Devary was lying on his bed, again. He was thinking, daydreaming, anything it was reasonable to call this state of near insensibility. He'd lain in a half-dream for an indeterminate time, waiting with steadily decreasing hopes for some event to break up the monotony of these none-days.
Nothing had come. He'd given up trying to mark the passage of time; nothing changed in here. It was as if time had nothing to do with the place at all. His attempts to break himself free had failed one and all. This place was shrouded, muffled in some dampening enchantment and not a chink could he now find in that enclosing force. Opening a gate was out of the question: it was like trying to rip a hole in granite. And the door had some kind of lock that he couldn't pick, no matter how hard he tried.
Nobody ever came. Sometimes he would sleep; while he was unconscious food and water would appear, by some means he couldn't detect. For a while he had mercilessly denied himself sleep, determined to see and speak to the person who delivered the food. All he had achieved was starvation as well as sleep deprivation. Nobody ever came.
So, at last, he'd given up, letting himself fall out of consciousness as his only defence against the stupefying boredom.
When the gunshot came, the incredible volume of the sound jolted him out of his stupor so suddenly that he feared his heart would fail him. The excitable organ skipped a beat or two, then settled, and he breathed again.
He pushed himself off the bed and stood up. For some moments his head swam with dizziness as his long-inactive body swayed, his vision blurred. He moved closer to the door and waited.
The sound was not repeated for some time. He was about to give up, putting the interruption down as a product of his own bored mind, when several loud gunshots fired in a burst. Hope surged in his heart: gunfire proved the presence of intruders, and based on the logic of enemies of one's enemies those intruders might prove to be his friends.
He heard cries of pain and another couple of shots. His door bore only a tiny piece of glass, almost too high for him to see out of. He pressed his face to this miniature window but he could see nothing but the usual, merely a glimpse of the door opposite to him. He wished he could tell who was winning the conflict; had that dying cry been one of his kidnappers or their attackers?
When everything fell silent once again, he began to worry. He certainly could not be rescued if nobody knew that he was here. He began banging on the door and calling out, kicking with his feet, creating as much noise as he could.
Nothing happened. No further sounds reached him. His heart sank; dullness closed in on his fogged brain once more. Whoever they were, they weren't coming for him.
But then: footsteps. A voice, actual words spoken.
'Is this him?'
A face appeared briefly at the glass.
'No. Too old. Next one.'
The face disappeared. Then another was pressed against his window, somebody white-haired.
'There's someone in here?' a different voice said. Then came a hissed intake of breath. 'I know this person.'
'We breaking him out, sir?' That was the first voice again, young and female.
'Be quick about it,' said the man. Devary frowned. If he imagined those words spoken in gentler tones and decorated with somewhat more in the way of courtesy, then he knew the speaker.
It sounded very much like the strange fellow he'd met at the university. He'd last seen the man in Indren's private reading room. He had known about the tracer Devary wore; he'd even indicated that he might be able to help him.
Hope flared anew. Devary stepped back, moving out of the path of the door. He waited, unconsciously holding his breath as the unseen girl worked on the other side of it. His straining ears caught every slight scraping sound as she worked. It seemed to take forever.
At length the door swung inwards. He could almost have cried with relief.
'Thank you,' he said, filling the word with all the sincere gratitude he hadn't time to express at length.
The girl smiled at him. She was a slight figure, wearing her white hair closely braided. She was dressed in loose overalls. Shockingly, her clothes and hands were splashed with blood.
Beside her stood the man who'd spoken. It was indeed Limbane, though his formerly mild face was taut with tension and irritation. He made an impatient gesture at Devary, who hastened to obey.
'Keep up,' Limbane said tersely. 'We've three more cells to check.'
Devary fell into step behind Limbane's group as they surged down the dim hallway outside his cell. There was another white-haired woman; she barely glanced at him and said nothing. A second man, apparently younger than Limbane, had no attention to spare for the newest addition to their group. He was limping badly, his leg pouring blood.
Behind all walked a woman nearer his own age, raven-haired and almost incandescent with fear. In her arms she carried a tiny little boy.
Devary instantly gave up trying to decipher this curious collection of people. He moved instead to the side of the limping man. The fellow was obviously suffering great pain, but he clutched a gun in both hands, aiming it unwaveringly down the hallway ahead of them.
'Can I help?' Devary offered.
The man's only response was to draw another weapon from a holster on his belt. It was a mere pistol, but Devary felt better having it in his hands.
'Shoot when I say,' the man gritted.
Ahead of them, Limbane and the blood-stained girl were checking the final few doors. The corridor terminated in a dead end; Limbane reached it with a snarl of frustration.
'Where's the boy?' He paced back a few steps. 'There must be more cells.'
The girl shook her head. 'Not on the layout plan, sir.'
'Then where in the -'
'Who are we looking for?' Measured footsteps approached from behind Devary. He whirled round, heart thumping. That voice was too familiar.
Krays stood blocking the exit.
Limbane strode past Devary, shouldering him out of the way. 'Krays,' he said coldly. 'You're a devious bastard, you know that?'
Krays looked annoyed. 'How in the blazes did you find us this time?'
Limbane chuckled. 'Two can play the tracer game, Kraysie.'
'You've killed a couple of my men.'
'You've shot two of mine, possibly killed one,' Limbane replied with a shrug. 'We're even.'
Krays's cold eyes flicked to the dark-haired woman and her child, then moved to Devary. 'Rescue party? I can't imagine what kind of an interest would be sufficient to get you personally involved, Limbane.'
'The fact that you find these people so very interesting is enough for me, Kraysie. Though I'm puzzled. What have you done with the other one?'
'What other one?'
Devary thought Limbane would say something else, but instead his fist lashed out and connected with Krays's face. The other man crumpled, his expression a picture of surprise.
'Unusually direct, but effective,' murmured one of the women.
'Lacked finesse, sir,' panted the wounded man.
'Grab him,' Limbane directed. But Krays wasn't entirely unconscious. As Limbane's team went to secure him, he muttered something and vanished.
'Crap,' said the wounded man.
Limbane shrugged. 'He's slippery. Right, we're out of time. We'll have to come back for the boy. For now, let's get out of here.'
Watching Griel heal his own arm was almost as chilling as watching him slash it open in the first place. He had all the ability that Eva lacked, conducting the operation with the careless lack of concern that came with supreme confidence. He gritted his teeth as his muscles slowly knitted themselves closed and the torn edges of his skin merged into a whole once more. It took some time, and by the end of it Griel sagged in his chair, exhausted.
He noticed Eva's close scrutiny. He looked again at her white hair, the same as his own. Questions formed in his eyes, but he didn't speak them. He remained grimly silent.
Eva wasn't willing to let him close up, not yet. They needed to know more.
'How long has this been going on?'
No answer.
'If you weren't meant to be waking the draykon, what were you supposed to be doing?'
Still nothing. Griel had descended into a morose, stubborn silence from which he refused to rouse himself.
Eva spoke more gently. 'Griel, please. There are some very wrong things occurring and I need more information in order to make them right.'
He looked up at that. 'You? What can you do against Krays's organisation?'
'Not just us. We have help.'
'Oh?' Griel straightened, the suspicious look back in his eyes.
'I'll gladly share, but first I need more from you.'
Griel let out a sigh. 'We were tasked with retrieving all the bone from the Glinnery source. It was to be conveyed to Krays's factory, here.'
Tren interrupted him. 'Here? In this city?'
Griel shook his head. 'Not in Wirllen. Out in the sticks. Krays spent most of his time at the factory, I believe. He was building his machines already, and he thought that the bone could revolutionise the design. In that, he was right.
'My wife disliked being kept on the edges of Krays's project. She had other ideas and resented being used as a lackey. She conceived a different plan. I knew it couldn't end well, but what could I do? She was always so headstrong. I supported her in it because I had no other option. I certainly couldn't betray her to Krays.
'I was right, of course. Even with your fortuitous arrival and interference, nothing could dissuade or stop her. Nothing could control that draykon, either. I took the creature's bite for her. When I woke up, I was like this.' His face darkened. 'The first thing Krays told me was that my wife was dead. She was killed for her complete betrayal of her orders. And me, I was put in charge of a new workshop. It's been difficult, finding ways to undermine that bastard, but I've done it. I give him false reports on the workshop's useage of the bone, and I find unobtrusive ways to distribute the surplus.' He smiled savagely. 'It's pitiful, as rebellion goes, but it feels good.'
Eva mulled that over. 'This workshop. Where was it? Wynn Street, Wirllen South?'
Griel's brows rose. 'How did you... oh, the light-globe manufactory. Yes, that was the last one. They're only kept open for a moon or so, then they're moved to new sites. I suppose he's afraid of prying eyes making inconvenient discoveries.'
'But you aren't.'
Griel gave a half-smile. 'Certainly not. I kept hoping somebody would investigate; I didn't dare directly contact the authorities but I spread the addresses around. Can't say I expected it to be you who would find us, though.'
'You don't know where he's getting the bone from?'
Griel shrugged. 'He's pulling it out of the Off-Worlds but I don't know how he's finding it. I might guess he's using someone like Llandry Sanfaer - someone who's sensitive to the stuff. Or maybe he's invented something to do the same job by now.'
Eva made a decision. 'I think you should come with us, Griel. Your knowledge will be useful.'
He laughed. 'Where to? There's nowhere I can go that he won't find me.'
'There's one place.'
He shook his head, vehement. 'No. I'm marked; tracered, they call it. Everywhere I go, he can find me. He can be upon me in seconds.'
Eva met his gaze and held it, applying a touch of her will to force him to consent. She didn't know if it would work on a fellow partial, but it was worth the attempt.
'Please, Griel. Trust us. There's someone you ought to meet, someone who can help. And you're wrong about Ana. Krays lied to you.'
His reaction was unexpected. He paled abruptly, staring at her as if he'd never seen her before.
'You've been trained. You're one of them, aren't you? All along, you've been leading me to betray myself. I should've known.' He was on his feet, the knife back in his hand.
'No, Griel. I've been trained, but not by Krays. Please, calm down.'
Her efforts were useless. Fear and paranoia had taken him; he was losing rationality, becoming a creature of blind instinct. The knife he carried glinted wickedly in the low light.
'Eva, forget it. We need to get out of here.' Tren took hold of her arm.
She made one last effort to reach him. 'Your wife is alive. She was seen recently, by -'
Griel snarled with pure rage and lunged for her. The knife flashed down; a body barrelled into hers, knocking her to the floor. She waited, breathless, for the pain to start, but nothing happened.
Heavy steps lumbered past her as Griel ran for the door. She watched him go, mildly surprised. Why didn't he translocate? But he was a powerful healer; perhaps, like her, he lacked the full spectrum of abilities and hadn't mastered the PsiMap. That certainly explained his dedicated use of stationary gates last time they had encountered him.
Her reflections were interrupted by a groan from Tren. It was his body that had knocked her down, and he still lay on top of her.
'Thank you for that, Tren, but you're heavy,' she managed, gasping for breath under his weight. 'Please. Get off.'
He didn't move, so she gave him an unceremonious shove. He toppled onto the ground and lay still.
'Tren?'
'You couldn't possibly be - a bit more - gentle with me, I suppose?' Tren's speech was strained and punctuated with pained gasps. A stab of fear lanced through her, and she crawled to his side.
'What did you do... oh, no.' Griel had aimed - if such a wild slash could have a specific target - at Eva's middle. Tren had taken it instead, high on his side. An ugly gash was laid open in his flesh; his shirt was soaking through with blood.
'You idiot. '
'Wha...? I save your life and you - insult me?'
'Yes,' she said brutally. 'You're the most impossible, absurd, air-brained idiot of my acquaintance.' Her hands were busy as she spoke; she'd taken a cushion from a nearby chair and was pressing it into the wound, trying to stem the flow of blood.
'Sorry,' Tren replied weakly.
'What did you do that for?' Tears blurred her vision. She blinked them back ferociously. Now was no time to be feeble.
'Stupid question isn't it? That - hurts, by the way.'
'I know it hurts, dolt. Stay still. I'm going to heal you.'
'No you aren't.'
'Wha - I'm not?'
He shook his head minutely. 'You're rubbish at healing, remember?'
She stiffened at that. 'Rubbish? '
'Take me - back to the library,' he gasped.
She reached for the PsiMap in her mind, but then she paused. Translocation may be fast, but it placed heavy demands on the body. What would that do to Tren? Had he strength enough to survive the pressure of the journey?
'No good.'
'Take me -'
'You might die, Tren.'
'I see you're - determined - to - kill me yourself.' He was struggling to breathe by now, his breath coming in harsh gasps.
'Stop talking and just breathe, idiot.' She removed the cushion and peeled back his shirt. The wound was not large, but it was deep, and blood flowed undiminished. She knew what she had to do, in theory: she must bind the flesh by force of will, mastering Tren's physical functions herself.
It couldn't be that different from mastery of the will over beast kind or other intelligent minds. This was something she could do.
'Depends. Have I - persuaded you?'
'Shut up.'
'And you - tick me off for - playing the hero.'
With a small, inarticulate sound of frustration, Eva stopped his wayward mouth by applying her own to it.
'Now shut up,' she whispered against his lips.
He was silent for three seconds.
'Wish I'd - known that before. If I wanted to - win the lady's favour I just had to - to -'
'Be quiet and let me get on with this?'
'- impale myself on something sharp,' he finished.
She swallowed a despairing laugh. He was right: he probably had saved her life. She would save his in return.
Working tentatively, she made a mental survey of the wound. The shape and extent of it was easy to grasp; she saw what needed to be done. But the means evaded her. She brought her will to bear upon it, alternately trying to coax and then order the body to re-knit the flesh, mend the muscle and skin and renew itself. It was like trying to relay information to someone who stood fifty feet away, with a howling gale in between. Her communications failed; Tren's body would not react.
Perhaps she had misunderstood the process and was going about it in the wrong way. Frantic now, she tried to think her way back through the task fast and efficiently. Tren had finally stopped talking, but that was probably because he now lacked the energy: his eyes had closed and his breathing was shallow and thin.
Panic destroyed all her attempts at clarity.
'All right, you win,' she muttered. Gathering him close, she accessed the PsiMap and found Limbane's reading room. Calling Rikbeek back, she barely waited for him to grab on to her clothes before she made the jump, back through the aether to the Library.