device into his pack and turned his back on his companions. He wanted to sleep, but he couldn’t; not while Llandry was lost somewhere in the Uppers. He was one of the foremost engineers of Irbel: he had to find the solution.

  Chapter Four

  ‘Who would you recommend as your successor?’

  Guardian Islvy Troste regarded Eva with some sadness as she posed the question. Eva’s eleven years as High Summoner had just come to an end; Islvy had been at the head of Glour’s government for seven of those years, and the two women had often worked together. They had never been close friends, but they had been able to rely on each other.