Dark Realm: Book 5 Circles of Light series (18 page)

‘Of course she does.
It’s just that we all know that when you feed her like this, she is
going into the Dark. And most of us don’t understand so we’re
inclined to be fearful for her.’

‘I know, and your
concern is greatly appreciated.’ Corman started towards the
stairs.

Corman watched as
Lerran demolished the fowl and turned her attention to the
fruit.

‘I’ve had a thought
about Veranta’s “expeditionary force”. Would you mind if I summoned
Ferag?’

Lerran paused and then
began on a meat pie. ‘By all means summon her. She’s just as likely
not to answer, but try anyway. What interest could the Mistress of
Death possibly have in the Imperium’s advance though?’

‘Well, a lot of guards
will die, won’t they – I thought she’d have a definite
interest.’

Lerran regarded her
Palace Master, her gold eyes slightly brighter. But she would never
force herself into his mind and she could tell nothing from his
bland expression. Chindar arrived, a pile of books in his
arms.

‘I think I’ve found
what you asked.’ He put the books on another small table with some
relief.

Corman rose. ‘I’ll
leave you to it for now then,’ he excused himself.

When he returned
shortly before darkfall, he nodded in answer to Lerran’s quizzical
look. ‘A most interesting and, I think, satisfactory discussion,’
he said.

Lerran walked to the
archway beyond which were her private rooms. She kicked off her
slippers and settled on the great canopied bed. She sat up
suddenly, head tilted and eyes closed. Harith, Alloc and Coby
entered but stood silent until Lerran’s eyes opened again. She
smiled.

‘I believe they have
the woman in the Splintered Kingdom. If they open a gateway back
here, perhaps you, Alloc, could oversee their
condition?’

She lay back, propped
on several plump pillows. Corman drew an armchair to one side of
the bed and Harith did likewise on the other. Lerran stretched her
arms to the sides, palms upward. Corman and Harith each took a
hand. Alloc and Coby seated themselves where they could see the
First Daughter clearly in the light of two small lamps. Lerran
relaxed and closed her eyes once more.

She let herself slide
into the Dark. It was as easy and natural for her as for most
people to slide into a pool. At the beginning, it was merely a grey
twilight, but drifting lower, her surroundings darkened to a pitchy
black. Lerran knew the instant she passed the first level, the
easiest one to reach. At puberty, Dark blood children made their
first descent to that level, and many could never face the terror
again. But to Lerran it was familiar, even welcoming.

So it was, down through
the sixth level. Lerran paused, considering. She moved sideways, a
strange sensation and a manoeuvre she’d only done a very few times
before. Somehow she understood when to stop her sideways momentum
and began to sink down again. The seventh level felt disturbed,
restless, resistant to her intrusion. There was no way of measuring
time in the Dark, and Lerran gave it no thought. Her concentration
was focused absolutely on what lay beneath her.

The eighth level was
eager, tugging her, trying to draw her in too fast. She resisted,
keeping her descent steady. Lerran paused at the ninth level: it
felt as innocuous as the first level, but she could sense immense
powers lurking, waiting for a single slip in her concentration. The
final level lay below her now, and again she paused to rest and
gather every thread of power within her.

It felt like some
enormous fist, crashing into her back, propelling her much too fast
to the edge of the tenth level. She tried to twist away but another
thunderous blow hit her, forcing her down. She felt her heart, at a
great distance, pounding in unaccustomed terror as she hurtled
through the tenth barrier. In the blackness, her hands blazed. All
ten rings shot forth their separate radiances, a blinding
brilliance in the inky Dark. Then it was gone. She realised she was
still descending and was aware of something like a cloud of power
surrounding her, at a distance, but closing fast. Mother have
mercy! Lerran let her mind open into the darkness. And the cloud
swept in.

Lerran knew a period of
time had elapsed but she knew much more besides. She’d learnt that
she would have to go deeper, just a little, and she would find the
young Dragon. If, and only if, she could reach his mind, she must
then draw him up again, through level after level. Slowly, she
groped lower. There was a burst of pain to her left and she
orientated herself towards it. The torment poured into her and she
fought to withstand it.

Lerran crept closer and
finally touched the mind, and soul, she realised, of the Dragon
Farn. No wonder his anguish had echoed throughout the world. His
name whispered between them. He’d had no idea someone was so near
him and a vestigial trace of curiosity threaded from him. Lerran
caught it and spoke a second name: Tika.

In the Karmazen Palace
the day was ending for the second time since the First Daughter
began her descent. Already the weight was melting from her body,
most noticeably from her face. Corman and Harith had sat patiently
throughout and Coby too, sat keeping vigil. At regular intervals
she poured blood drink into goblets, forcing the two men beside the
bed to take the small strength the drink offered.

A gateway had opened
earlier this day, on the broad, high terrace which stretched its
black stone from Lerran’s chambers across the width of the Palace
roof. Alloc hastened out into the teeming rain which swept in from
the sea. He saw Peshan first, carrying a man slung over his
shoulder. Gossamer Tewk was behind him, clutching a child in her
arms and Shea held a bundle close to her chest. Favrian stared
wildly at Alloc then an expression of utter relief spread over his
face.

Alloc beckoned at the
same time as he hurried towards them. He saw their clothes were in
shreds, were hissing when the rain landed on them. He mentally
called for the healers who had been waiting for just such a moment.
Alloc reached for Shea, catching her shoulder, but she yelped with
pain and he released her. He saw with horror that her pack was gone
and so was most of her shirt. Her exposed left shoulder was a mass
of huge blisters.

Alloc herded them all
inside as quickly as he could and was relieved to see healers and
nurses arriving through the inner door. Favrian touched the tip of
his sword to his thumb, smoothing the resulting blood down the flat
of the blade before sheathing the weapon with a sigh of relief.
Chindar and Shield Master Garrol arrived together but kept out of
the way of the healers. Peshan lowered the man he carried into the
arms of nurses who laid the unconscious body onto an emergency
cot.

Shea sat on another
cot, her arms still tight around the bundle at her chest. Alloc saw
she was shivering uncontrollably but dared not wrap a blanket
around her for fear of aggravating the terrible burns. Her hazel
eyes were wide with shock. Alloc beckoned one of the healers to
come and sit beside Shea. He talked gently to the child and began
the task of unclenching her locked fingers to release her bundle.
Alloc turned his attention to Gossamer Tewk.

She had released the
body she carried to the care of a healer. A glance showed Alloc it
was a young woman rather than the child he’d first assumed. And
yes, it was the woman they’d all seen in the dreams and sendings.
Alloc turned back to Gossamer Tewk, urging her to sit on a cot. Her
shirt was charred but the skin beneath was only reddened rather
than blistered. Her face, the backs of her hands and forearms had
taken the worst of whatever fire they’d experienced. The skin there
was tight and shiny but again, not blistered or broken. Alloc
crouched in front of Gossamer and slid a hand beneath hers, rather
than touch the tender knuckles.

‘You are safe now,’ he
murmured.

Slowly Gossamer raised
her head. He saw her hair was singed quite badly. Her dark eyes
studied him calmly and then she gave a low derisive
laugh.

‘Safe? Safe? That –
thing – in its Splintered Kingdom means that no one is safe. No one
anywhere in this world.’

Alloc was taken aback
by the vehemence with which Gossamer spoke. She dropped her gaze
back to her hands, clearly withdrawn from further conversation. The
Palace-Keeper bustled in, a bevy of maids at her heels. Part of
Alloc’s mind noted, and took pride in, the quiet orderliness with
which healers, nurses and maids went about their work. He returned
to Shea.

He found the healer
Tevros had freed the bundle Shea had clutched so desperately. A
senior nurse was carefully unwrapping the charred remnants of what
looked like someone’s spare shirt. She paused, glancing up at
Alloc.

‘It’s a cat,’ she said
in surprise.

Shea twisted round to
look at the unconscious animal and winced in pain. ‘Leave him
here,’ she commanded. ‘He’s to stay with me.’

The nurse nodded. ‘Of
course child. He doesn’t seem to have any injuries.’

Tevros reached to touch
the tattered fur between the cat’s ears and frowned. ‘He appears to
be asleep, like the two people.’ He shrugged. ‘Leave them all for
the moment but you child,’ he turned back to Shea. ‘We must get
these clothes off – what’s left of them. Will you let us take you
to the bathing chamber – it’s only across the hall there. I can
send you to sleep while we do it if you’d prefer?’

Shea shook her head.
‘Can you just make it not hurt quite so much?’

‘I can.’

Shea stood, rather
shakily. ‘Gossamer, will you watch my cat?’

Gossamer’s eyes lost
some of their blankness. She nodded in silence and watched Tevros
and the nurse help Shea totter to a side door. Alloc didn’t need to
check Peshan or Favrian. Tired and shocked though they might be
now, they could protect themselves against many adversities, even
fire, for a time at least.

Shield Master Garrol
passed the end of Gossamer’s cot with Sword Master Favrian but
stopped and looked back. Favrian kept walking as his son, acting
Sword Master Malkos appeared at the door. Garrol moved closer to
Gossamer and waited, but when it became apparent she had nothing to
say, he pursed his lips and followed Favrian and Malkos from the
chamber. But Garrol was not gone long. He stood by the arched doors
and waved his companion forward.

Sergeant Essa’s hulking
form moved astonishingly quietly around the healers to reach the
cot on which Gossamer Tewk sat. The Sergeant lowered herself to
Shea’s cot which gave one protesting groan. She looked at the tatty
old cat half curled beside her and ran a finger round his spine.
She looked at Gossamer and then just waited. Time passed while
Sergeant Essa sat patiently regarding Gossamer’s bowed head.
Finally, Gossamer lifted her gaze to stare into the Sergeant’s
surprisingly light blue eyes.

‘Glad to see you back
in one piece even though I can’t say the same about your clothes.’
Essa grinned, exposing those teeth. She wasn’t sure Gossamer would
answer: she seemed to have got lost inside her own head. But she
did.

‘Why do you file your
teeth? You can’t really believe it makes you look scarier – it just
makes me laugh. I have a friend.’ Gossamer considered what she’d
said and chose to amend her words. ‘I have a lodger who files his
teeth. His are blue.’

Sergeant Essa grinned
again. ‘Warriors in many mountain tribes always do it. It’s quite
painful so I suppose it’s a proof of bravery thing – a statement
that now nothing else can hurt us.’

Gossamer nodded.
‘Drengle List came from a mountain area, towards the wild clan
lands I think. Does it really hurt, having them filed? I’ve never
met a greater coward than poor old Drengle. I can’t imagine he’d
sit through it.’

‘Of course it hurts,
like tattoos and such. That’s the point. Some people cheat and get
a healer to take the pain while they’re having it done.’

Gossamer snorted.
‘That’s what Drengle must have done for sure.’

Essa stroked the cat.
‘Would you mind if I got some ointment for your hands and face?’
she asked casually.

Gossamer looked at the
backs of her hands, at the tattered strips of shirt hanging from
her elbows, almost with surprise. ‘Maybe I should wash and change
first? But I promised Shea I’d watch the cat.’

Sergeant Essa caught
the eye of a passing nurse who came hurrying over.

‘Gossamer needs
cleaning up,’ she told the nurse. ‘Can you show her where to go.
I’m minding the cat.’

The nurse smiled. ‘This
way. There are several bathing rooms close by.’

Gossamer followed the
nurse obediently leaving Essa deep in thought.

The Sergeant was still
stroking the unmoving cat when Gossamer came back. She wore a pale
blue nightgown, its wide sleeves rolled up clear of her forearms.
She handed a piece of fine cloth and a large pot to Essa who
unstoppered the pot and sniffed. Essa began to apply the ointment
as gently as she could to Gossamer’s cheeks.

‘She reminded me of
Snail,’ Gossamer remarked.

‘Snail?’

‘The
embalmer.’