Vagrants: Book 2 Circles of Light series (43 page)

‘That is a huge area,’
Hargon objected. ‘It would take thousands of men how many cycles to
find such a thing.’

Tika opened her mouth
to reply, then her eyes unfocused slightly and she remained silent.
Recognising that someone was mind speaking her, Kemti smoothly took
over her side of the conversation, hoping that none of the Lords
were observing her too closely. Before he had finished his first
sentence though, Kemti saw the eight Sapphreans round the table
were all staring at Tika. Kemti raised an eyebrow at Gan who lifted
a shoulder helplessly. It was Sket, standing unheeded at Tika’s
side, who decided to explain.

‘My Lady Tika is in
communication with her soul bond, the Great Dragon Farn, at the
moment,’ he announced with great aplomb.

The Lords’ stares
turned to Sket, who stared stonily back. Perhaps fortuitously, at
that instant Tika blinked and all eyes returned to her.

‘Your personal Guard
has told us you were speaking with Farn,’ said Gan
blandly.

Tika looked surprised
then smiled up at Sket. ‘That was sensible Sket. Farn and Kija said
they have had a message from Gaharn.’

‘A Merig?’ Hargon asked
miserably.

‘Yes Lord Hargon, a
Merig. Somehow, the Lady Emla discovered how the circles worked and
moved herself – somewhere else.’ Tika frowned. ‘I am not sure
where, but it means that Rhaki is not the only one now to be able
to use them to move great distances quickly.’

Hargon started to get
to his feet. ‘Does that mean I can expect many more strangers
turning up in my town?’ His voice rose, he was clearly not happy
with such an idea.

‘Of course it doesn’t
Lord Hargon,’ Kemti soothed. ‘I would think rather it might mean
that such ways could be closed now to Rhaki. I am sure Guards are
already in place around all of the circles whose locations we
know.’

‘And where are they?’
Hargon asked, sitting down again to Gan’s relief.

‘One is in the Asataria
in Gaharn City. One is in a pavilion on the estate belonging to the
Golden Lady, several leagues south west of the city. Another is in
the Northern Stronghold.’

‘And at least one is
right here – you think,’ Hargon growled.

‘One must be close by
for Rhaki to have reached here so swiftly. Did he come to you
looking dusty and tired from travel?’ Tika asked.

‘No, he looked only as
though he had been out for a stroll,’ Navan told her.

‘Then a circle has to
be near and I would wager his tower is either built above it or it
is within a moment’s reach.’

The Sapphreans digested
Tika’s firm statement in silence, eventually broken by
Hargon.

‘I have been remiss as
a host Lady Tika. Let me have you and your comrades shown to your
rooms. I hope they will prove suitable for your needs. The hour
grows later than I had realised – you must surely be hungry. I will
have a meal served for us all here in an hour – unless you would
prefer to eat privately?’

‘We will see you all in
an hour then.’ Tika gave Hargon the faintest of smiles, fully aware
that he and his friends would have their heads together the minute
she and her friends left the room.

She rose, took one step
round her chair and gasped. Kemti had also risen and now he swayed,
hands clutching his head. Tika was on her knees, Sket supporting
her as she moaned in pain. Chairs crashed to the floor when the
Lords jumped to their feet in consternation.

‘What is it? Vagrants
be cursed, what is wrong?’ Hargon demanded.

Kemti sank back onto
his chair, his eyes screwed shut and his long hands white where
they squeezed his own head so hard.

‘Rhaki,’ he gasped. ‘He
has killed again, but something else too. Oh stars, something far
worse!’

Voron went out to the
stables while Ren settled their bill with Volk. He handed the
innkeeper two silvers, three coppers more than he’d been asked
for.

‘The food was
marvellous Volk – you certainly keep a good inn.’

Volk’s round face moved
in what perhaps was a smile. ‘Glad to have pleased you sir. Heading
for Oblaka are you?’

Ren looked a little
surprised but Volk grunted. ‘Only place two such as you and your
friend could be going this far north. Can’t see as you’d be
trappers nor hunters.’ He rolled to the door with Ren and studied
the sky. ‘Weather should stay quiet a couple of days. A good
journey to you then sir. Maybe we’ll see you on your way back.’ He
turned back to the common room while Ren walked round to the
stables.

The horses were saddled
and ready, the skinny boy watching Voron closely. Once Voron was
mounted, a coin glittered as it spun through the air towards the
boy. Few people were about at this early hour and Ren felt happier
on horseback after the bath and comfortable night’s rest had
removed the worst of his aches.

They travelled a league
or more in silence, the trail leading them up and down over the
foothills of the Garah. To their right the hills became towering
peaks, still thickly shawled in snow. They climbed up to yet
another ridge and saw the land sloped gently away – no more
climbing. They dismounted to rest the horses briefly.

‘You slept well last
night? Nothing disturbed you?’ Voron asked.

Ren sighed at the
memory. ‘A comfortable bed, after such a supper – yes I slept very
well. Did you not?’

Voron worked a piece of
shiny black rock free from the ground with the toe of his boot then
bent to pick it up.

‘You heard no voices
then?’

‘Voices? You mean from
revellers or such?’ Ren smiled. ‘I would not imagine a great deal
of revelry happens too often in Valoon or the North
Star.’

‘No.’ Voron turned the
rock in his fingers. ‘The wind picked up; at least, it was blowing
hard once we were abed.’

Ren’s brows drew into a
slight frown as he watched Voron’s half averted face. Voron looked
up, straight into Ren’s eyes.

‘There were voices
mixed with the wind Ren, many voices.’

Ren’s frown deepened.
‘Voices?’ he queried. ‘What did they say?’

Voron dropped his piece
of rock back to the ground and swung into his saddle again. ‘There
were so many it was impossible to untangle them – odd words –
that’s all. But they felt angry Ren, very angry, and
wild.’

Ren caught up to Voron
and rode close to his flank, letting his horse pick its own way
down the faint track.

‘I don’t understand how
that could happen Voron,’ he said, once they reached the flatter
ground. ‘The shield I have around us should prevent anything like
that. Have you had any dreams since we left the
Menedula?’

‘No,’ Voron admitted
after some consideration. ‘But I was awake last night, not
dreaming, and they were real voices.’

‘I don’t doubt you
Voron,’ Ren smiled at his friend. ‘I am a little concerned at how
and why they managed to reach you. The shield is untouched so how
could they have got past it? Who they are is also a troubling
question. If it happens again, wake me.’

Voron gave Ren his
first genuine smile of the day. ‘Thank you for not
scoffing.’

Ren looked perplexed.
‘Why would I scoff?’

‘I can assure you, the
Master of Aspirants would jeer at far less fantastic tales.’ Voron
spoke with feeling.

‘The Master? I do not
know him too well, he has only recently become Master. Old Zima
seemed to be there for ever.’

‘Zima’s death was so
unexpected – no one had even begun training as his successor. Cho
Petak himself appointed Krolik, directly from the Order’s House in
Radoogar if you recall.’

A shiver slid down
Ren’s back. Matters involving Students and Aspirants rarely touched
him these days, absorbed as he had been in his researches over the
last years. But he did remember the frisson of gossip when Zima
died so suddenly – such a strangely careless fall, and in such a
remote corner of the Menedula. It was a day and a half before his
body was found; no chance of reviving him by then of
course.

Then Cho Petak’s
unprecedented announcement of Krolik’s appointment as Master.
Aspirant Masters were chosen from those who had fulfilled the
obligations required to become Offerings but had not quite the
necessary dedication to go the further step. Their eyes became
silvered like those of the Offerings and they were given posts
throughout Drogoya. They were teachers, advisors, herbalists and
physicians, and were known as Kooshak, or the Girdled Ones, for the
linked obsidian beads they wore at their throats.

Now Ren heard again
Babach’s words, and also Finn Rah’s. But Cho Petak was the
Sacrifice, the Sacred One of Drogoya, and above reproach or
criticism. Thus Ren had believed. Thinking of Cho Petak’s
involvement in this matter of Krolik’s elevation to Master of
Aspirants, the tentative doubts began to harden into something
more. And Cho Petak’s interest in Ren, Babach and, seemingly,
Voron, took on a more dubious cast.

If Cho Petak was
misusing his exalted station, how could anyone stop him? He had
become Sacrifice because of his undoubtedly immense talent in
working with all four elements. No one could stand against him,
should such an unthinkable situation arise. Mulling over the last
few meetings of the Offerings and Sacrifice, Ren realised that Cho
Petak had said nothing. He listened, then he gently dismissed them
until the next meeting, asking only that he be kept
informed.

Finn Rah had said that
Cho Petak had been an ardent believer in Drogoya contacting the
people of the Night Lands and that he had changed his mind over
night. Ren felt a connection tugging between his thoughts but he
could not chase it down. Coming out of his reverie, he saw Voron
had got some way ahead. He urged his horse on to catch up just as
Voron turned to look back at him.

‘Do you want to stop
Ren, or keep going?’

Ren glanced at the sky.
Several hours of daylight remained and he wasn’t hungry yet after
Volk’s supper and breakfast.

‘Let’s ride until we
find somewhere snug for the night,’ he replied.

They camped in a
sheltered hollow just below the last low ridge they’d traversed.
Ren gathered wood and tended to the horses. Voron concocted a stew
made with a rather thin rabbit which he’d managed to catch earlier
in the afternoon. A stream chattered to itself as it wound its way
down the slope beside them. Directly ahead but still several
leagues away, the sea’s expanse stretched to the
horizon.

‘So Babach is at
Oblaka?’ Voron stifled a belch.

Ren helped himself to
some tea and leaned back against a birch trunk.

‘He spent several years
there long ago I believe, but yes. He had certain things he wished
to check on – to do with variations on some of the maps we
use.’

‘Could you contact him
now?’

‘I could but I think I
prefer to stay shielded until we reach him.’ Ren could not explain
his deep uneasiness to Voron, but Voron sensed something of Ren’s
disquiet and told tales of his recent journeying in the south to
distract him.

They settled for the
night. Stars prickled in the darkness overhead, conducting their
stately dance through their allotted portions of sky, and the two
travellers soon fell asleep. Voron woke instantly at Ren’s groan.
The moon gave little light and he hurriedly pushed a handful of
twigs onto the barely glowing embers of their fire. He knelt at
Ren’s side and shook his shoulder, unsure if he was awake or still
sleeping.

‘Ren,’ he called.
‘What’s wrong?’

Ren groaned again,
jerked under Voron’s hand, then sat up so abruptly their heads
cracked together with a resounding thud. Voron swore and sat back
on his heels, rubbing his forehead. The twigs he’d fed the fire
suddenly caught and in their blaze he peered at Ren.

‘Well?’ he demanded
crossly.

Ren was also rubbing
his head. ‘Someone tried to breach my shield,’ he said
quietly.

‘Tried, or succeeded?’
Voron put larger pieces of wood on the fire and propped their
kettle over the heat again.

Ren snorted. ‘Tried I
said. But I have no idea who it could have been.’ He held his hands
out to the warmth of their small fire. ‘Each mind has its own
signature and cannot be duplicated or disguised. Or so I have
always understood.’

Voron looked up
abruptly. ‘You think someone knows how to conceal themselves like
that?’

Ren rubbed his forehead
again. ‘You have an exceptionally hard skull,’ he sounded peevish.
‘But yes, I fear I do begin to believe just that.’

Chapter
Twenty-Nine

People had become a
little more accustomed to the presence of the gigantic bird in the
great hall of the Stronghold. Baryet was interested in everything
around him and engaged anyone who strayed too near him in deep
conversation. It was quickly obvious that Baryet was impervious to
sarcasm and given to a condescending attitude. After the near
disastrous first encounter with Fenj and Lula, Fenj had become
rather amused by the bird. Lula abandoned spitting at him but
ignored him as far as she could.