Lokant (41 page)

What was Krays up to?
Limbane reviewed the facts. He knew that his so-called fellow
Lokantor had gone to some trouble to find, recruit and train some
of the partial Lokants of this Cluster of worlds. Not all of them,
but apparently enough to serve his purposes. From Devary Kant, he
knew that Krays had taken control of at least one information
agency, the one that lay concealed behind the university of magical
history in Draetre. He may well have taken over others besides.
That meant he was looking for information, presumably magical in
nature.

Then there was the
whurthag device he himself had encountered at Sulayn Phay. The
purpose of that machine evaded his understanding. Was it really a
more effective guard than any of his earlier creations? It would be
a fearsome defence against human intruders, but that was precisely
what the island was without. None but Lokants had any real chance
of infiltrating that place, and they had disabled the thing (albeit
with a little trouble. Melle would survive, and Rael’s leg had been
saved, but he was still toweringly angry with Krays for those
injuries).

If he had built one
unnatural hybrid of a device, what else might he be building? And
why? Certainly not just to guard a few captives.

And so to consider the
matter of the prisoners. Krays had gone to considerable trouble to
find out who the hereditary draykoni were, and had subsequently
abducted two out of the three. He had tried hard to get hold of the
third as well. Why? He didn’t buy the idea that they were to be
used to locate draykon graves. Krays was inventive; if he sought
more bone, he or his associates would long since have developed
some device to do that for him.

Mr Kant’s presence at
the island had surprised him. According to the agent’s own account,
he had been confined there as punishment for snooping. That made
sense, as far as it went. The absence of Orillin Vanse was more
troubling. Kant’s presence of mind in petitioning Ynara Sanfaer may
have saved the boy much, but where then was he? Kant didn’t know,
and by Andraly’s account Ynara herself lay in a coma in
Waeverleyne. Had she got to Vanse in time, or had Krays taken
him?

And he had no report
from his own personal complications, Mr Warvel and her ladyship. It
was many long years since he had consented to the training of a
partial; as yet he was unsure whether it would prove a benefit or a
liability. He’d been reluctant to confer full Library access upon
Evastany Glostrum until he had taken her measure. Was she an asset
or a dead weight? That remained to be seen. He hoped she would have
something useful to report when she returned.

Limbane was well used
to the workings of his Library. Time passed here, but so slowly it
was almost the same as a complete severance from the time flow. He
was used to waiting in the Library while worlds rushed through
their cycles outside. But for the first time in his life he was
becoming impatient. He had the foreboding sense that Krays’s antics
meant more, now, than they often had in the past. Ordinary rivalry
he was used to, but all of this amounted to something worse, he was
sure of it. Why hadn’t his rival made more effort to stop them when
he’d found them at Sulayn Phay?

That prompted the seed
of an idea. He waited, on the edge of a realisation, as his aged
and deeply knowledgeable brain worked its way through this mass of
information.

The air trembled,
breaking his concentration. That whisper of disturbance meant one
thing: somebody was translocating. Not a breach of security, this:
it was a normal translocation procedure, which meant the traveller
was someone whose implanted translocator device contained fully
updated access codes.

All his Lokants knew
never to translocate into his personal reading room except with
explicit permission granted. This, then, must be their new
recruit.

It was about time.

Another instant, and
she appeared. But not as he expected. A mass of tangled limbs fell
onto the floor of his reading-room, two bodies clinging to one
another. One was his new partial. The other, he swiftly realised,
was Warvel. He saw red, smelt blood on the air.

He was on his feet
immediately.

‘Tell me what
happened,’ he barked. ‘Quickly.’

‘Griel happened,’
replied her ladyship. ‘I’ll tell you everything, but first,
fix
him.
’

Limbane dropped to his
knees beside Warvel’s inert body.

‘Get Andraly in
here.’

***

Some time and a deal of
mess later, Limbane was restored to his reading-room, though he was
obliged to invite her ladyship to join him. His newest recruit sat
slumped in a chair opposite, her face white with exhaustion and
worry. Her clothes were stained with blood now dried to an ominous
dark red colour.

In spite of her drawn,
dishevelled state, the woman was still exquisite. His race in
general were blessed with fine symmetry of feature, and many would
have been called beautiful by human standards. But this lady’s
mixed heritage gave her an unusual softness that elevated her looks
still higher.

No wonder the foolish
young sorcerer was transfixed by her.

‘You may talk,’ he
informed her. ‘You promised to tell me everything, mind.’

She nodded, but she did
not commence speaking. He waited somewhat impatiently. This was
information he needed
now
. He sympathised with her over the
boy’s fate, but this was important.

He had given her a cup
of cayluch, a drink she professed to enjoy. The steaming mug sat by
her side, untouched, as she stared somewhere into the middle
distance and said nothing.

‘Evastany,’ he said.
‘Now, please.’

Her eyes snapped back
to focus on his face. ‘Sorry,’ she said with a slight cough. After
clearing her throat a second time, she began.

Her narration took some
time and was given with considerable detail, in spite of her
distracted state. He did not interrupt, letting her relate all of
her findings and experiences in whatever manner she chose. When she
fell silent at last, he fell into a brief meditation.

Rousing himself after
some minutes, he said, ‘The use of the partial, Griel.’

She started a little,
as if she’d fallen into a daze herself. ‘What of it?’

‘The substitution of
original parts for draykoni matter is interesting. It is a pity
Krays did not share his intentions with Mr Ruart.’

‘I have a theory,’
replied the lady in the dull tone of tiredness.

‘Oh?’

‘Have you ever held or
worn any draykon bone yourself?’

His lips twitched.
Gracious, what a question. She clearly had no idea. ‘Yes,’ was all
he said in reply.

‘How does it make you
feel?’

Limbane shrugged. ‘I
recall no special experiences.’

She smiled briefly.
‘Thought so. That is not true for humans. Those with draykon blood
are benefited by wearing a piece of bone, as it will amplify their
natural magical capabilities. But even those without draykon blood
can feel some effects - can make some use, even if minimal, of
latent draykon energies contained in draykon matter. You said that
yourself. They went to war over it.’

‘Yes, yes,’ he agreed.
‘All this I know.’

‘Yes, well. I notice
that draykoni magics and Lokant abilities bear some similarities.
Draykoni may regenerate themselves or others, as Lokants may heal.
The methods are different but the effects are almost the same.
Likewise summoning and domination via the will: on beasts the
outcome is similar.’ Her ladyship leaned forward, apparently woken
from her semi-stupor. ‘In a few cases the two can be combined. Ana,
for example, wields both the power of summoning
and
that of
domination. It makes her very formidable when it comes to beast
mastery. I am the same myself. If you can combine the two types of
magics, then, the results can be powerful indeed.

‘But so far the only
way to do that is via inter-breeding. I believe your friend Krays
is looking for another way.’

Limbane froze. He saw
it all in an instant. Krays had always sought power, always more
and more power. He sought to escalate his organisation’s rivalry
with the original Library into serious competition. If an
opportunity such as this was offered him, he would grab it with
both hands.

A sickening thought
occurred to him. ‘That’s why he has been looking for the likes of
Llandry Sanfaer. From what you have said, I collect that Griel’s
bone implants were clumsy. They were taken from a draykon grave,
that’s why, and refashioned as best as possible to fit a human
frame. If he wishes to leech draykoni magics by literally
embedding
draykoni matter within himself, he would need to
find a better source, wouldn’t he?’

If possible, her
ladyship paled even further. ‘Hideous thought. When Llandry took on
her draykon form, how much of her biology changed? Was she altered
down to the very bone? If she’s draykoni in human form -’

‘- then her bones are
human but probably brimming with the same energies Krays seeks to
usurp,’ Limbane finished.

She shuddered. He felt
a sense of true horror himself. That woman he had taken from Sulayn
Phay had not been there merely to locate draykon bone: she had been
expected to provide it. Krays would aim to force the change on her
in some way, then harvest her bones for installation in
himself.

Though a female’s
anatomy would not be the best fit. Krays thought it through again.
The boy, Orillin Vanse: it was his physique that would be the
better match with Krays. He, then, was intended for the
transformation of Krays himself; and Limbane would be willing to
bet that the man had two loyal female Lokants lined up to receive
the benefit of Llandry’s and Avane’s bones.

‘That explains some of
it,’ he said out loud. ‘But his machinery: what of that.’

He fell back into his
thinking haze. The key lay in Krays’s motivation. He might be
testing the procedures before he applied them to himself, but it
was still risky. His goal, then, must be a high one.

The one thing Krays had
always wanted, yet never been able to achieve, was mastery over the
true and original Library itself. Always unpopular, he had lost the
election to Limbane; soon afterwards he had quit the Library and
formed his rival group. But it was not enough for him, of course. A
mere offshoot of the glorious original was Sulayn Phay; poorly
populated, weak, absolutely inferior.

Limbane had always
assumed that Krays’s goal was to build up Sulayn Phay’s strength
and significance until it equalled, and subsequently exceeded, the
importance of the real Library. What if he was wrong?

What if Krays was
aiming to take mastery of the Library itself?

Limbane shot to his
feet. Lady Glostrum stared up at him in surprise.

‘Things to be done,’ he
said energetically. ‘Llandry Sanfaer must be brought here. She must
never fall into Krays’s hands. Krays’s workshops must be
infiltrated and his projects uncovered. And finally, I
must
find that boy.’

‘Which boy?’ He had
evidently lost her ladyship; she blinked at him in a befuddled
state.

‘Vanse,’ he snapped.
‘I’ll be needing your help in Ullarn. But for now, rest. I’ll
return.’

He left, translocating
away without waiting for her reply.

Two pale, composed
faces, framed in night-black hair spread out over white pillows.
Eyes shut, breathing steady and slow. One lay alone in her narrow
infirmary bed; upon the torso of the other rested a small bundle of
grey fur, curled into a sleeping ball.

Aysun had scarcely
looked on any other image in days. He had placed a chair between
the two beds in which lay his wife and his daughter. Hour after
hour he sat there, gazing first upon Ynara’s face and then upon
Llandry, so like her mother and yet so different also. The signs he
craved never came: no quickening breath announced a wakening from
slumber, no flutter of the eyelashes, no slight movement of hands
or fingers. They remained still as statues, white as marble.

Pensould sat on the
other side of the room, by Llandry’s side. He and Aysun hardly
spoke; both maintained their dejected vigils in near silence,
unable to find anything to say. Pensould had been optimistic for a
time, after whatever feat he had pulled using Aysun’s own vitality.
But when Llandry still didn’t wake, his spirits had steadily sunk
further and further.

Aysun still found the
draykon-man unnerving, and he certainly didn’t know what to make of
his relationship with Llandry (of whatever nature it was). But his
devoted guardianship over her warmed Aysun’s heart. Whatever he
might be, his affection for little Llan was obviously sincere.

Aysun shifted in his
chair, his muscles cramping with inaction. He was neglecting his
duties, he knew. In the aftermath of the draykon attack, there had
been calls for new weapons to be developed, for Glinnery possessed
nothing with which to respond to the attacks of those vast,
airborne beasts. As a leading engineer of the realm, he had a clear
duty to participate in the project.

He did try. Every day
he left the infirmary for a few hours and turned his thoughts to
the problem of city defence. But it was hard; all he could see was
those two still faces, their beloved features as much dead as
alive. Who could think of war machines under such circumstances?
Not him. He was not equal to it.

Sigwide woke and stood
up, stretching his short legs. Seeing Aysun, he gave the tiniest
wag of his stubby tail, then wobbled over to install himself in the
big man’s lap. Aysun petted him abstractedly. The orting’s fur was
dense and matted; he hadn’t been grooming himself properly. He
hadn’t been eating properly either, though he was regularly
provided with food. Sigwide had always been so in tune with Llan;
Aysun was afraid that this listlessness was the product of that
bond. Was Sigwide already mourning?