The Draykon Series (1-3)

Draykon: Epilogue

Ynara frowned down at Devary's prone form, absently smoothing the blankets over him. He had been delirious for two days, obviously hallucinating. She hadn't been able to gain a clear picture of what had happened to him and Llandry, despite her repeated questioning. He rambled incoherently about scaled beasts and wings like sails; the word 'draykon' even passed his lips at one point. Ynara thought briefly of the terrific, bestial shriek that had sent her and her husband racing down from their treetop abode to find Devary unconscious at the bottom. An unusual sound it had undoubtedly been, but Ynara did not credit Devary's ramblings. Gracious, the woods were already thick with the sorts of creatures long since banished to the pages of storybooks. Any number of strange, unidentifiable sounds resounded through the trees from the moment the sun rose through to the softest of the dusk hours. Some one or other of those had undoubtedly made that shuddering cry.

   Doubt flickered through her for a moment, undermining her certainty. So many supposedly extinct or non-existent beasts had lately emerged, stepping through the gates that still opened and closed themselves with unusual frequency across the Seven Realms. If the muumuk, the whurthag and the gloereme were as real as she, why not the king of them all? Why not draykons, indeed? The thought made her heart beat hard and quick with fear, and she pushed it resolutely away. She had not seen this supposed draykon, and she had been out of her house within moments of hearing that cry. Neither had any of the other bystanders present. The prospect of their simply failing to spot something so enormous was absurd. She took a deep breath, feeling better.

   Devary's eyes opened. He had been sleeping peacefully for more than two hours now, and she hoped that the delirium had passed. She bent over him, adopting a reassuring smile.

   'Hello, Dev,' she said quietly. 'You're looking a little better. Not so grey in the face. How do you feel?'

   'Abominable.' He looked at her quite gravely, no smile tugging at his full mouth or lurking in his eyes. A premonition of disaster tugged at her, Llandry's name hovering on her lips.

   'Oh?' she said lightly, smiling. 'The healers dealt very smartly with you. They said you'll be well enough to get up in a few days, if you're good.'

   Devary's gaze slid away from hers. Detecting guilt foremost among the misery of his attitude, Ynara gripped his hand hard, forcing him to look back into her face.

   'Dev. You must tell me. What happened to Llandry?'

   He turned red first, then paled abruptly. 'She got away. I think.'

   'You think?'

   'I... yes. We were on our way back to you. We stopped for a few hours on the southern edge of the forest. We were attacked. Ynara, some of them were from Glinnery.'

   She could have shaken him, injured or not. 'Never mind that, Dev. Tell me about Llandry!'

   Dev hurried on, painting a horrifying picture of the fight under the glissenwol caps and Llandry's escape. Her stomach clenched with fear when he spoke of the two winged men who had followed her into the skies.

   'That was the last I saw of her,' he finished. 'After that, I lost the fight. I woke up back over the border in Nimdre, with someone standing over me. Not one of the original attackers. Tall man, grey hair, obviously a sorc. Pair of whurthags at his heels.' His words were growing faint with the effort to speak, but she didn't care. She levelled her coldest stare at him and waited.

   'He found the pendant and took it off me. Disappeared. All of them did, left me there. I must've passed out after that.' He subsided into silence, struggling a little to breathe. Ynara felt torn between sympathy and a fierce desire to kill him herself.