Draykon (10 page)

She had read of
gloeremes, finruks, gludrais and the inalo, fearsome beasts long
banished from the Middles. She copied drawings of the caomdir, the
cluine and the ulenath, creatures occasionally sighted in the
Lowers but never above. Even the gwaystrel made its appearance
between the pages, once a common sight and now so rare. Some of
these beasts bore similarities to the creature she had seen, enough
to give her a faint flicker of hope; but none perfectly fit the
features she recalled so clearly.

By moonset she
was miserably frozen, appallingly tired and in a deeply poor
temper. But she forced herself to keep reading. Glour needed
answers to this mystery, and besides: as long as she kept her mind
fixed on the task at hand, she couldn't sit and dwell, uselessly
and destructively, on the events of last night. Meesa's face
flickered through her thoughts hour after hour, chilling her with a
new thrill of horror every time she recalled her glassy eyes and
blood-soaked hair. Each time she pushed the thoughts ruthlessly
away and refocused her tired mind on the texts before
her.

She was avoiding
the truth, of course. Legend had it that the Board of Summoners had
been founded several generations ago because of one particular
beast; one animal too powerful to be controlled, too independent to
be mesmerised, too violent to be safely approached. It was these
qualities that made them popular as companions: their strength,
their impressive physique and those chilling wintry eyes were more
effective deterrents than even the most ferocious of guard dogs.
But they caused havoc, repeatedly evading the control of their
handlers and wreaking terrific damage whenever they succeeded in
freeing themselves from command. The whurthag was the first name
placed on the list of forbidden summons. The penalties for bringing
banned beasts through from the Lowers were harsh.

Nobody had defied
the ban in living memory. There was no incentive to do so: if the
summoner managed to evade the punishments imposed by the Board,
then sooner or later they would fall prey to the ferocity of the
whurthag. No sane summoner would risk being torn apart by their own
companion. The Board of Summoners in Glour took great care to
ensure that their trained summoners were stable, responsible
people, and she knew that the corresponding organisations in
Orstwych and Ullarn did likewise. Nobody, then, would be crazy
enough to pull a whurthag through.

So she told
herself. Working steadily through all the oldest Catalogues of
Beasts, she left the entries for whurthag until last, certain -
hoping hard - that she would find an alternative explanation, some
other label to place upon the thing she'd seen at the Wrobsley
house. But deep down, she knew she was fooling herself.

At length, she
found she had worked through every entry in every catalogue, and
she'd found nothing that struck her as sufficiently similar to her
memory of the creature that had killed Meesa. She could go on
fooling herself - doubting the evidence of her own eyes and ears -
but she had wasted enough time. She took a long breath and turned
over the pages of the oldest Catalogue of Beasts, a book that dated
back to before the founding of the Board. There it was, under "W":
whurthag. Several paragraphs of spidery text were scrawled adjacent
to an artist's impression of the creature. She recognised it
immediately.

There were the
sharp angles, the night-black pelt, the eyes of frozen winter. The
whurthag's claws, rendered in artistic detail, filled her with
renewed horror. She recollected too well the glint of cool
moonlight off those razor edges as the beast had crouched in the
darkness.

She stifled her
growing sense of dread, drawing several deep breaths to calm
herself. She copied the pages slowly and neatly, drawing a quick,
precise sketch of the whurthag as it appeared upon the page. Then
she left the library, travelling rapidly to the city council
chambers with the book tucked under her arm.

***

Eva was
immediately admitted to Guardian Troste's office. The Guardian was
at work, her fierce black eyes intent on the paperwork before her.
She put it aside as Eva entered, her brow creasing with
concern.

'Lady Glostrum.
Not more bad news, I hope.'

'Terrifically
bad, I'm afraid.'

Troste's lips
twitched. 'By all means, break it to me gently.'

Eva placed the
book on the Guardian's desk, opening it to the page she had
bookmarked with a scrap of paper.

'This is what was
roaming the city streets the night before last.'

The Guardian
needed no explanation. She drew in a sharp breath, and Eva noticed
her hand shake slightly as she smoothed down the page.

'I won't ask if
you're sure; you clearly are.'

'Unfortunately.'

Troste looked up,
closing the book briskly. 'Very well. What does our High Summoner
suggest?'

'It's said that
there's no reliable way to battle the whurthag. Their speed defies
attack: they can be killed, but only at great cost to the attacker.
The best way to deal with them is to banish them back to the
Lowers.'

Troste closed her
eyes briefly. 'Tell me something, Eva. What's happening here? Has
somebody foolishly brought a whurthag through a gate and lost
control over it? Are these random attacks we're seeing? Or
worse?'

'I fear worse.'
Eva quickly related her theory about the ring, including Vale's
reported findings. 'I fear the whurthag is - at present - under
someone's control. The attacks are targeted. But if legend is to be
believed, the whurthag's handler won't keep it under control for
long. Then we'll start seeing those random attacks. We need to find
it and dispose of it, now.'

Troste nodded.
'Fine. What do you need?'

'I've already
issued a summons to the guild. I'm going to need some sorcerers to
open gates. I'd appreciate an armed escort for each group: not to
attack the whurthag, they mustn't do that, but to deal with its
handler. If we find him or her.'

'All right. I'll
get Angstrun here.'

Lord Angstrun
arrived within minutes. He marched in unceremoniously, all
impressive height, thunderous brow and a stare to turn the moon
blue.

'Is this one of
those real emergencies? Not one of the fake ones you lot like to
use to keep us on our toes-'

'Yes, Darae. Sit
down, please.'

Angstrun strode
back to the door and stuck his head around it.

'Bring my letters
in here, will you.' Troste's secretary appeared at the door with a
stack of papers. She handed them to Angstrun and immediately
retreated, as if Angstrun were a ferocious dog best kept at a
distance. Eva chuckled inwardly. She could understand the
temptation to view him that way. It was said in the city that
Angstrun, the foremost sorcerer in Glour, bathed in moonglow every
night and drank refined essence of starine with his breakfast. It
wasn't too hard to believe.

Angstrun sat
heavily in a chair opposite to Guardian Troste, nodding absently at
Eva on his way past. He sat amid a growing pile of paper, tearing
through his letters as Troste explained Eva's errand. His head shot
up at the word
whurthag
, and he stared first at the Guardian
and then at Eva.

'All right,' he
said at last. 'Genuine emergency. I get it.'

'Lady Glostrum is
going to need some sorcerers, Darae. Some of your best. She'll need
gates opened and closed with as much efficiency as possible. Get
some who don't scare easily, please.'

'Right.' Angstrun
stood up, but he did not depart immediately. 'How did it get here?
I mean, I've never heard of a whurthag coming through a rogue
gate.'

'No,' said Eva.
'It was probably brought through deliberately.' She briefly
recounted the connection between the whurthag and the istore stone.
Angstrun's very black brows lifted as he listened.

'That cursed
"istore" nonsense is more trouble than it's worth,' he
grunted.

'That remains to
be seen,' Eva replied. 'Apparently somebody thinks it's worth a
great deal of trouble.'

'No time to
waste, Angstrun,' the Guardian interjected. 'Sorcerers,
please.'

'Er, right.' He
crossed to the door, which abruptly swung open before he reached
it. Troste's secretary stood timidly in the doorway, clutching a
rolled message.

'For your
lordship,' she said, thrusting the message at Angstrun. 'Marked
urgent.' She all but ran out of the room.

'It never stops,'
muttered Angstrun, unfolding the note. He read quickly, then tossed
the paper at Troste.

'Another
emergency for you. Hope you're in the mood for them
today.'

Eva glanced
enquiringly at Angstrun. He glowered at her as if it was her
fault.

'Missive from
Glinnery. Someone's fucked about with the Night Cloak. Has to be
one of my aides; nobody else could've had the right access to it,
or the right skills. Seems someone thought it'd be fun to eat parts
of Glinnery.' He rolled his eyes. 'They're sending a bloody
delegation. Someone remind me why I took this job.'

'Because you're
good at it, Darae,' said the Guardian absently. 'This is your fire
to put out, I'm afraid. But get Eva some help first.'

Angstrun left,
muttering a string of words that was, fortunately, just about
inaudible.

Troste finished
reading the note and looked up at Eva. 'Apparently someone wandered
into the Night Cloak - the part that was moved - and ran into an
unidentified beast. Black, big, strange eyes.' She handed Eva the
paper. 'By the sounds of it, that was either before or at about the
same time that the attacks occurred in the city. But it might be a
place to start.'

Eva glanced at
the hasty map drawn on the paper. The location of the whurthag
attack was clearly marked: southwest of the city, in territory that
ought to be Daylands.

'Thank you,' Eva
murmured, her quick mind already formulating a plan for the search.
'May I take this?'

'Of course.'
Guardian Troste sighed, looking suddenly older. 'They always told
me there'd be days like this,' she said. 'Though I think this beats
all. We just need giants coming down out of the skies and my week
will be perfect.'

Eva smiled wryly.
'Can't say I'm enjoying it very much myself.'

'Oh, that's
right. Meesa Wrobsley was a friend, wasn't she? I'm sorry,
Eva.'

Eva rose briskly
to her feet, waving a hand dismissively. 'Well. To
work.'

***

It took two hours
to assemble Eva's teams of summoners. By that time, Angstrun's
sorcerers had arrived - eight of them, constituting most of Glour's
best. Eva sorted them into groups and sent them off, tasked with
searching Glour city and the surrounding forest in sections. The
whurthag had been seen in multiple locations already: in theory it
could be anywhere.

Her own group
consisted of another summoner, a sorcerer, and two armed city
guards. Roys Alin was her summoner companion, a woman older than
Eva with unshakeable nerves and a strong natural ability for beast
management. Her abilities combined with Eva's should be a match for
a single whurthag, or so Eva hoped. All they had to do was dominate
its will long enough to send it through the gate.

The sorcerer was
a younger man, very tall, with longish dark hair. Eva didn't
recognise him. His features and the green colour of his eyes
suggested some Orstwych blood somewhere back in his family tree. He
seemed curiously relaxed given the nature of the task at
hand.

'Pitren Warvel,'
he introduced himself, offering Eva a courteous bow. 'It's a
pleasure to meet the High Summoner.'

She inclined her
head in response. 'How terribly formal. Do call me Lady
Glostrum.'

She detected a
faint twinkle of amusement in his eyes as he straightened up.
Good.

'Of course, your
ladyship. Please call me Tren.'

'Tren?'

He shrugged. 'It
is a nickname as good as any.'

'Fair enough.
Shall we depart? It's going to be a long day.'

Eva released
Rikbeek. The gwaystrel flew up in a straight line, disappearing
into the darkness. She knew he would keep pace with them, scanning
their surroundings in organised circles. Gwaystrels were talented
scouts; they could fly tirelessly for long distances on their webby
black wings, and since they observed with sound and hearing rather
than with their eyes, it was difficult to hide from them. This one
was trained to warn Eva in a variety of ways if he encountered
trouble.

Tren watched
intently as Rikbeek disappeared into the trees. 'Is that a
gwaystrel? I thought nobody could catch those things
anymore.'

'Mere chance,'
she said. 'I was larking about in the Lowers - unattended, of
course - during my irresponsible twenties. Rikbeek all but flew
into my face. He'd damaged a wing somehow. By the time he was fit
to fly, we had made friends.' She paused. 'As much as is possible
for that little monster.'