The Draykon Series (1-3)

Lokant: Chapter Twenty-Seven

Time passed strangely in this strangest of places. In point of fact, time didn't pass at all, or so Limbane claimed. Llandry didn't know how to believe or understand him on that point.

Nor, indeed, on any other topic on which he'd spoken since she had been brought here.

It didn't help that he frequently spoke in enigmatic riddles and refused to explain himself. Lady Glostrum was right: he was keeping a great deal of information from them, for reasons she did not know and did not trust.

But it didn't matter whether or not she trusted him, or the equally reticent Andraly. Her thorough exploration of the "Library" had merely revealed more of it; more and more and more rooms and halls and corridors and silent people intent on alarmingly big books, and never any hint of an exit.

She couldn't even tell where in the worlds this Library was. Neither could Pensould.

The four of them - Tren and Lady Glostrum as well - had taken to congregating in the chart room. It was a peculiar place, so packed with information that it made her dizzy just looking at it. But the group attempt to decipher the puzzle themselves, instead of waiting for Limbane to explain it, kept her occupied.

It kept her wayward mind from imagining red-scaled Isand descending on Glinnery with an army of draykons behind, intent on taking back Arvale.

All in good time, Miss Sanfaer. That was all Limbane had said when she had questioned him about it.

I need to go home! Glinnery must be warned!

All in good time, Miss Sanfaer.

So she waited, anxiously and with poor grace. She tried to slide between the worlds the way she did so easily in her draykon form, but on passing the walls that enclosed this strange place she encountered nothing.

Simply nothing, as if the place really did exist entirely in isolation from everything - even time.

That had shaken her badly.

How she wished to be on the wing in Iskyr again, strong and proud and sure of her place in the world. Too rapidly was she turning back into the person she'd been until only a moon ago: insecure, unsure, full of doubts and anxieties and prone to the distressing attacks of panic that she'd hoped never to feel again. Pensould's presence could not wholly soothe her, for he was as uncertain and confused as she; he had little calming influence to share. Only Sigwide could comfort her. Loyal as ever, her orting refused to be parted from her. The warmth of his small body and the softness of his fur under her hands kept her stable, more or less, his chattering distracting and amusing her.

Cold, he often said, and she would wrap him in her cloak and hold him close until he stopped shivering.

Food, he would say next, and she'd share the bowls of nuts she begged from the Library kitchen.

Thanks. She was trying to teach him manners, and some of it was finally starting to take. For a while she had waited for him to communicate in more detail, hoping that it was her lack of ability that kept his impressions brief and simple. But he stayed the same. Loyal though he was, perhaps intellect wasn't his strongest attribute.

It didn't matter. She loved him anyway.

She was sitting in the middle of the chart room one day - not that days could be counted anymore - when Tren approached. Pensould, against whom she was resting, tensed with the usual suspicion he felt whenever anybody approached Llandry - especially anybody male. Placing a hand on his arm to soothe him, she mustered a smile for Lady Eva's friend.

And privately she agreed with Pensould in wishing him away. He was a stranger and a confident, good-looking one at that. That combination was painful to her frayed nerves.