Dark Realm: Book 5 Circles of Light series (17 page)

The others wore similar
garb, although Lerran noted only two daggers were visible on
Gossamer Tewk’s person, and the First Daughter knew she carried
four others. Peshan and Favrian both wore their swords, a long
knife scabbarded at the opposite hip.

‘You are prepared?’
Lerran asked softly.

Favrian nodded. ‘We
are, First Daughter.’

Lerran opened her mouth
but before she could speak, Shea stepped forward.

‘If you wouldn’t mind
First Daughter.’ Her cheeks flushed at her own temerity.

Lerran quirked a brow.
‘What is it Lady Shea?’

‘Well, I think I should
swear to serve you before we go.’

Lerran frowned then
spread her beringed hands before her. ‘Are you quite sure you
should do this?’

Gossamer Tewk surprised
them all, but mostly herself, by moving up beside Shea.

‘I agree with Shea,
First Daughter.’ She glanced down at Shea who nodded
vigorously.

‘It would make us feel
more – right, more that we’re really working with Favrian and
Peshan. Erm, Sword Master Favrian and Lord Peshan that is,’ she
corrected herself.

Lerran gave a brief
laugh. ‘You can dispense with formal titles child. If this is truly
your wish, do you know how to swear to the Dark?’

Shea looked uncertain.
‘Well, we saw Grent swear – is it the same for us?’

Corman stepped closer,
an unfamiliar smile on his face. ‘I will lead you.’

He stood so that
Gossamer Tewk and Shea could see him clearly then lifted his left
hand. His thumb touched his forehead, and Gossamer and Shea copied
his action carefully. ‘I swear with my mind.’

He waited for them to
repeat his words before touching his thumb to his lips. ‘I swear
with my breath.’ He touched his chest. ‘I swear with my strength.’
Then he swept his hand outwards, palm up towards Lerran and
finished the oath: ‘I swear with my life.’

Lerran had watched
closely, rising from her chair to stand nearer to the two. Now she
laid her own left hand lightly on Shea’s, then on Gossamer
Tewk’s.

‘The Dark accepts your
minds, your breaths, your strengths and your lives. And may the
Dark always have mercy on you.’

Favrian loosened his
sword in its scabbard and drew close to Gossamer and Shea, Peshan
doing likewise. A brief word, and they’d gone. Those remaining
murmured in unison: ‘Mother Dark, have mercy.’

The nasty twisting and
tumbling sensation didn’t feel quite so awful this time to
Gossamer. She wasn’t impressed with where they’d arrived though. A
tunnel, burrowing through a sort of grey stone – not a nice looking
stone but a sickly oily type. Shea was already on her feet beside
Peshan. He and Favrian stood facing in opposite directions,
listening intently. Gossamer got to her feet and settled her pack
comfortably and securely, leaving her hands free should she need
her knives in a hurry.

She peered round
Favrian and saw only a continuation of the tunnel until it turned
to the right a short way on. Peshan came up with Shea and Favrian
began to walk forward.

‘How do you know which
way?’ Shea hissed.

Neither man replied.
Gossamer had no idea how long they walked: long enough for her legs
to ache a bit at least, which meant Shea must surely be getting
tired. Gossamer turned to look at the girl but Shea didn’t appear
in any difficulty. There had been no side tunnels, no marks on the
walls or the floor, just the strange luminescence from the greasy
stone. Favrian raised a hand. They halted. What was it? Had Favrian
heard something? Someone?

Somewhat to Gossamer’s
disgust, Favrian simply squatted down, unhooking his pack and
rummaging through the contents. Shea was cross legged beside Peshan
so Gossamer also lowered herself to the floor. Both men took out
flasks and swallowed a couple of mouthfuls. Shea also found a flask
in her pack and followed suit. Gossamer was fairly sure Shea’s
flask held only water while she suspected her own would contain the
blood drink the men obviously had. Shea produced an apple and bit
into it, the crunch sounding over loud.

‘Do you actually know
where we’re going?’ Gossamer asked, her tone genuinely curious
rather than sarcastic.

Favrian shot her a
grin. ‘Roughly. It isn’t a matter of knowing the particular
direction. It’s more a sort of feeling.’

Gossamer rolled her
eyes. ‘Oh. A feeling. That’s good.’

Shea giggled. ‘It is a
feeling Gossamer. I can feel it, can’t you?’

‘No I can’t. Is it a
near feeling or a far feeling then?’

‘That’s a bit of a
problem. Sometimes it feels near and then it almost
disappears.’

‘Wonderful.’

Peshan fastened his
pack and held out a hand to Shea. ‘Come on, we’ve rested long
enough.’

They continued through
the endless tunnel. Gossamer had no idea if they were travelling in
a huge circle or actually getting anywhere. The stone on which they
walked suddenly rippled, throwing them all off balance. Favrian
regained his footing quickest, his drawn sword held across his
chest. Peshan grabbed Shea’s pack straps and steadied her as
Gossamer leaned against the side of the tunnel. But she didn’t lean
for long: the stone felt unpleasant, unclean. The floor became
still but the wall nearest Gossamer seemed to melt, turning from
solid stone to a transparent glassy substance. Peshan pushed closer
to Gossamer and they both stared through.

A man lay on a beach,
other men sitting near him. Gossamer’s mouth fell open as a grey
Dragon appeared, lowering its face to the man. She had time to see
the Dragon had lost an eye, half its face was scarred. Then the
stone wall reappeared, almost touching her nose. She turned to
Peshan. He shrugged.

‘I have no idea. Come
on.’

The trembling of the
floor repeated with shorter and shorter intervals in between, each
time accompanied by a window appearing in the wall. They saw scenes
unrecognisable to any of them.

‘How long have we been
in here do you think Peshan?’

He glanced down at Shea
then across to Gossamer. ‘I would guess a full day if not a little
longer.’

‘But then why aren’t we
tired? Or hungry?’ Shea persisted.

‘Time is different in
the Places Between. We already knew this. We’re not completely sure
the Splintered Kingdom is Between, or has a separate existence
entirely.’

‘We don’t seem to be
getting any nearer those poor people any more,’ Shea pointed
out.

The two men stared at
her with some impatience but Gossamer’s interest was
caught.

‘What would you suggest
then?’

Shea’s smile was
brilliant in the pale murkiness. ‘The woman’s name is Tika, isn’t
it? I don’t know the man’s name.’ She looked slightly guilty. ‘I
erm heard Hag talking to Corman.’

Gossamer was mystified.
What difference did their names make? But Shea was already drawing
breath.

‘TIKA!’ She screamed
the name five times.

Gossamer flinched,
looking to Favrian. He was checking the tunnel, his sword at the
ready. Then he froze and swung round to Peshan. Peshan nodded.
Favrian pointed ahead.

‘Down there.
Hurry!’

Gossamer and Shea began
to jog to keep up with the Dark Lords who strode ahead, swords
raised in their right hands, their left hands on the hilts of their
long knives. With no warning ripple from the floor, both side walls
vanished to be replaced by roaring flames leaping higher than their
heads. Shea squeaked and clutched Gossamer’s hand. Gossamer gripped
her tight and increased her jog to a sprint, pulling the girl with
her. Peshan slowed, turned back towards them. As they drew level,
he caught Shea up in his left arm and moved faster after
Favrian.

Gossamer ran on, having
to swerve suddenly round an almost right angled bend. Silence. The
walls returned. There were no flames crackling hungrily around
them. Peshan was slightly breathless but neither Favrian nor
Gossamer were out of breath. Gossamer had to admit to herself that
being dead obviously meant she would not become breathless, but she
eyed Favrian thoughtfully. He was not dead yet showed no sign of
having just sprinted a considerable distance. Peshan spun round as
the wall behind him blurred into the now familiar
window.

They watched in
silence. Another Dragon. This one with deep purple scales and
plainly larger than the grey Dragon they’d seen in the first
window. It flew over a burned and smoky landscape towards what
looked like a cluster of buildings. Then the window became stone
again.

Shea pulled her pack
off her shoulders and unfastened the straps. Her fingers groped
round a spare shirt, trousers, flask – there! She pulled it free,
holding it up for the others to see. A single scale of clear
crystal, a gift from Dabray, or so the First Daughter had said.
Favrian laughed, searching through his own pack. Soon, all four
held similar scales, each longer than their hands.

‘Are they supposed to
do something? Some magic?’ asked Shea.

Favrian stared at the
scale he held, tilting it to catch the meagre light. Finally he
tucked it inside his shirt and crouched down to be level with
Shea.

‘I don’t think it’s
magic, but with Dabray – who knows his thoughts? Only the First
Daughter perhaps and I believe she would have told us anything she
knew that might help us. You were the one who remembered the scale
Shea. What do you think you should do with it?’

Shea frowned, holding
the scale in her cupped hands. Then she smiled, an oddly adult
expression. She brought the scale close to her face, hesitated,
then raised it higher to touch her forehead with it. She rested it
against her lips, and her chest, then brought it back near her
mouth. She breathed on the scale, closed her hands tightly around
it and whispered the name again. ‘Tika.’

Chapter
Ten

Corman had a busy day.
When he left Lerran he made his way through the labyrinth that was
the Karmazen Palace to Coby’s apartments. Coby kept herself to
herself, lost in research into the most ancient and arcane of Dark
rituals. She had a small property twenty leagues north east, on the
coast, which she rarely visited. She’d left her son in charge years
ago and lived permanently in the Palace. Corman and Chindar were
the closest of Coby’s few intimates so she welcomed Corman’s
arrival at her door with a smile of pleasure. Corman refused her
offer of a glass of the blood drink – she always kept some for both
him and Chindar. She poured a glass of honey coloured wine for
herself while Corman plunged straight into what had brought him
here.

Coby listened closely,
asking a few pertinent questions to clarify particular points. When
he finished, Coby rose and refilled her glass. She stared out of
her window, where rain pelted the glass, then returned to her
chair. Corman looked relaxed, legs crossed, hands loose on the arms
of his chair.

‘I am fascinated,’ Coby
began. ‘But I am also appalled at what Lerran plans.’ She
contemplated the wine in her glass then looked across at Corman.
Gold eyes met gold eyes and neither flinched. Coby drew a breath.
‘I believe you would do better to use Harith as supporter. You are
absolutely correct. I am not intuitive, I would baulk at an
unexpected change of ritual and that could cost Lerran, and you my
old friend, most dearly. But I will gladly watch, although as you
are using two supporters perhaps it would be wise to invite Alloc
to watch with me?’

Corman nodded and got
to his feet. ‘I appreciate your frankness Coby. If you’ll excuse
me, I’ll go and see Harith.’

Harith agreed
immediately to join Corman in Lerran’s chambers before darkfall.
Corman suggested he rest and eat for the remainder of the day – to
act as supporter could be as draining as for the one making a
prolonged descent to the Dark. Alloc was on his balcony feeding a
host of small birds. Corman waited until all the crumbs and seeds
had been taken from Alloc’s outstretched hands before explaining
his visit. Alloc listened, absently brushing at water droplets on
his sleeves and managing to make himself wetter.

‘Well of course. You
had no need to ask – you need only summon me.’ He flicked his grey
beard and seemed surprised that it was so wet.

Corman took his leave,
hesitating at the door. ‘Should I send for you? You won’t forget
will you – Lerran’s chambers before darkfall?’

Alloc sputtered with
indignation, thought for a moment and smiled ruefully. ‘Perhaps a
reminder might be best.’

Corman laughed and
closed the door behind him. He went to the central kitchen and
loaded another tray with a whole cold roast fowl, several meat
pies, a heaped dish of vegetables and another of fruit. The kitchen
staff watched him in an unnatural quiet and the Palace-Keeper
Jenniah emerged from her office to watch as well. She held open the
door for him and followed into the corridor.

‘Don’t fret Jenniah.
The First Daughter knows what she’s doing,’ he told her. Privately,
he hoped those words were true. But Jenniah brightened.