Lokant (5 page)

It must be broken, but
he could find no fault and as such there was nothing to repair.

Without the reliable
help of his locator, how could he ever expect to find Llandry in
this fluid place, where nothing stayed the same and no landmark
could be relied upon? Despairing, Aysun tossed the device into his
pack and turned his back on his companions. He wanted to sleep, but
he couldn’t; not while Llandry was lost somewhere in the Uppers. He
was one of the foremost engineers of Irbel: he had to find the
solution.

‘Who would you
recommend as your successor?’

Guardian
Islvy
Troste regarded Eva with some
sadness as she posed the question. Eva’s eleven years as High
Summoner had just come to an end; Islvy had been at the head of
Glour’s government for seven of those years, and the two women had
often worked together. They had never been close friends, but they
had been able to rely on each other.

‘Roys Alin,’ Eva
replied. She hadn’t had to think hard for an answer to that
question. Roys was no aristocrat, and that must speak against her
when it came to government appointments. But she was a summoner
whose natural strength almost equalled Eva’s own, and had long been
Eva’s second in command. She was a rational, dedicated woman; she
would do well in the role of chief of the realm’s summoner
practitioners.

The Guardian nodded.
‘That’s as I expected. I agree with you entirely, and I’ll make
sure there are no objections from the rest of the Council. Would
you prefer to postpone your departure, or is your resignation
effective immediately?’

‘Immediate,’ Eva
replied without hesitation. It cost her something to say it, but
she ensured that no trace of doubt appeared in her manner. ‘There
is much to be done regarding the draykon problem, and I have
already lost a great deal of time.’

The Guardian frowned
slightly. ‘That issue has already been passed to the university.
Some of their finest scholars are at work on it. Not that I doubt
your ability to contribute to the research, but is it indeed so
vital that you participate immediately? I don’t wish to lose our
best High Summoner in a generation unnecessarily.’

Eva permitted herself a
small smile. ‘They are at work, yes, but you must admit that many
of them barely believe me. They think that I spoke of some other
large, winged species, perhaps, or that some variety of shock
damaged my ability to clearly interpret the events happening around
me. I have even heard it said that I was under the influence of
some one or other of the hallucinogenic substances that can be
harvested in the Lowers. I was, after all, in the company of a
youth of twenty-five and everyone knows that all young people are
fond of recreational drugs. Few are giving the matter any real
attention.’

Islvy smiled rather
grimly. ‘Is that so? Then they will be addressed on the
matter.’

Eva shook her head.
‘They cannot be forced to take me seriously, not without any real
evidence other than my testimony, and Mr. Warvel’s. Even if they
could, there is only so far I can help them by describing what I
saw. My eyewitness experience is of paramount importance in
understanding recent events. At present there are only two of us
who can claim that experience.’

‘Mr. Warvel has been
excused from his duties as Angstrun’s aide, I understand?’

‘Yes, he is currently
working full time on research. It is my intent to join him at once.
I do not believe this spell of quiet will last indefinitely; we
will see something of these draykons before long, and it would be
well to understand the possible consequences of that.’

Eva didn’t add her
private fears. Llandry’s fate had been remarkable, but was it safe
to assume that it was isolated only to her? Could there be others
across the Seven who might likewise possess the latent potential to
metamorphose? If so, it could be extremely important to identify
them
before
they transformed for the first time. And Eva
feared that those transformations may be triggered by proximity to
a fellow draykon, as Llandry’s appeared to have been. She needed to
answer these questions, fast, before Llandry found her way
home.

‘Very well,’ sighed the
Guardian. ‘You are already a Fellow of the university, yes?’

‘I am. I have never
before exploited the privileges of that post, but I will now.’

Islvy nodded. ‘I
sincerely regret your departure, but I wish you success with your
new endeavours.’

Eva rose, recognising
that as a dismissal. ‘Thank you, Guardian Troste.’

The Guardian dropped
her formality for a moment, and smiled with real warmth. ‘Take
care, Eva.’

Eva smiled back. ‘And
you, Islvy.’

Eva left the Guardian’s
office with a heavy heart. No matter the strength of her motives,
it was hard to relinquish a role she had occupied for so long, and
which had been the centre of her life for more than a decade. It
would be strange to be excluded from the processes of government in
the future, no longer summoned to meetings, her contributions and
advice no longer sought. But she was beginning a new phase of her
life, and the questions at hand were more than enough to excite and
inspire her.

And Tren would be
waiting for her at home. He had arrived early in the morning, as
usual, and when she had left the house he was already deep into his
study of Winnier’s memoirs. Thinking of this, she quickened her
pace.

She arrived home to
find an empty box in the hallway of her house. The box was of the
sort her tailor, Baynson, packed garments in when they were to be
sent to the gentry. Strewn around it were wisps of scented
paper.

Eva gave her coat to a
servant, then followed the trail of discarded packaging into the
study. Tren sat at her desk with several books and notebooks open
around him. He was wearing at least three shirts, and several more
were being used to pad the spines of the books he was studying.

‘That’s not what I had
in mind when I ordered Baynson’s finest,’ she observed.

Tren looked up with a
grin. ‘No? Then what did you have in mind? You owed me two shirts
as I recall, but no less than twelve came out of the box.’

‘I was just making
sure.’

‘Making sure of what?
Are you planning to ruin several more of my personal garments?’

Eva grinned. ‘It does
seem to happen when I’m around.’ Tren had ripped up one of his own
shirts to bind a hand wound for her, when they had been en route
through Orstwych some weeks ago. Later, another shirt had been
irrevocably damaged when they both took an unplanned dip in
ice-cold salt water. She had promised to replace them, and so she
had. She’d even provided an upgrade to the quality. A considerable
one.

‘This silk is
remarkably comfortable to wear, though a little thin,’ Tren
continued. ‘Maybe that’s what you had in mind: layers.’

The multiple shirts he
wore were in clashing colours. He had a dark red shirt over a
leaf-green one, over a beautiful purple colour. Eva chuckled.

‘Baynson would have
heart failure if he saw you like that. By the way, there are
cushions for the books’ spines.’

‘I know, but if I am to
enjoy the luxury of pure silk shirts, why should I deny it to the
books? Lulled into a sense of pampered security, they will give up
their secrets the more easily.’

‘Ah. And how is that
working out?’

‘Quite well. For
example.’ Tren leaned forward in his chair and leafed through the
book that rested before him. Eva recognised the aged, dark leather
of Andraly Winnier’s book. ‘We - or at least, I - assumed that this
book, looking as it does rather terrifically ancient, is the work
of a long-dead author. However, there are some entries describing
recent events in the Lowers and - this is the good part - they’re
obviously written in the same handwriting as the oldest entries.’
He paged carefully through the book, demonstrating his point, and
Eva leaned over the desk to see. She had to agree: the newer script
was written in different ink, but the letters were formed in the
same manner.

‘You’re certain the
events described are recent? Maybe this isn’t the first time that
the Lowers have suffered this kind of disruption.’

‘Interesting that you
asked that. I am certain that these entries are very recent, yes,
but there are earlier entries describing the same kinds of things.
And these recent chapters refer to that. Here:
The re-emergence
of the draykon race has upset the balance of Ayrien, causing
serious upheaval of a type previously observed and recorded during
the Eterna Conflict.’ “
Ayrien” seems to refer to the Lowers,
but I’ve yet to find any more references to an Eterna
Conflict.’

‘
Ayrien,
’ Eva
repeated. ‘I’ve never heard that term before, have you?’

‘Nope. I’m going back
to the City Library tomorrow to look for them both. That’s not all,
though. Look at this.’ Tren turned to approximately the middle of
the large tome, revealing the roughly-torn stubs of several missing
pages. ‘There are a few more torn out throughout the book. No
indication as to what they discussed.’

‘I wonder if Griel
removed them,’ Eva mused. ‘Though I can’t imagine why he might
have. It’s a pity we didn’t get longer to explore the tower; maybe
we could have found the missing pages.’

‘And who knows what
else,’ Tren agreed. ‘What’s making me very curious, though, is the
identity of the author. Who is Andraly Winnier? This person appears
to have been writing for an impossibly long time.’

‘That’s not confirmed,’
Eva replied. ‘Handwriting can be imitated.’

‘True. But why
bother?’

Eva shrugged. ‘If it’s
conceivably possible, then it should be considered and
investigated.’

Tren grinned up at her.
‘You’re a curious mixture. In some respects you’re a complete
rebel, and in others you’re a surprisingly conservative woman.
Even, dare I say, pedantic.’

‘But imagine how dull
life would be if everyone was completely predictable. Please, Tren,
for the sake of my sanity, take off the extra shirts.’

Tren laughed. ‘That’s
really bothering you, is it?’

‘Yes. It’s hurting my
eyes. I can’t consent to stand anywhere near you while you’re like
that.’

‘That is a grave
threat,’ Tren replied seriously. He disappeared for a moment under
a succession of silk shirts as several clashing colours came off.
Eva collected the discarded shirts and folded them up, arranging
them into perfectly colour-coordinated pairs. At length Tren was
down to only one shirt, a perfectly inoffensive blue one.

‘Thank you,’ she said.
‘Now you may proceed.’

‘That’s everything I
had to report.’ Tren pulled in his chair and focused on the book
again. ‘I’ll let you know if I find anything else interesting.’

‘I’ll send Beane in
with some refreshment,’ she offered.

He shook his head
without looking up. ‘Thanks, but I don’t want to risk getting the
books dirty.’

‘Very well; then I
shall call you for lunch.’

She wanted him to look
up and smile again, but he kept his eyes fixed on his book. ‘Thank
you.’

She nodded, though he
didn’t see the gesture, and departed.

Later that day, Eva sat
in her carriage on the way to the city’s sorcery school. The
weather was finally warming a little; for once she had no need to
bundle herself into her furs, and she went without the stone bottle
filled with hot water that usually warmed her feet while she
travelled. Outside, the moon was high in the sky and nearly full,
casting a strong silver glow across the city of Glour.

She was on her way to
see Lord Angstrun, who held the post of the realm’s High Sorcerer.
His duties within that role were similar to her own, now former
duties as High Summoner. He was responsible for maintaining the
enchantments that kept the Night Cloak in force across the realm,
keeping out the strong sunlight that would cause severe and
irreparable damage to the important Lowers-native plants and
animals on which Glour society relied. He had a number of
assistants in that task, of which Tren had been one until recently.
Angstrun was also responsible for overseeing the training of the
relatively few citizens of Glour who possessed sorcerous talent.
Eva knew from his secretary that he was at the school today, giving
a lecture. She was timing her arrival to coincide with the end of
his teaching duties.

Her carriage pulled up
outside the large, old building that housed the academy, and she
was swiftly conducted inside. Angstrun was in his office, still
wearing his professor’s robes and his customary thunderous
expression. He had an imposing demeanour and was obviously
afflicted with a flammable temper, but there had been times in
years past that Eva had seen him considerably softened. Unlike
many, she had no fear of him.

‘Darae. I hope I’m not
interrupting.’

Angstrun fixed her with
a keen stare. ‘I had a feeling I would be seeing you.’

Eva gave him a cool
smile. ‘You’re the expert in these parts. I need your opinion on
the matter of dual abilities, such as I discussed before the
Council not long ago. Do you recall?’

She expected him to
dismiss the idea with his customary bad language, but instead his
expression turned thoughtful. ‘I’ve never seen or heard of a person
who could manage both sorcery and summoning with any success. I
could dredge up some dusty reports of curious happenings in
childhood - kids who show some small ability in both directions for
a time - but those children always seem to lose the duality as they
grow older. By the age of five, in general. After that they develop
adult abilities in only one of those two areas.’

‘You’re very
knowledgeable.’