Dark Realm: Book 5 Circles of Light series (3 page)

The smell of roast meat
wafted around her when she left the Merchant District and moved in
to the Artisan Quarter. Pule had told her he wanted her to travel
with Seola for a time, but had not made clear where that travel
might take her. He said the curse would hold, she would continue to
exist no matter how far from Kelshan she went.

Gossamer had sought
Pule’s help soon after her murder – Snail the Embalmer had
recommended him – said he was very good at such things. But he had
been quite unable to trace the source of her curse and concluded
whoever had laid it upon her had predeceased her. In other words,
Gossamer had the last laugh. But Gossamer had not been amused. Pule
regretted also that he did not have the ability to release her into
full death, as she’d requested.

Drengle List was a
similar case, although Pule discovered it was Drengle’s cousin who
had cursed him. The cousin died at the same time as Drengle: the
assassins making an unfortunate mistake in the excitement in a dark
alley. Lack of intelligence being an obvious failing in the List
family, Gossamer observed.

Pule had given her a
sheet of paper to read while he chattered about his health and the
skills of the herb woman, Nenat. Gossamer had been about to ask if
he’d been wise to write what he had when the words vanished from
the paper. Grent had appeared from the kitchen offering her a bowl
of tea and then blushing in embarrassment at her scathing
glare.

‘I forgot,’ he
stammered, while Master Pule tried unsuccessfully to hide his
mirth.

She’d patted Grent’s
hand. ‘The dead do not eat, drink or breathe my dear Grunt. Do try
to remember – it isn’t terribly difficult.’

‘The fact that my name
is Grent, not Grunt, isn’t too difficult to remember either,’ Grent
snapped back, causing his master a fit of breathless
wheezing.

Gossamer made her way
through the wilderness of her garden and groaned as she heard the
clank of chains accompanied by loud moans. ‘Drengle!’ she shouted
as she entered the hall. ‘Do stop that ridiculous noise. There’s no
one anywhere near enough to hear you.’

‘I’m practising.’
Drengle’s reply echoed down the staircase.

Gossamer went through
the ground floor and sat on the steps leading down from the kitchen
door. She watched the shadows gathering among the overgrown bushes.
Three or four ghosts drifted forlornly beside an ancient apple
tree. Drengle’s shuffling steps sounded behind her. At least, she
thought, he’d left his damn chain upstairs.

‘Did you find that
woman?’ he asked, sitting beside her.

‘No, but she is
expected here sometime soon.’

‘You been to Snail’s,’
he remarked brightly. ‘You look good.’

‘Why thank you Drengle,
I’m surprised you noticed.’

Drengle nodded. ‘I do
notice things. I’m good at that. Thought you were beginning to look
a bit off.’

Gossamer ignored that
comment. ‘I might go travelling for a while when Seola turns
up.’

Drengle stared at her.
‘Ooh I wouldn’t. She scares me. I wouldn’t go anywhere with her.’
Another thought arrived in his head. ‘But what about me? What’ll I
do on my own?’

Gossamer waved in the
direction of the ghosts. ‘Take them out for a treat. Between you,
you could scare quite a few people.’

‘But how will I manage,
here by myself?’

‘Drengle, you will
manage as usual. We don’t have to shop, or cook.’ She paused. ‘You
could clean up a bit I suppose.’

But Drengle was back to
his earlier point. ‘Where would you go with that woman?’ he asked.
‘You know where she says she comes from. Suppose she wants you to
go there? Mad mages, dragons, monsters and a wicked
queen.’

Gossamer admired her
hands in the twilight, smooth and plumply fleshed. Dear Snail was a
marvellous embalmer.

‘Drengle, most people
stop believing those stories by the time they start first
school.’

‘I didn’t go to no
school,’ he retorted triumphantly. ‘And anyway, there’s no smoke
without feathers, and those stories could be true.’

Gossamer decided for
the millionth time that arguing with Drengle List was probably the
most pointless thing in the world. She got to her feet.

‘I’m going to sort
through my things, just in case I do go travelling with
Seola.’

Drengle muttered to
himself for a while, then wandered down the garden for a chat with
the ghosts. They thought he was wonderful.

Seola was camped two
leagues south east of Kelshan. She could have reached the Citadel
by mid afternoon but decided to wait until tomorrow morning. Her
head was splitting with pain, partly aggravated by travelling
through a Dark gateway but mostly from the powerful sendings of the
last days. Even those whose Dark blood was greatly diluted with
human blood were suffering nightmares and headaches of varying
degrees. Seola lay by her small camp fire, unable to sleep, going
over and over the recent events.

She was with First
Daughter Lerran, giving the ancient one warmed wine, when the
goblet crashed to the floor. Lerran clutched her head, her eyes
shut tight. A second later Seola felt the agony too. A kindred soul
screamed in agony. It came from a great distance and it was only
later that Seola realised the far more lethal damage that cry could
have caused had it been any closer. At the time, Seola struggled to
reach Lerran, to enfold the frail form in her arms and just hold on
while tears blinded her and pain split her skull.

It took hours to force
the pain into abeyance sufficient that Seola could hear cries from
within the Karmazen Palace and beyond. In the following days, the
immediate family struggled to reach the First Daughter from their
estates and arrived at the Palace in differing states of
prostration. But they were all determined to offer their support to
Lerran and to the Dark.

Lerran had previously
instructed Seola to go to Kelshan to consult with the few trusted
colleagues there and she saw no reason to change that plan. While
Seola was away Lerran would discuss with the senior members of the
family what action needed to be taken to protect them from further
mental assault. They would also try to decide what might be done to
salvage a situation spiralling out of control in lands on the other
side of the world. Seola stared up at the faint prickle of stars
and then closed her eyes. She must get some sleep and hope the
headache would diminish before dawn.

She was much relieved
therefore to find that she had slept, and her head, while tender,
had stopped sending flashes of pain to her eyes. The fire had long
since died to grey ash. Seola dug out some flat bread from her pack
and ate as she walked towards the City. She decided she should try
to see Waxin Pule first, and wondered if Nenat would be within
contact. Then she could visit Gossamer Tewk. Seola had no clear
idea why the First Daughter had been so interested in Gossamer.
Entering one of the gates to the lower City, Seola hoped that
Peshan was taking proper care of the First Daughter. A brother far
younger than Lerran, he had a loud and insistent disposition, not
ideal for sickrooms, but he did love his sister dearly.

A breeze from the sea
brought the tang of salt overlaid with fish and Seola wrinkled her
nose. Increasing her pace, she began climbing towards the Citadel.
She neared one of the inner gates and noted the guards seemed more
alert than usual, stopping everyone trying to enter rather than the
random few as always on her previous visits. A queue had formed,
while papers were checked and reasons given for entry explained.
Seola removed two papers from the inner pocket of her jerkin and
silently offered them to a guard. An officer, she realised, not the
usual ordinary soldier.

The officer read the
papers carefully. ‘From Advisor Pule’s estate?’ he
commented.

Seola nodded and tapped
her pack. ‘Spring reports and accounts.’

The officer returned
the papers and waved her through. Seola continued across the wide
courtyard which was usually busy with traders and supplicants.
Today only a few people clustered in small groups talking quietly.
She avoided the main corridors, using instead the passages and
stairs used more commonly by servants and lesser ranked officials.
Eventually she reached the north tower and Pule’s quarters. At her
knock a voice called weakly for her to enter and she stepped into
Pule’s sitting room.

‘My dear,’ Pule
extended his hand to her. ‘I’m so glad to see you. Grent has gone
out to purchase some herbs and spirits but I expect him, and Nenat,
shortly.’

He peered more closely
as she sank into the chair opposite his. ‘Are you unwell my dear,
you are very pale?’

Seola smiled. ‘You’re
looking far from well yourself Waxin. Have you had another
attack?’

He answered her
questions until the outer door suddenly opened. A messenger stood
there staring between the two seated figures. A quick glance showed
Seola that Pule had instantly crumpled in on himself, the very
picture of a desperately sick man. She raised a brow at the
messenger, at the same time rising to her feet to show her respect
for his office.

‘I did not hear your
knock sir. I apologise for my manners.’ Seola bowed her head
meekly.

The messenger looked
faintly embarrassed. ‘The Imperatrix demands the attendance of
Advisor Pule,’ he said.

‘You can see for
yourself sir, he will need to be carried if you insist he attend
the lady. He is very ill sir.’

Pule’s chest began to
make a wheezing rattle and his hands twitched on the arms of his
chair. The messenger backed through the doorway.

‘I will report his
condition to the Imperatrix,’ he announced stiffly and stalked
away.

Seola closed the door
behind him and resumed her seat. ‘Popular at the moment are you
Waxin?’ she murmured.

Pule maintained his
pose as he murmured his reply. ‘Apparently so. I saw the lady
yesterday morning, then she sent for me again. I’d been taken ill
by then of course – as you can see.’ His voice lowered even
further. ‘An expeditionary force is being planned to go far to the
south.’ His eyes opened briefly then closed as the door latch
clicked.

But it was Grent who
entered this time, his arms full of packages. He smiled at Seola.
‘Master said you might visit us soon,’ he began but then moved
towards Pule’s slumped form in alarm.

Pule opened his eyes to
glare at Grent and the apprentice realised his master was not on
the point of death.

‘Let me help you put
your shopping away,’ Seola suggested.

She and Grent went to
the kitchen from where Pule could hear their very quiet
conversation. Pule felt a faint tingling in the air around him and
forced himself to remain still. He let his breathing rattle a
little more until, after a few moments, the tingling evaporated.
So, the unknown mage was getting desperate. Pule believed Veranta
and her mage spy had no evidence to take him for questioning, but
that was what they dearly wished to do.

Advisor Pule was held
in very high regard by courtiers, officials and commoners alike: an
amiable, approachable man with a kind word for anyone. If he was
taken for questioning too many people would step forward prepared
to swear to his good reputation and long service to the Imperium.
Veranta had asked him questions openly about the Dark Realm with
growing frequency over the last year or two and Pule knew it was a
matter of time before Veranta attempted an invasion of that
Realm.

What no one in Kelshan
was aware of – no one – was that Waxin Pule had been born and
educated in the Dark Realm. He had arrived in the City, looking to
be in his mid twenties, when Veranta’s father acceded to the
Imperium sixty-nine years ago. He had been sent here against the
day when Kelshan should move against the Dark Realm. And that day
was very near. But who was Veranta’s mage? He still had no clue to
that one’s identity.

The outer door opened
yet again and Nenat entered. She opened her mouth then closed it
without saying a word. She extended her left hand, waving it slowly
through the air around Waxin Pule. He nodded.

‘You can stay here no
longer. You must leave at once old friend.’ She breathed the words
close to his ear.

Pule’s white brows drew
down. He sighed. ‘I suspect you’re right my dear.’

Seola came through from
the kitchen and greeted Nenat warmly.

‘Grent,’ Pule called.
‘You must go to Gossamer Tewk. Bring her here as quickly as you can
and make sure she is prepared for a journey.’

Grent nodded, not
happily, and left. Pule looked up at Seola. ‘Can you make a gateway
here?’

‘Of course.’ She smiled
ruefully. ‘I may not be much use afterwards – the headache, you
understand.’

‘I’m sorry my dear.
Perhaps we can wait until this evening so you can recover a little
more?’

Nenat pursed her lips
in disagreement.

‘I can make the
preparations now,’ Seola suggested. ‘The final phrase would
activate the whole casting instantly.’