The Draykon Series (1-3)

Chapter Twenty One

   Devary bade her remain where she was and disappeared into the house. She stood, her discomfort rising, trying uselessly to neaten her disordered hair. She heard the sounds of curtains being drawn and shutters closing, then lights twinkled into life somewhere ahead of her. In another moment Devary reappeared.

   'Come inside,' he said, lightly taking her arm and guiding her to a chair. 'Here. You need a drink.' He handed her a handsome glass full of dark liquid. She sipped and tasted wine, strong and sweet.

   'Thank you,' she said gratefully, relishing the gently soothing sensation generated by the contents of her glass.

   'I must speak with your guard,' he said. 'They had orders to remain near throughout the evening, yet you were almost taken. I saw one of them at the Harp just now. Why are they waiting there when you were elsewhere? This alarms me.'

   'All right.' She hesitated. Her near escape was vivid in her memory, and she was reluctant to be left alone. She watched anxiously as he moved about the room, collecting - to her alarm - a pair of knives and slipping them into sheathes on his belt and boots. She wanted to ask him to stay, or to take her along, but her pride objected and she remained silent.

   To her mingled relief and dismay, Devary collected a third knife and handed it to her. 'Keep this close,' he said. 'I don't think you will need it: I won't be gone for long.' He smiled encouragingly and left. She sighed as she heard the door close softly behind him. The key turned in the lock, loud in the silence.

   Sigwide was asleep on her feet. His weight was uncomfortable; she lifted him into her lap and wound her fingers through his fur. He was warm, sleepy and grumpy at the disturbance. He twisted three times around, sneezing, and then curled himself up. She smiled faintly, comforted by the normality of his antics.

   Her glass was already empty when Devary returned, and she was nearly asleep. He laughed softly at the sight of her: Sigwide had wound his way up her torso and lay with his nose pressed against her face. She was so drowsy she hadn't noticed.

   She pulled herself upright, blinking. How had she become so befuddled? All tension had faded from her body, and she felt absurdly relaxed. Too much so. She squinted suspiciously at the glass, still offering a few scant sips of the wine.

   'Is everything well?' Her voice emerged oddly. It might have been termed 'mildly slurred', if she could bear to admit such an undignified possibility. She coughed and struggled to rally her wits.

   'Not entirely,' he said grimly. 'Our guard captain swears he spoke to me personally earlier in the day. He claims that I told him the pendant would be at the Harp all evening, and that he and his men must keep a close guard over the building. That is why they were not nearby.' He sat down and kicked off his boots. 'What angers me is that I ought to have known about this. But in order to avoid drawing attention to our errand, they have had instructions to be discreet in their attendance on us. That made it too easy for them to be diverted.'

   'Do you think they're lying?'

   He looked at her. 'You are wondering if they betrayed us. I wondered that, too, but I think not. I believe the Captain is sincere when he says he saw me. His dismay at your near capture was sincere.'

   Llandry frowned, struggling to focus her foggy thoughts. 'Is that a sorcery thing? Making yourself look like someone else?'

   'Not exactly. It is not a common ability - the illusion would have to be impossibly minute - but theoretically it could be done. Certainly for the few minutes it would require to issue instructions to the Captain. This means, of course, two things. Firstly somebody has kept us under very close surveillance. That is not surprising, as such: it has been clear from the beginning that our enemy, whoever it is, is very good at gathering information. The more disturbing question...' He tailed off, staring at nothing.