Atlon started violently. As did the person who had seized his arm. They both hastily backed away from one another in a flurry of mutual apologizing.
Atlon snatched off his hat and peered at his assailant.
‘Rinter?’ he asked, as face and name came together.
‘The late Rinter, nearly,’ came the reply, Rinter patting his chest earnestly. ‘You frightened me half to death, jumping like that.’ Atlon made another apologetic gesture, but Rinter was in a beneficent mood. ‘My fault, I suppose,’ he conceded. ‘I saw the hat and I thought, that’s got to be Atlon – better late than never. I should’ve seen how engrossed you were.’ He looked around proprietorially. ‘I don’t blame you. Nothing like this where you come from I’ll wager. Isn’t it magnificent? I always said it was worthy of better things, and now Barran’s in charge, it’ll get them. Great days are coming.’
A burst of abuse behind them precluded Atlon’s answering and they both moved quickly to one side as three men staggered out of the passage carrying a bulky and apparently very heavy metal frame. After a brief and profane debate they disappeared into another passage. Rinter and Atlon watched them in silence.
Rinter’s familiar face and agitated presence made Atlon feel less exposed, but he was still unhappy about lingering in this place and cut straight to the heart of his concern. ‘I heard it was a great success last night. What was that creature they had at the end?’
‘Oh, interested now, are we?’ Rinter could not resist this gentle jibe in the face of Atlon’s seeming enthusiasm. Atlon gave a non-committal shrug. Rinter became paternal. ‘A great success indeed – a first-class Loose Pit. But it wouldn’t have been suitable for your – felci, was it? I know he’s a tough little character, but the least of the animals fighting last night would have seen him off in seconds.’ He put an arm around Atlon’s shoulder and began leading him down towards the arena. ‘Still, don’t worry. There’ll be plenty of opportunities for you to get him earning. They won’t be holding Loose Pits very often – fighting these animals too much spoils the market. Scarcity always adds value, doesn’t it?’ He lowered his voice confidentially. ‘But stick with me. There’s some big game going on. When we were here yesterday morning, no one had any idea of what was going to happen. Then, when I arrived in the evening…’ He gave Atlon a mildly reproachful look. ‘Searching for you; there it is – the place all lit up and bustling, crowds coming from everywhere. And for a Loose Pit to be set up so quickly, there’ve got to be considerable resources put to work.’ He gave Atlon a massively knowing look.
‘I’ve heard the Kyrosdyn had something to do with it,’ Atlon said, trying to ease the conversation back to the creature.
Rinter looked rather surprised, then he became knowing again. ‘That’s the gossip,’ he said. ‘Though it’s unlikely ever to be more than that. I told you yesterday, the Kyrosdyn are a strange lot. What they do is what they do, and the rest of us are best keeping away from them.’
As anxious to escape from the topic as Atlon was to pursue it, he was torn between boasting about his re-established contact with Fiarn through his friendship with Pinnatte, and straightforward curiosity about Atlon. The latter won. Despite the excitement of the last day, business was business. He still had a living to make and he was certain that the felci could do well for him if he handled it correctly. ‘Where did you get to yesterday?’ he asked pleasantly. ‘Did you get lost? I was quite concerned about you. The city’s not the safest of places for strangers.’
‘I got a job,’ Atlon replied.
With commendable control, Rinter confined himself to a simple, ‘Oh?’ rather than, ‘Not in a damned Kyrosdyn workshop, I hope,’ which is what sprang immediately to mind.
‘With a blacksmith – doing his leatherwork and harness repairs,’ Atlon offered.
‘Good, I’m glad,’ Rinter lied. ‘As I said, I was concerned about you. It’ll help keep you going until something better comes along.’
‘That’s where I heard the gossip,’ Atlon went on, tapping his ear. ‘And when I heard about last night’s performance – especially the creature at the end – I had to get along and see for myself. Is it possible to view the animal?’
The question took Rinter aback.
‘No,’ he replied. ‘All the animals have gone now. They’re usually taken away after the show – if they’re fit to be moved, that is.’
Atlon looked disappointed. ‘Well, tell me about it then. What did it look like? I must have had half a dozen descriptions, all different. Where did it come from? And who’d own a thing like that?’
They had reached the edge of the arena. Despite concentrating on prising information from Rinter, Atlon could feel the solitary crystal high above his head, seemingly focusing the attention of the entire hall on his unwanted and treacherous presence. Instinctively he replaced his hat. Rinter gave a cursory description of the creature which confirmed what Atlon had already heard, then ended with a short homily. ‘It’s not a good idea to ask who owns particular animals when it’s not been announced by the Master of the Pit. Some people are very sensitive about their privacy.’
‘I didn’t mean to cause any offence,’ Atlon said hastily.
‘It’s all right between you and me,’ Rinter assured him. ‘No harm done. But a careless question in the wrong place can land you in trouble.’ He became confidential again and slipped in his boast. ‘Even I don’t know who that creature belonged to, and I was talking to Fiarn last night – Barran’s second-in-command. But for what it’s worth, I’d say it belonged to the Kyrosdyn.’ Resting his elbow on the parapet wall at the edge of the arena, he placed his hand casually over his mouth and spoke behind it. ‘And I’d say it was something they’ve brought up from the caves.’
‘Does that happen a lot?’
‘Who can say?’ Rinter replied. ‘As I said, Loose Pits aren’t all that common – and I don’t get to many of them. But I’ve seen some strange things come and go. Nasty things, to be honest, some of them. And I’ve heard of worse.’
Atlon strove to look impressed but he was disappointed by the turn in the conversation. It would be pointless pressing Rinter further about the creature and probably downright foolish to ask how he might gain access to the caves to see for himself. But Rinter was still his best hope for further information.
‘I hear there were people hurt last night,’ he said. ‘Something to do with the gate – I saw it being repaired.’
Rinter nodded significantly, fully centre-stage now. This would enthral Atlon and keep the felci nearby. ‘I was in the thick of it,’ he declared earnestly. ‘Thought my last moment had come at one stage. Dog escaped from the Pit, you see. Caused a panic on the terraces and a crush in the entrance hall. Only one small gate open.’ He relived the moment, gesticulating. ‘Then, Pinnatte – that’s my friend – just reaches up, clambers on to the shoulders of the people in front, runs across the top of the crowd, squeezes over the fence and opens the gate.’ He blew out a noisy breath. ‘You should have heard the din when the gates flew open – I’m not surprised they got damaged. Then I was being pulled along without my feet touching the floor. Good thing I was near the edge or I’d have been carried halfway down the street before I got free, otherwise.’ Unexpectedly the re-telling disturbed him, bringing back the incident to him with peculiar vividness. He drew his hand across his forehead and shivered.
‘Are you all right?’ Atlon asked.
‘Yes, I’m fine,’ Rinter replied with forced heartiness.
‘Your friend was very brave. Did he get hurt at all, in the crush?’
‘The gate threw him to one side, clear of the crowd. All he got was a bang on the head and a cut hand.’ Rinter bore Pinnatte’s injuries with great fortitude. Sensing that he had Atlon almost hooked, he tugged the line gently to draw him in further. ‘He had a disturbed night though – bad dreams and all, but…’ and, as if inspired, ‘… I’ll introduce you to him if you like.’
Anxious to be away from this fearful place with its feeling of focused oppression, Atlon took the bait happily. ‘Didn’t you say this Barran was some kind of a bandit – a criminal?’ he said as they walked along yet another winding passage. ‘How’s he come to be in charge of a place like this?’
Rinter looked at him sharply, then glanced around nervously, as though someone might be listening. ‘No,’ he said firmly. ‘I think you must have misunderstood me. Barran’s a businessman – a distinguished and successful businessman. He’s quite… robust… in the way he works – he’s known for it – but he’ll have come by this place in the normal way of things. More I couldn’t say. I might know Fiarn, but that doesn’t make me Barran’s confidant.’
Sensing his error, Atlon remained silent until eventually they came to the room in which Pinnatte had awakened after his collapse. Subsequently he had spent the night there. The door was open and Pinnatte could be seen sitting on the edge of the couch which had served him as a bed. He was gazing down at his feet. Two large, ill-favoured individuals stood by the door. They acknowledged Rinter curtly but moved to intercept Atlon.
‘He’s a friend,’ Rinter declared confidently. The two men exchanged a glance then slowly stood aside, leaving a small gap for Atlon to pass through. As he did, smiling uncomfortably, one of them rested two fingers on his chest and said, ‘Keep your hands where we can see them, friend.’ He laid an emphasis on the last word which indicated that Rinter’s intervention really counted for nothing. Atlon exuded timidity. The two men moved into the room after him and took up positions on each side of the door.
‘How’re you feeling now?’ Rinter was asking Pinnatte. ‘I see Barran’s looking after you.’ He nodded towards the two guards.
Atlon looked at the young man. Though he had a natural curiosity about the person whose bravery had saved so many lives, he had stayed with Rinter predominantly because he wished to remain in the building with a view to learning about the creature. When Pinnatte looked up to reply to Rinter, however, Atlon felt as though he had been struck. Instantly, he was back with his few companions on the rain-swept battlefield, sixteen years ago, their meagre line stretched to hitherto unknown limits, but holding at bay the awful forces whose unseen and mysterious touch would smash the ranks of the struggling army utterly if they faltered. Pinnatte seemed to be at the centre of a disturbance of a kind such as Atlon had only known on that day. He was both there and not there – of this world and in many others – a conjunction that should not be possible…
Long training held Atlon motionless – gave him a little time to absorb the shock of what he was sensing, without betraying anything to those around him. Long training too, enabled him to quell his deeper instincts which rose up screaming for him to use the Power to protect himself. Inconspicuously, he took control of his breathing, forcing himself towards calmness. After scarcely four heartbeats an incongruous frisson of pride seeped into the racing thoughts that were seeking an explanation for what was happening here. He had given not the slightest indication of his knowledge of the Power in the face of this revelation. He had survived!
It did little to lessen his terror however.
For there was no control here. Unlike the Kyrosdyn that Atlon had encountered the previous day, Pinnatte was obviously not a conscious source of the disturbance. He was more a gateway, though the word ‘rent’ came to him – an accidental tear.
With an effort, Atlon succeeded in easing away from his questions. Training again told him that logic alone was, for the moment, inappropriate. Now all he could do was observe. It was not easy. At one moment it seemed that he and Pinnatte were the only solid things in the room, all else becoming vague and hazy, like a hesitant sketch for a painting. At another it was Pinnatte who was unreal and distant, a thing that did not belong in this reality without great hurt being done somewhere.
He became aware of Dvolci’s head by his ear, whistling urgently but very softly. Reaching up, he touched him gently, simultaneously giving assurance and taking support.
‘What’s that in your pack, friend?’
It took Atlon a moment to realize what the words meant, they were so garbled and raucous as they crashed into his heightened awareness. It was the emphasis on ‘friend’ that told him it was the guard who had accosted him at the door.
When he replied, he had to force out each word as though he were speaking a language totally alien to his own. ‘Just a travelling companion,’ he managed, though his voice rang strange in his own ears. He was aware of a scornful laugh and a coarse exchange going on behind him in response, but it was as meaningless as the rattle of branches in a wind-shaken tree.
Pinnatte was speaking. ‘I’m not sure how I feel,’ came the words. Atlon clung to them to keep his mind clearly in this room. ‘One minute I’m fine – the next, I don’t know. I’m somewhere else. And I keep thinking about that dream. I…’ He stopped and looked away, distracted. Atlon felt as though he were facing a great wind.
Rinter looked helplessly at Pinnatte. ‘Have you seen Barran yet?’ he asked with that concerned, patronizing tone that the uncertain well use to the bewildered sick.
Pinnatte shook his head though he did not seem to be listening.
Atlon heard himself asking, ‘What kind of dream was it?’
Pinnatte turned to him, painfully slowly. To Atlon, the movement seemed to be tearing through reality itself. He offered his gaze as an anchor. Pinnatte took it. Atlon noticed that the young man’s eyes were black.
‘What kind of dream was it?’ he asked again.
‘This is Atlon,’ Rinter said, glad to be free of the initiative. ‘The man I was looking for last night when we met, remember? I told you – with the big hat and the felci.’ He pointed to Dvolci peering out of Atlon’s pack. ‘That’s him. A fine animal. You should’ve seen him sort out Ghreel’s dog up at The Wyndering.’
Atlon took off his hat and held out his hand. The disturbance about Pinnatte was diminishing. He took the offered hand. Then the disturbance was almost completely gone – reduced to little more than a mildly irritating fly buzzing about the room. Pinnatte smiled.
‘The dream?’ Atlon reminded him.
Pinnatte frowned. ‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ he said.
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t meant to intrude,’ Atlon said. He searched the young man’s face. ‘Do you want to tell me what you meant when you said you’re sometimes here, sometimes somewhere else?’
Pinnatte looked at him but did not reply.
‘I’ve had some experience with head injuries,’ Atlon said, crouching down by Pinnatte, ‘and with nasty incidents such as you were involved in last night. Either on its own can prove more troublesome than you’d think; both together can be a real problem.’
Pinnatte tried to be dismissive. ‘I’m fine,’ he said. ‘I just feel a bit… distant at times. Not exactly dizzy, just faraway. Somewhere else.’
Atlon nodded. ‘May I look at your injury?’ he asked.
‘I don’t think there’s anything to see,’ Pinnatte replied, pointing to the back of his head. ‘It’s just a little sore to touch.’
‘Remember what I said about your hands, friend.’ It was the guard again, calling across the room. He was not concerned about Pinnatte, however, but indicating someone just beyond the door. As Atlon looked round, Ellyn came in. The guards moved with her. She nodded to Rinter then looked at Atlon, who stood up. Rinter performed a hasty introduction. Uncertain how to treat ‘Barran’s wife’, Atlon settled for a slight bow. For the first time since he had entered the Jyolan, he felt almost at ease. This strong-looking woman with her searching but not unkind gaze seemed in some way to be immune to the building’s pernicious influence. Indeed, he suspected, she was probably immune to many of life’s vagaries. Words such as complete, self-sufficient, came to him.
Ellyn’s eyes narrowed curiously and she tilted her head on one side, looking past him. ‘What’s that?’ she asked, pointing to Dvolci.
Atlon gave his usual answer, ‘Just company for me on my travels, ma’am.’
Dvolci clambered out of the pack, jumped down to the floor and sidled over to Ellyn. One of the guards stepped forward, reaching for a knife, but Ellyn held out a hand to stop him. Dvolci sat back on his haunches and looked up at her.
Ellyn’s mouth creased a line, and her eyes shone. ‘Is it all right to touch him?’ she asked.
‘He won’t bite you,’ Atlon said, perpetually hesitant about giving his friend’s permission for such matters, even though it was obvious what was going to happen. ‘I wish I could seduce women as easily as that damned felci does,’ a friend had once said to him bitterly.
Ellyn bent down and ran two fingers over Dvolci’s narrow head.
The felci closed his eyes ecstatically as she tickled behind his ears.
Sunlight seemed to be coming into the room. ‘He’s delightful,’ Ellyn announced. ‘What is he? I’ve never seen anything like him before.’
‘He’s a felci, ma’am,’ Atlon said. ‘They live in the mountains in my country.’ Adding caustically for Dvolci’s benefit, ‘They’re very tame and quite intelligent.’
Still stroking Dvolci, Ellyn looked up at him. ‘You’re not from the city, then?’
‘No,’ Atlon replied. ‘Just on a journey south, for a friend.’
‘I thought there was something different about you.’ Ellyn was attending to Dvolci again as she said this but there was a note in her voice that Atlon could not identify. Relief – surprise? No, it was something deeper than both.
Then Dvolci dropped back down on to all fours and walked over to Pinnatte. He stood up, resting his front paws on Pinnatte’s knees.
‘He’s not usually very keen on too much company,’ Atlon said, uncertain about what was to follow. Certainly, Dvolci would not have put on this performance for any slight reason.
Tentatively, Pinnatte imitated Ellyn’s action, stroking Dvolci’s head with his bandaged hand. It seemed to relax him and Atlon felt the disturbance emanating from him slip even further away. He reproached himself. Dvolci’s judgement in these circumstances would be sounder than his. The felci never seemed to be affected by the Power or any of its manifestations; felcis never did. They were an ancient race.
Dvolci dropped back down again and, scuttling up Atlon with wilful clumsiness, ensconced himself in the pack. As he did so he whistled softly to Atlon. ‘Look at his hand. Be careful – very careful. You won’t like it. Remember where you are. The woman’s interesting.’
Atlon affected a heartiness he did not feel. ‘Well, that’s Dvolci for you. Very much his own animal.’ He spoke to Pinnatte. ‘I was going to look at your head.’
Pinnatte, brighter now, turned and placed a finger on the back of his head. ‘It’s sore just there.’
‘Are you a healer?’ Ellyn asked.
‘I’ve had some training,’ Atlon said, examining Pinnatte’s head. ‘And I’ve picked up one or two things on my travels.’ He patted Pinnatte on the shoulder reassuringly. ‘There doesn’t seem to be anything wrong there – just a bump and a little bruising. If you’ve come through the night without problems then you should be all right, though you’ll probably have a headache for a day or so.’
Ellyn looked pleased that her own prognosis had been confirmed, but Atlon was waiting to see if Pinnatte would take the opportunity to refer to his dream again. He said nothing, however. Atlon took hold of his injured hand.
‘It’s all right,’ Pinnatte said, withdrawing it nervously. Atlon noted that Ellyn looked uneasy. ‘The bandaging’s well done,’ he said, suspecting she feared some criticism.
‘I put a drawing ointment on it,’ she said. Atlon looked at her inquiringly. ‘It was quite a nasty graze, and there seemed to be…’ She hesitated. ‘There seemed to be a crystal stain on it.’
‘What do you mean?’ Atlon asked, genuinely at a loss.
Ellyn looked surprised by the question, but Atlon’s open-faced expectancy left her no choice other than to answer it. ‘It’s something that mainly the miners do – the crystal miners.’ She rubbed the back of her hand nervously. The gesture was all the more powerful because it so contrasted with her otherwise assured demeanour. ‘They… incise the skin and close the wound with crushed fragments of crystals.’ The words came out quickly. Atlon drew in a sharp breath and raised a hand to spare her any further description.
‘I’ve heard of the practice,’ he said grimly. ‘And I grieve for anyone misguided enough to do it. It’s a sure route to destruction. It’s a fundamental quality of crystals that they take more than they give. Is it a common thing here?’
‘No. Not in the city. Not yet. But many miners do it. It’s the nature of the work.’
‘And your ointment is effective against it?’
‘It helps a little, if it’s not too late – if the habit’s not too ingrained. But it can’t do anything about the desire. It’s only a wound-cleaner really.’
‘Is this something you’ve done to yourself?’ Atlon addressed Pinnatte sternly.
‘No.’ Pinnatte’s denial was buttressed by many years of professional protestations of innocence. ‘What would I do something like that for?’ He grimaced. The idea was repellent. ‘And where would I get crystals from to waste like that?’
Atlon turned back to Ellyn. ‘It looked like a crystal stain,’ she said with a shrug. ‘I thought it odd at the time, given that he was probably only a Den-Mate. And it wasn’t near one of the usual pulse nodes.’ She lowered her voice. ‘And the mark looked almost green.’
Atlon’s eyes widened and, without further comment, he took Pinnatte’s hand firmly and began unwinding the bandage. Pinnatte made only a cursory attempt to retrieve his hand. Dvolci whistled softly to Atlon. It was a timely reminder, for as the bandage fell away, the sight of the wound struck Atlon even more forcefully than had his first contact with Pinnatte. Once again, even though there was no direct threat to him, his inner self cried out to him to defend himself, and once again he had to struggle to set it aside. It was difficult.
Superficially, the wound was no more than a bad graze – raw, red, and glistening damp with healing and ointment. It was clean and seemingly free from infection, though there was a hint of darkness to one side of it which was the remains of Rostan’s Anointing.
But beyond that, to Atlon’s deeper sight, the edge of the darkness was a churning maelstrom of contamination, as Ellyn’s simple ointment and Pinnatte’s natural well-being battled against the culmination of Imorren’s and the Kyrosdyn’s work – against the mysterious resource in their unguent, given unholy vigour by Rostan’s use of the Power, which sought to use Pinnatte for purposes unknowable even to its creators.
It was unequivocally the source of the other unease that Atlon had felt in Pinnatte. Forcing himself to stay calm, and weighing his every movement as if the least carelessness might unleash something terrible about him, he nodded slowly. ‘Your ointment’s been very effective,’ he said. ‘The wound’s clean. You must show me how to make it. I’m naturally clumsy – always cutting myself.’ The light-heartedness was almost choking him while the urge to ask Pinnatte how he had come by such a mark was virtually uncontrollable. He sensed however, that no answer would be forthcoming. This was no trivial thing. Even without a close study he could tell that green crystals were involved in some way, and from what he had learned from Heirn it seemed highly unlikely that this young man, with his generally unkempt appearance, would be able to afford such things. Besides, there was more at work here than just an addictive habit… much more. Green crystals alone, used thus, would almost certainly have killed the man within hours, whether they were near a pulse or not.
Ellyn was handing him a clean bandage and the jar of ointment. He took them from her absently. As he opened the jar, the smell of the ointment wrapped itself around him and drew him away from the turmoil. It was clean, sharp and deeply familiar. Immediately he was a child again, being tended by his mother, delicately dabbing at a gashed knee. All about him was the indestructible solidity of his childhood. It had an intensity that no description or deliberate memory could have captured.
‘Relics of our ancient hunting days,’ someone had once said to him, discussing the extraordinary power of scents to recall the past.
His vision blurred. As he lifted a hand to wipe his eyes, Ellyn caught it. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I should have warned you, it’s very strong when it’s fresh. Don’t get any in your eyes.’ A small white kerchief was pushed into his hand. He wiped his eyes then returned it gratefully.
As he applied the ointment to Pinnatte’s wound, the memory of his mother and his childhood remained, though it was a shadow now of what it had just been. Contrasted with it was the horror of Pinnatte’s hand and, suddenly highlighted, the sense of the cloying wrongness that pervaded the whole city and which seemed to be focused here, in the Jyolan. Untypically self-pitying, Atlon found himself asking, ‘How did I get here, to this awful place?’ But even as he asked the question, he knew the answer. It had been asked and answered many times before.
‘Step by step.’
And who could say which step he might have taken differently to avoid this conclusion?
It was the only answer he would ever get, but he felt easier nevertheless.
He was about to bandage Pinnatte’s hand when he changed his mind. He must get the young man out of this place. Standing, he wiped his eyes again, though this time with the side of his hand. He had to clear his throat before he spoke to Ellyn. ‘I think the ointment’s done all it can. The wound looks clean. It’s probably best to let the fresh air get at it now – give it a chance to heal.’ He looked down at Pinnatte. ‘If you’ve been in here since last night, I think some fresh air would do you no harm either, not to mention a little exercise.’
Pinnatte eyed him unsurely. There was something about this stranger that disturbed him. He didn’t seem to belong here. And his voice was odd. Was he really from a land beyond Arash-Felloren, or had he just misheard? His thoughts swung between extremes. This man would look after him, would take the confusion from his head – put right whatever it was that that Kyrosdyn had done – for, despite his earlier protestation, his hand was troubling him, albeit not in any way that he could find words to describe. Then Atlon was almost like a demon – a fearful shadow – come to obstruct him on his way to his rightful future – come to keep him from the wealth and power that would be his, now that he was on the verge of leaving Lassner and working for Barran.
‘Barran wants to see me,’ he said eventually. ‘I should wait for him.’
Ellyn intervened. ‘Barran’s busy now, and liable to be so for most of the day. Don’t worry, he’s not forgotten you – nor will he – not after what you did. He spoke about you this morning.’ Briefly her gaze locked with Atlon’s. ‘And Rinter’s friend is right. It’s dismal in here. Get outside, into the light. Walk around – get something to eat. You’ll feel a lot better for it.’
Pinnatte’s thoughts shifted under this gentle onslaught. The room was gloomy, and the two guards who had been with him for most of the time were ill company, making no effort to disguise their boredom at the chore.
Atlon extended a hand and Pinnatte took it. ‘You’re right,’ he said, pulling himself up.
‘I’ll tell Barran what you’re doing, if he asks,’ Ellyn said. She reached into her bag and produced some coins which she offered to him. ‘That’ll get you and your friends a meal. Come back this evening and ask to see me.’
Used to stealing almost everything he needed, this unexpected generosity shook Pinnatte and left him gaping. Ellyn folded the money into his dithering hand with both of hers.
‘Come back this evening,’ she said again.
‘I’ll see he does, ma’am,’ Rinter said earnestly, a little concerned that he was being left too much to one side in the developing proceedings.
As they made their way out of the Jyolan, led by one of the guards, Pinnatte once more felt himself torn by doubts about this newcomer. This washis place. He belonged here, wandering its complex warren of passages, searching, learning…
Learning what?
How to become rich and powerful by studying the ways of Barran and those who followed him? No, it was something else. Tantalizing images flitted elusively about his thought.
‘Are you sure your hand isn’t bothering you?’ Atlon’s inquiry scattered them.
‘No, it’s fine.’ Pinnatte waved it airily.
‘I’ll have a proper look at it in the daylight,’ Atlon persisted. ‘Just to be sure.’
Pinnatte was inclined to argue, but before he could speak a dark form emerged from a side passage just ahead of them. It stopped as they did. Then it turned towards them and growled.