Draykon Page 6

  Stop that, she told herself sharply. She folded the note, tucking it into her sash. Firmly banishing all thought of tiredness, she left the house again, this time heading for the Bulletin Office.

  Within half an hour of her arrival, a new announcement was spreading throughout the bulletin boards across the city.

  All examples of the substance known as "istore" are to be turned in at the Investigative Offices immediately. Continued possession of these items is known to place the owner in EXTREME peril. Act at once.

  An hour later, five dark-winged birds took to the sky, bearing urgent messages across the realms.

  Chapter Seven

  Three guards had been assigned to protect Llandry's house. They arrived in the early eventide, all youngish men in light armour with weapons strapped to their uniforms. The prospect of having to speak to these grim-faced people was enough to close Llandry's throat on the spot, but fortunately they were not much inclined to talk. They took her mother's instructions silently, taking up positions at her front door, the back door and outside the largest window. When her parents had gone she wandered the house for a time, feeling as though she was under siege.

  As the strong light of day began to fade, she suffered some doubts. Her mother's fears may seem exaggerated to her, but they were not unjustified. What if someone still lay in wait for her? Were they really gone? She shouldn't be so willing to endanger herself for the sake of a gem. She hovered near her kitchen window, nibbling at a fingernail. The proximity of her guards didn't prevent her escape: if she was careful she could slip out without being seen by the man at the rear door. But should she?

  What it was about the istore that drove her, she couldn't say. But nonetheless it did. Pursuit or not, she would go. Besides, tomorrow she would release the location of the cave and her part in the matter would be over. It wouldn't matter if she was followed today.

  Her mind made up, she slid silently out of the window. Her stature was a source of embarrassment to her under normal circumstances; the winged citizens of Glinnery were not typically very tall as a race, but she was particularly diminutive. Now she blessed her size, her slight figure easily fitting through the frame. She pulled herself up onto the roof and lay silently for a moment, listening. Below her stood a silent guard. He had positioned himself directly before the narrow wood-and-rope bridge that connected her dwelling with her neighbour. She watched as he took a few paces onto the bridge, looked around himself, then paced back to his original station. He hadn't seen her.

  Llandry waited until a passing cloud bank cast a misty grey shadow over the forest, then she silently took to the skies. She flew low, keeping beneath the cover of the glissenwol caps, trusting to their wide trunks and blankets of draping vines to conceal her movements. There was no sign of pursuit on the ground or in the air behind her, and she relaxed. She flew south and east, making for the vicinity of the border into the Darklands. Eventually she saw the darkened skies of Glour looming ahead of her and she began her descent, landing gently in the thick mosses wet from the day's rain.

  She paused, disorientated. The surroundings were familiar: clusters of entwined glissenwol formed a tangled wall stretching away to her left, crowded with an obscuring thicket of ferns and moss. The path to her cave lay behind this mass of foliage, she knew the route perfectly. But the opaque darkness of Glour loomed close, too close. It should be a dark mass on the horizon. Instead, the eventide light was abruptly cut off and plunged into shadow barely one hundred feet ahead of her. Had she flown off course? She stepped forward warily, scanning her surroundings for familiar landmarks.

  She stepped softly towards the wall of twining trees, twisted easily between the glissenwol trunks, ducked to avoid the hanging vines. The path was slightly overgrown, but unmistakeable; this was the same route she had passed through many times before. Her cave lay two hundred feet ahead, through the overgrown passageway and into the grassier space beyond.

  Now that passage lay under shadow.

  Llandry walked forward until she stood with the tips of her red boots on the very edge of the divide. The transformation from light to darkness was abrupt: the air blurred into dusk for a mere few feet and then the solid darkness of the night took over. The moon was up, silvering the land below, but with her Daylander eyes it was a strain to see into the darkness that cloaked the forest ahead of her. She could just make out the outlines of half-grown, pale glissenwol caps shrouded in palpable darkness. Starved of light, they were already fading, their shining pale trunks turning sickly, the vibrancy draining from their crumbling caps.

  Anxious, Llandry flexed her wings. Then she sat, wrapping her arms around her drawn-up knees.

  'What do you make of that, Siggy?' she murmured. Sigwide stared up at her with wide, trusting eyes, his long body quivering either with tension or excitement. Llandry lifted him into her lap, stroking his short silver-grey fur soothingly.

  'I don't think it's a good sign, either,' she agreed.

  She could not see the entrance to her cave, which meant that the hillock beneath which it lay must now be situated some distance into the gloom. Raised as she had been under the perpetual light of Glinnery, Llandry had no night vision at all. Could she even find the way to her cave? What would she find there if she did? The spread of the Night Cloak may have quite another cause, but Llandry felt a settled dread that its expansion into the vicinity of her cave was no accident.

  She ought to return home. She had other work to do; if this was a mere mistake, it was a boundary problem that would soon be resolved. But tomorrow she would be restored to her parents' house, under her mother's constant, concerned scrutiny, and there would be no further opportunity to return. If she wanted her istore, it would have to be done now. In its natural environment, the stone emitted its own light, illuminating the interior of the cave; all she had to do was find her way to the entrance. Surely she knew it well enough to find her way there blinded.

  Sigwide's trembling had calmed. She gently placed him on the floor and stood up.

  'Stay here, Sig.' The orting sat obediently on his haunches and blinked at her, his black nose testing the air.

  Llandry tucked her long hair more firmly under her cap and checked her tools, hidden away inside her cloak. Then, resolutely, she stepped into the gloom.

  Immediately the air changed. The gentle warmth of Glinnery faded, replaced by a soothing coolness. The sounds of Glinnery forest receded as thoroughly as though a thick wall divided her from the glissenwol canopy. This was no illusion, then; she truly stood in Glour territory.

  She strode forward a few paces and stopped, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. She stood silently for some minutes, her sensitive ears alert. No sound broke the silence of the night. She moved ahead, stepping lightly through the crisp, dying moss that still carpeted the floor. She proceeded slowly and carefully, using her hands to warn her of obstacles. She trusted her instincts to guide her, walking in what she hoped was the accustomed direction.

  A flicker of movement caught her attention. She paused, ignoring a ripple of nervousness.

  It's only the dark. Darkness cannot hurt me.

  She moved ahead again, lifting her chin, trying to generate a feeling of confidence. She had made it most of the way there. The cave must be within fifty feet or so of her location, if her instincts had guided her well.

  But then came the sharp sound of twigs cracking underfoot - the sounds of another person, or large animal, walking some way ahead. She froze, unwilling to meet a Darklander out here, groping her way through territory that had become unfamiliar. How could she possibly explain what she was doing, a Daylander creeping through the darkness without a light? She stood perfectly still, listening hard. Her straining eyes discerned a lean shape a foot or so before her, the outline of a beast's narrow head and long, powerful legs. In the darkness she could gain no clearer impression of the creature, except that it must be large. Movement flashed perilously close to her face.

  She knew instinctively
that this was no native of Glour. Never had she heard of such a creature, with flesh as black as night, almost as tall at the shoulder as she was. She began to retreat, moving as fast as she dared.

  A mistake. The movement incited the beast: it tensed and sprang. Its weight barrelled into her and she fell, gasping. The creature turned and lunged for her again; she rolled instinctively, but not fast enough: searing pain exploded in her arm as long claws ripped easily through her flesh. She twisted away and launched herself to her feet, then into the air. Flying in the darkness was a danger in itself: repeatedly she swerved only just in time to avoid colliding with trees that loomed suddenly out of the darkness. Behind her she could hear the creature crashing through the undergrowth, easily keeping pace with her.

  Light blossomed ahead of her and she burst into Glinnery's woods, weak with relief as her eyes showed her a coherent picture once more. Flexing her wings, she began to climb higher into the skies, aiming for home.

  Then a small grey shape below caught her eye. Sigwide! He was prone to wandering, but now the blessed animal still sat obediently where she'd left him, waiting patiently for her return. She cursed faintly and dived, scooping up the orting. Beating her wings hard, she fought to climb back into the skies but she wasn't fast enough: claws raked over her back, tearing through her clothes and tracing deep lines of fire across her skin. She was knocked to the ground, pain-blinded and losing strength. She had fallen on the wrong side of the divide and lay again in darkness.

  Eyes flashed in the gloom, icy-pale and merciless. The beast growled. Desperate, she forced herself to her feet and threw herself into the air, trusting to her wings to catch the wind and carry her aloft. She expected any moment to feel claws in her flesh again, expected to be dragged back down to earth. But to her intense relief she rose and rose, speeding away from the border and back towards the city of Waeverleyne.

  Sigwide was still cradled to her chest. He was screaming in distress, the sounds shattering the calm she tried to draw around herself. His grey fur was soaked in blood, and for a horrified second she thought he was injured. Then she realised the blood was her own; her left arm was shredded, pouring blood. The extent of the injury sent a shock of terror through her; gritting her teeth, she fought it down. If she could only keep going for another few minutes, she would reach her mother's house - or somebody who could convey her there.

  But moments later dizziness engulfed her and her sight blurred. She felt herself falling. She landed hard, the impact sending waves of pain through her body. Sigwide fell from her weakened arms. She lay for a moment, half-stunned, then drew a deep breath, pulling herself carefully into a sitting position. She examined her arm.

  Five long gashes ran from shoulder to elbow, deep and ugly. Blood flowed in alarming quantity, coating her skin in sticky, warm redness. She flexed her hand gingerly, breathing deeply to ward away the faintness. Pain scorched from her shoulder to her fingertips and she gasped.

  She felt the gentle touch of Sigwide's nose against her knee. The orting gazed at her with his liquid eyes wide. She stroked his fur with her good hand, and gathered him up.

  'Onward, and... fast.' She spoke through gritted teeth. Sigwide stuck his nose into her ear as she moved on again, trying to hold her wounded arm immobile. She swayed as faintness again threatened to overwhelm her. Sigwide settled himself against her neck, uttering a rough, grumbling purr.

  Llandry took another three steps and stopped. The world blurred and her vision clouded with fog. She swayed, and Sigwide squeaked with alarm as he tumbled out of her limp arms. She fell.

  ***

  Llandry woke beneath layers of blankets in a bed that was not her own. She frowned, confused, blinking in the low light of a bedside globe. Her arm throbbed painfully when she tried to move, so she lay still.

  'Llandry?' Her mother's voice, muted and filled with concern. Llandry recognised the room now: the bedchamber in her mother's tree where she had slept as a child. It still flourished with the forest's most colourful fungi, well tended in neat clay pots.

  Soft footsteps sounded, then her mother's face bent over her.

  'Ah - you are awake.' There was relief mingled with fear in Ynara's voice. She peeled back the covers gently. Llandry glanced down at her arm reluctantly, afraid of what she might see. The pain was so excessive, she felt as though half of her arm was missing.

  It wasn't. Her arm lay inert but whole, swaddled in bandages. Clouds of blood marred the white cloth in several places, alarmingly red. Ynara's lips twisted in sympathy. Llandry felt curiously detached as she watched her flesh bleed.

  'Keep still, love,' said her mother. Her face vanished from Llandry's line of sight, her footsteps rapidly receding. Llandry had no intention of moving. Was it possible for a limb to spontaneously detach itself? It felt possible. Maybe it ought to be encouraged: at least it would stop hurting.

  Ynara returned, and set a steaming cup to her daughter's lips. The scent was familiar: litorn mushroom, but stronger than she'd ever tasted before. She drank, and the pain gradually began to recede.

  Ynara allowed a few minutes to pass before carefully rebandaging her daughter's arm. Llandry lay quietly until it was done, her mind busy. She recalled the black claws, the ice-coloured eyes in the darkness, the sudden, searing pain in her arm...

  'Where's Sigwide?' Her voice sounded strange, distant and annoyingly feeble.

  'In the kitchen. I left him with a whole bucket of food, so he's quite happy.'

  'Was he hurt?'

  'No; he's quite well.'

  Llandry relaxed slightly. 'Thanks, Ma.'

  Ynara tucked the blankets carefully around Llandry's chin. She was smiling, but her eyes were anxious.

  'He was curled up on your stomach when you were found. Apparently he would hardly let anyone near you.'

  Llandry smiled too. 'That's my Siggy.' A thought occurred to her, distantly. It took a while to work its way to the fore. She waited patiently as her mother busied herself with collecting the discarded bandages and cup.

  'Ma. Should the Night Cloak change?'

  'Change how, love?'

  'Spread. Swallow parts of Glinnery.'

  'I've never heard of that before.'

  Llandry nodded drowsily. 'Well, that's what happened.'

  Ynara frowned. 'And what else, love?'

  'Don't know,' she said hazily. Her mind wouldn't co-operate; she felt like she was swimming through fog. 'Something else in there. Shadowy,' she added helpfully.

  'All right, love. We'll talk of it when you've rested a bit more.' She placed a kiss on Llandry's brow and moved away.

  'Aren't you angry with me, Ma?'

  Her mother sighed deeply. 'I ought to be. But no. I am far too relieved that you're alive.' Llandry was distantly aware of her standing on the other side of the room, smiling down at her. 'Get some sleep, Llan.' She left, closing the door quietly behind her.

  Llandry slept.

  ***

  Next time she woke, she opened her eyes to see her mother sitting in a chair nearby, reading a book. She looked up when Llandry stirred, and smiled.

  'I was hoping you'd wake soon. Are you hungry?'

  Llandry sat up slowly, horrified by the stiffness in her body and the pain in her arm and back. 'Not even a tiny bit hungry.'

  'You must eat, Llan. You lost a lot of blood. Take some soup.' A set of dishes was arranged over Llandry's bedside table. Ynara lifted the lid of one, releasing a fragrant aroma of mushroom broth. The smell alone was enough to turn Llandry's stomach, but she took the bowl and obediently applied herself to eating. Ynara waited patiently, watching the progress of Llandry's spoon as she painfully consumed half the bowl. Then she set it aside.

  'Ma?'

  'Yes, love.'

  'You said I was "found".'

  'Yes, only just in time. You were in a bad way.'

  'What happened? I remember that I fell out of the sky.'

  A male voice spoke in deep, rather melodious tones: certainly not her father. 'I f
ound you.'

  Llandry stiffened, peeking over her blankets. A stranger stood in the doorway, carrying Sigwide in his arms. The orting looked offensively unconcerned at his predicament; in fact he seemed quite at home in this intruder's embrace.

  'May I come in?' The man looked first at Ynara and then at Llandry.

  'For a minute,' her mother said, waving him in. 'Don't tire her.'

  'I'm already tired,' Llandry said, trying to focus on this new person. She received a vague impression of dark hair and paler skin than was commonly seen in Glinnery. Darklands pale. But he didn't seem to suffer in the light. He approached Llandry's bed, gently placing the orting onto the covers. She noticed he avoided her injured side.

  'I arrived late yesterday,' he said, chuckling as Sigwide ducked under her blanket and burrowed determinedly down to her feet. 'I found you unconscious in the moss, with that little demon sitting guard over you. He actually bit me when I tried to pick you up.'

  Llandry lay unmoving, silent with discomfort. The presence of a stranger was unwelcome at any time, and still more so when she lay, prone and injured and barely conscious. She wished her mother had not let him in, then swiftly chided herself for her ingratitude.

  'We haven't met,' she managed. She felt she ought to say more, but the words didn't come.

  'I'm a friend of your mother's,' he said comfortably. 'I could hardly fail to realise who you were. You could've been Ynara herself, except for the colour of your wings.'

  Llandry's eyes flicked to her mother's face. It was true about the resemblance, superficially anyway: Ynara's honey-brown skin, wavy black hair and grey eyes were echoed in her daughter's colouring. But to suggest that they were virtually identical was meaningless flattery. Llandry's features may be similar to her mother's, but something about their arrangement fell far short of the perfect symmetry of Ynara's. Llandry was perfectly aware that she looked plain next to her mother: that the similarities were striking but that the differences were equally so. She glowered darkly at him, refusing to make any effort to speak. Sigwide had worked his way back up to her chest, winding himself into a tight, sleeping ball of fur, and she occupied herself with stroking his soft head.