Lokant (31 page)

He had nothing but good
things to report. Orillin was thriving in the Uppers; he’d taken
instantly to the world, and now behaved as if he’d always lived
there. She smiled a little sadly at the thought. It had been the
same with Llandry: ever a little off-kilter in this world, she’d
found her place Above.

Every day she hoped
Aysun would have something of Llandry to convey to her. Every day
she was disappointed. He hadn’t seen her; he didn’t know where she
was. He could speak only of Orillin, Eyas and Rufin, all bored and
amusing themselves in increasingly questionable ways. Of his
father, Aysun refused to speak at all. Apparently it hadn’t helped
for him to spend time in his father’s house. The feud raged on.

This had been an early
morning conversation. The sun had only just taken over from the
Light Cloak that kept the darkness away. Gathering her coat and
bag, Ynara left her home and set off for the Council Halls. She had
a long day of meetings ahead of her.

Laylan Westry was
already there when Ynara arrived. She greeted the older lady with
affection. Laylan was the Sorcerer-in-Charge in the realm of
Glinnery, responsible for maintaining the Light Cloak and for
overseeing the sorcery schools. She had served in that role for
longer even than Ynara had served on the elected panel of
governors; the two were close friends.

‘Morning, Layla.’ She
left a brief kiss on the other woman’s cheek. ‘All’s well with the
Cloak?’

‘No problems. Any news
of that fine daughter of yours?’

‘Not yet,’ Ynara
replied, managing a smile. ‘Aysun’s taking care of it.’

‘She’s a good girl.
Stronger than she looks, I’d say,’ Layla smiled. ‘Like her
mother.’

‘I don’t know. She’s
changed so much recently, I hardly know who or what she is
anymore.’

Laylan regarded her
with a frown. ‘She is still your Llandry, whatever else has
happened to her.’

Ynara mustered another
smile, but this one felt weak. ‘I hope so. I’ve a feeling that I
won’t be seeing much of her at all from now on, though. It’s a
harsh change. Not long ago I saw her every day.’

Laylan patted her arm.
‘That’s being a parent for you. Wait ‘till you have grandchildren.
I’m afraid it only gets worse.’

That was an alarming
thought. Ynara’s mind jumped immediately to Pensould and his
stubbornly unorthodox appearance. Would he be Llandry’s spouse? He
was certainly determined to claim her. What would their children be
like?

Would they be human? On
any level at all?

Not liking this image
of herself as grandmother to a litter of draykonets, Ynara changed
the subject.

‘What do you think of
Ullarn’s new trade proposal? It’s likely to be the biggest topic on
this week’s agenda.’

Laylan opened her mouth
to reply, but she was cut off by a violent shriek from outside.

‘What the -’ Ynara knew
that sound. She had heard it once before: when Llandry-as-draykon
had deposited Devary, wounded and dying, outside her door. Was this
Llandry coming back?

But if so, why would
she come to the Council Halls? And why scream that way?

Ynara ran to the
window. Seeing nothing, she crossed to the door, threw it open and
stepped into the air, her wings catching the breeze to hold her
aloft.

Nothing: the skies were
empty.

Then, streaking into
her line of sight, a draykon. Not Llandry, and not Pensould either.
This beast’s scales were wine-red, her wings tipped with black.
Judging from the creature’s screaming, whirling descent, this was
not a friendly visit.

Behind the red draykon
came two others in swift succession. One was big, bigger even than
Pensould, its vast body deep purple in colour. The second was the
smallest of the three, its hide stark white. Together they circled
above the centre of Waeverleyne, screaming in concert. Those
raucous voices were full of rage, so much anger. Ynara felt a
shiver of horror run over her skin and fear set her heart
hammering.

Panic was erupting
around her as Waeverleyne’s citizens left their homes and offices
to find the source of the noise. The draykons played to the
attention, roaring and diving at the gathering crowds, snapping
their heavy jaws. They hadn’t actually attacked yet, but their
intent was clear.

Laylan Westry was
beside her, her lined face pale and wan as she watched the
invaders.

‘Layla,’ said Ynara,
‘Get away from here. Fetch the army. Now, please.’

‘They’re already here,’
Laylan replied.

Not exactly true. A
company of armed patrol guards, not army recruits, was taking to
the air, gripping drawn weapons. They wore the uniform of the
Council Guard, a fact which turned Ynara’s heart over anew. They
really weren’t soldiers; their role was as much ceremonial as
martial.

Seeing the unit’s
approach, the draykons paused in their antics and instead formed a
whirling circle around the cluster of guards, taunting them with
claws and teeth. The winged human figures, perhaps eight in total,
were dwarfed against those three gigantic beasts.

‘That is disaster in
the making,’ Ynara said. ‘They must be called back!’

Too late. As one the
draykons ceased their game and struck in earnest. Eight tiny winged
figures fell under the onslaught of snapping jaws and lashing claws
and tails, falling swiftly to earth.

Ynara’s hands flew to
her mouth.

‘Layla,’ she murmured,
pulling herself together. ‘Get the army. First though, give me your
cloak.’

Laylan raised her brows
but she asked no questions. She removed her cream-coloured cloak,
bundled it up and tossed it to Ynara.

‘What are you
doing?’

Ynara didn’t answer.
The garment wasn’t exactly white, but it would do.

Supposing, of course,
that draykons understood a symbol of parley. She would just have to
chance it.

‘Yna...’ Laylan spoke
the word in a tone of gravest foreboding.

‘Please, Layla, just
get word to the army. Don’t worry about me.’

With a final, fearful
glance at Ynara, Laylan obeyed.

Ynara stepped to the
door and jumped into the air. She held the cloak in both arms,
letting it stream out in the wind. Her approach caught the eye of
the red draykon and it flew to meet her. It was impossible to judge
its intent; was she to be parleyed with or eaten?

Ynara flew on
anyway.

When she reached the
red draykon she stopped, keeping her flag of parley clearly
visible. She hesitated. She had assumed that the creatures could
communicate with her, because Llandry and Pensould could. Now she
recalled that they had not actually done so when they wore their
draykon shapes. How was she to hold a conversation with this
beast?

The draykon solved the
problem for her.

A parley?

The word reverberated
in her mind, crashingly loud and layered with rage and
indignation.

There can be no cause
to parley, for there is nothing to be discussed.

‘Not so.’ The other two
draykons flew up to flank the red one and renewed fear gripped
Ynara’s heart, but she forced herself to speak with steady firmness
anyway. ‘Why do you attack our city? We have not harmed your
kind.’

Not recently
perhaps.

‘I don’t know what
you’re speaking of.’

It’s easy to forget the
wrongs done to others, isn’t it? Your race destroyed mine,
human.

‘If so, that must have
been a long time ago. The current generation cannot be held
responsible for the offences of our ancestors.’

It can and it
will!
The draykon’s anger flared in Ynara’s brain and pain
gripped her head. She felt a trickle of warm blood on her upper
lip; her nose had begun to bleed.

‘What do you aim to
achieve by this attack? Perhaps an agreement could be reached
-’

I want revenge! Nothing
less!

Ynara’s heart sank.
Revenge was a goal with which she couldn’t argue. A thirst for
revenge was unappeasable, a thirst that could only be slaked
through carnage.

‘Please, there must be
some way to make amends without -’

You intrigue me,
human.
The draykon’s mind-speech changed suddenly from anger to
curiosity.
I sense something of the draykon about you. Why do
you wear that shape?

Disconcerted, Ynara
couldn’t immediately find her tongue. ‘I don’t know what you mean,’
she replied. ‘I am human.’

Then yours is a
double betrayal and you shall be among the first to fall.
The
anger was back, and it was aimed at her with deadly force.

Ynara released the
cloak, folded her wings and dropped, just as the draykon struck.
She was too late, or too slow; the beast barrelled into her, its
enormous body hitting hers with staggering force. Pain blossomed
throughout her bruised body and with a shriek of agony she fell,
hitting the ground hard.

This second impact
jolted her broken body further, but she could only voice the barest
whimper of protest. She lay in the deep moss staring at the sky,
barely aware of her fading consciousness.

As she slipped into
blackness she thought she saw a flicker in the skies, streaks of
blue-green and ghostly grey darting across the heavens. A scream of
intense fury split the air, rending her ears with shock and rage.
Then consciousness faded altogether and she knew no more.

***

Llandry was in
draykon-shape and on the wing, Pensould flying at her side. The
towering caps of Waeverleyne’s glissenwol dwellings had just
appeared on the horizon when the first screams reached her
ears.

Draykon cries,
unmistakeably.

We’re too late!

She beat her tired
wings harder, forcing herself to triple her speed.

Peace, Minchu, it may
not be as you fear.

She ignored Pensould’s
counsel, all her thoughts bent on her mother and father. She cursed
herself, cursed Limbane and Pensould, cursed everything. Limbane
had sworn that time as she knew it was not passing while she had
been cooped up in the Library, but how could that be true? If so
then Isand had reached Waeverleyne with impossible speed.

Remembering the other
draykon’s boundless anger, though, perhaps it was not impossible.
She was driven by the sort of fury Llandry had never known. She
should have anticipated that, spared no effort herself to reach her
mother before Isand had time to enact her plan of revenge.

As she arrived in the
skies over Waeverleyne with Pensould hard behind her, all other
thoughts faded. She saw Isand, flanked by two draykons Llandry had
never seen before. She took in the crowds of panicking Glinnish
citizens filling the ground and the air, some fighting to escape
the city and others, stupidly, watching the conflict.

Then she saw the lone
human figure that hovered in the air before Isand’s massive jaws.
Slender and frail she looked in contrast, her black hair blown
loose by the wind, her dark blue wings beating fast to hold her
aloft.

Llandry would know her
mother anywhere.

Ynara was holding a
length of rippling white fabric. The sight sent her heart
plummeting; she could have told her mother that parley would not
work on Isand.

Then yours is a double
betrayal and you shall be among the first to fall.

The words were Isand’s,
spoken at a volume to cause Llandry a small whimper of pain. She
screamed a warning, screamed again as Isand struck her mother to
earth. Watching Ynara plummet to the ground, Llandry shrieked with
uncontrollable fury.

Ah, now she understood
how Isand felt.

Pensould’s voice joined
hers in a shattering roar. He flew to the attack, but Llandry
angled down, down to the ground. She was human again in seconds,
changing so fast that she couldn’t walk properly on her human legs.
She staggered to her mother’s side and dropped down beside her.

‘Mamma! Ma, speak to
me.’

No use; Ynara lay
unconscious, blood covering the lower part of her face and bruises
everywhere on her honey-coloured skin. She didn’t wake.

Sigwide lay in the moss
where he’d fallen from Llandry’s back. She felt a twinge of pain
from him as he staggered onto his feet.

Ouch,
he
grumbled.

She scooped him up,
hugging him close as several human figures ran towards her. One
woman dropped to her knees on Ynara’s other side, ripping open some
kind of bag.

‘I’m from the
infirmary,’ she gasped, breathless from the run. ‘I’ll take care of
her. I need you to move away, miss.’

Llandry felt like
clinging to her mother, all her adult rationality wiped away in the
wake of pure fear and anxiety. She forced it down, nodding.

She couldn’t help to
heal her mother, but she could avenge her injury. Finding the ball
of anger still coiled inside her, she cultivated it into a blaze of
fury.

Stay with Ma,
she said to Sigwide, placing him near Ynara’s feet. She didn’t wait
for his agreement. Backing away, she flashed back into her draykon
shape, ignoring the gasps of shock and fear from the assembled
crowds. In seconds she was back in the air, arrowing towards
Isand.

Pensould was in the
midst of the three draykons, hard pressed but holding his own.
Llandry felt another stab of guilt; in her anxiety for her mother
she’d left Pensould to fend for himself against three draykons.

Well, now she would
even the odds.

Tensing herself for
impact, she hurled herself into the fray, letting her body collide
with Isand’s at maximum speed. The red draykon bellowed and
dropped, but she wasn’t incapacitated for long; her head came up,
her jaws fastening on Llandry’s hide. Her teeth pierced the skin
and Llandry shrieked with pain.

Minchu, get out of the
fight!

What a time for
Pensould to get protective.
Don’t be absurd,
she replied.
Take care of the other two. Isand is mine.