Dark Realm: Book 5 Circles of Light series Read Free

plates and dishes.
    ‘She’s sending what she
likes to call an expeditionary force south,’ Waxin said
quietly.
    Nenat’s hands stilled
for a moment and she raised her face to stare at him. ‘How far
south?’
    Waxin grimaced. ‘Into
the Dark Realm itself.’
    Grent placed a large
pot on the table and glanced at his master.
    ‘Shall I leave you . .’
he began.
    ‘No, no. I’ve delayed
telling you many things for far too long. Sit.’
    Nenat’s silvery hair
shone in the sunlight fingering down from the room’s solitary high
window. She heaped a plate with stew and tore some bread from a
loaf.
    ‘Have you had sendings
Waxin?’ she asked round her first mouthful.
    Waxin helped himself to
a small amount of food. ‘I have. Becoming more frequent and also -
. I’m unable to tell if it’s a dream or a true sending.’
    Nenat gave him a sharp
look. ‘And you Grent, any odd dreams of late?’
    Grent swallowed a
too-hot spoonful of stew and took a deep breath to quench the
scorching down his insides. ‘I have had the same dream recently,
several nights in succession now.’
    ‘And the dream?’ Nenat
encouraged.
    ‘Well, it starts with a
sort of blurry coldness, like a blizzard. Then a circular space
clears like a tunnel.’ He frowned in concentration. ‘Then suddenly
two people are lying on the floor in front of me. A girl or small
woman, and a man. An armsman by his clothes. The first time, I
thought they were dead, but I gradually came to feel they were
asleep. Oh and there was a cat lying between them.’ He blushed.
‘Just a strange dream surely?’
    Nenat looked at Waxin.
He sighed, putting his virtually untouched plate back on the table.
‘That is my dream too.’
    Nenat helped herself to
more food. ‘I confess to some surprise Grent, that you have seen
this “dream” so clearly.’
    ‘But who are those
people? I don’t recognise them at all.’ Grent paused. ‘There is a
noise too, a screaming howl as of great anguish – rage or grief –
or pain. I wake shivering every time.’
    Nenat finished her
second helping of stew. ‘It isn’t a dream my dears, but neither is
it a sending as we understand such things.’ She moved the fingers
of her left hand in a rapid pattern and Grent recognised that she
had effectively enclosed them in a magical soundproof bubble. ‘It
is from one of the places Between. The few others I have spoken to
believe this to be so. Only one of those dared suggest an exact
location: the Splintered Kingdom.’
    Grent closed his mouth
with a snap. This was the stuff of myth, of tales told and sung in
taverns amidst drunken laughter. Waxin Pule bowed his
head.
    ‘I was reaching toward
that same conclusion,’ he murmured. ‘Who spoke this
aloud?’
    ‘Anfled.’ Nenat’s tone
was flat.
    Pule’s pale face
whitened further but Grent did not recognise the name.
    ‘Who is Anfled?’ he
asked.
    Nenat’s face suddenly
revealed her immense age. ‘Anfled of the Ravens dear. The Hag of
Dark.’
    Grent propped an elbow
on the table and leaned his head into his hand. These were the two
people he loved and respected more than any others, yet they were
suddenly talking nonsense. Nenat spoke as though this Anfled, Hag
of Dark, was real, existed at this moment. Indeed spoke as though
they had actually met. If that was so then who, or what, was Nenat
herself? Before he could blurt any questions, both Nenat and Waxin
raised their heads, listening. Nenat’s fingers
flickered.
    ‘I will explain how you
should use these different herbs Grent dear, and in which order to
administer them. Your master’s lungs will certainly notice an
improvement. I’ll bring a better supply when I visit tomorrow.’
Nenat smiled at both men and headed for the door. ‘I may be a
little earlier but you are not to exert yourself in any way Master
Pule, nor to leave your rooms.’
    She closed the door
gently behind her. They heard her voice outside briefly then a
knock rapped on the door panel. Grent