The Wilder (The Trouble with Magic Book 1) (27 page)

With only one day remaining of the Winter Holiday, Symon knew that he had much to do before Karryl returned to the tower. He had spent the greater part of the morning in his study, contemplating not only recent events, but also his long and fruitful conversation with Kulas in Naboria. He finally came to a decision. Now was as good a time as any to unite book and medallion.

Arriving unobserved in a sparsely populated area of Vellethen, Symon slipped into a narrow high-walled alley which led gently downwards. The magician approached the heavy, iron-hinged and studded door set in deep shadow at its end. Behind it lay the basement of Vellethen’s museum, an acre or more of rooms, alcoves and bays protecting hundreds of valuable and rarely seen artefacts. It was also home to many priceless treasures which seldom, if ever, saw the light of day. Reaching up to an ornately wrought bell-pull just visible in the deep, almost subterranean gloom, Symon gave it a hefty tug and took a step back. As befitted its underground location, the note of the bell was deep and echoing. Symon waited. Long moments later, the harsh drag of old stiff bolts being drawn halted his train of thought. He stepped forward to greet whoever might be behind the door.

A thick mass of long silky hair, in the approximate centre of which was a pair of pale soulful eyes appeared, apparently disembodied, round the edge of the door. “Yes?”

Symon tried to stifle a grin. “Good day to you. I am Symon, Chief Magi…”

“I know who you are. What do you want? We’re closed for the holiday and I’ve got work to do.”

Unaccustomed to such brusqueness, Symon raised an eyebrow and swallowed the sharp retort he had been tempted to make. His reply was civility itself. “I have come in the hope of liberating an artefact loaned by me to the museum some years ago.”

The mass of hair grunted and disappeared, projecting its voice from behind the door, which slowly opened wider. “You’d better come in then.”

Symon dodged inside. The door thumped shut behind him, and Symon turned, curious as to what manner of form the ball of hirsute chaos was attached. He determined then and there to add his observation to the list of things he would, in all likelihood, never see again.

The creature, for Symon was reluctant to call it a man, looked him dolefully in the eye. Had it not been bent almost at a right angle from the waist, the little magician would have had a good view of the creature’s chest. A grey nondescript robe hung from its shoulders and back, forming a kind of humped tent, beneath which, Symon thought rather incongruously, he himself could have ducked away quite easily. As his eyes became accustomed to the dim light of the corridor, Symon’s reluctance to think of the creature as a man was justified, for from the sides of the oversized ball of surprisingly sleek red-brown hair, protruded a proportionally oversized pair of curiously convoluted, blunt-pointed ears.

Holding his hands to the sides of his face, Symon grinned with delight. “I always thought …”

“We didn’t exist. Hmph! To all intents and purposes we don’t. The handful of us that remain here keep ourselves hidden away, mostly in places such as this.”

Symon held out his hand and chuckled as the creature reached out rather tentatively and shook it. “I never thought in all my hundreds of years that one day I would be meeting a real live…er …”

The creature made a kind of shuffle under its robe. “Go on; say it. ‘Grabnose.’ We grew out of taking umbrage about that centuries ago. It’s the closest you surface dwellers will ever get to being able to pronounce Grryb
hñnö
s properly. I’m called Dhoum, by the way.”

“Doom?”

“D.h.o.u.m. Dhoum.”

“Oh. I see. Thank you. Well met, Dhoum.”

“Reciprocated. What was it you wanted to collect?” He pointed with a long scaly four-jointed finger. “We have to go this way, whatever it is.”

He set off down the corridor with a rapid, somewhat unbalanced rolling gait, as if his feet didn’t make proper contact with the floor.

Even so, Symon was hard pressed to keep up. “If it’s not going to be too hard to find, I’d like to get the medallion that was unearthed during one of the excavations of the old city.”

Dhoum stopped, and that was the first time Symon saw him blink. “I didn’t know you’d sent it back. What do you want it again for?”

A shadow wrapped itself around Symon’s heart and squeezed. “Do you mean it’s not here? “

“To the best of my knowledge. I must admit I was rather surprised by the uncouth manner of your messenger, but who am I to judge. I checked the authenticity of the signature on the note you sent, then handed the medallion over. Still, we’d best go and look, in case it’s come back.”

His grey robe swishing along the matching grey stone floor, Dhoum set off at an even faster pace. This time Symon kept up, the swift wings of apprehension keeping him right alongside Dhoum as they turned left into a short corridor ending at a single unadorned wooden door. From somewhere under the folds of his robe, Dhoum produced a multitudinous bunch of keys. Flicking rapidly through them with his nimble scaly fingers, he singled one out, inserted it in the lock and pushed open the door. With the assurance of familiarity, he fetched a lantern from inside the darkened room. After a few clicks and scrapes the lantern began to shed its soft light.

The room they had entered was small, square, and six people would have said it was crowded. All it held was a small plain cupboard, a large wooden brass-bound chest, and an ancient yellowing map hanging in a massively ornate and gilded frame. Dhoum squatted in front of the chest, his robes settling round him in a rippled puddle of fabric. Selecting another key, he unlocked the chest and slowly lifted the heavy lid.

Leaning forward, Symon peered inside and almost groaned with dismay. The chest was two-thirds full with an assortment of wooden boxes, ranging in size from ones which would barely hold a coin, to some that were almost a foot square. Dhoum reached in.

Pushing two of the larger boxes to one side, he lifted out a smaller, shallow square box of a very dark, almost black wood. “It should be in here.”

Still squatting, he pressed one side of the box. With a faint click, the close-fitting lid released. Unable to control his impatience, Symon reached down and with a forefinger, flipped the lid back. The box was lined with lead. The cushion of blue velvet inside held nothing.

Dhoum looked up at him with pale green eyes. “Not what you wanted to see, eh?”

Turning away, Symon looked around the room, not really seeing anything.

Dhoum replaced the box inside the chest and locked the lid. “Is it very important?”

The little magician placed his small slender hand on the Grabnose’s hunched shoulder. “To be quite honest, Dhoum, it’s possible the future of the world may depend on it.”

The ball of hair trembled. “That serious, eh?”

He looked the little magician in the eye. To Symon’s surprise, the pale green eyes changed rapidly to a deep shade of midnight blue. “Is there anything we can do to help?”

Symon was about to shake his head, when he realised what Dhoum had just asked him. “We?”

A brightening of the eyes and a slight movement of the mass of hair below them, suggested to Symon that Dhoum had smiled. “There may only be a few of us here, no more than three hundred or so, but we can achieve much when we put our mind to it.”

Symon pondered for a moment. “First of all, tell me about this ‘messenger’ who brought the note, supposedly signed by me.”

Dhoum may have raised an eyebrow. “So it was all a deception then?”

“Indeed it was, but I’m not laying any blame at your feet. Obviously someone was quite capable of forging my signature. Can you describe this person?”

“Like a Sket.”

“A Sket?”

“Master Symon, are you hard of hearing? A Sket. You know, skinny body, beady eyes, pointy nose, smelly.”

Symon thought for a moment. “Ah! You mean like a weasel!”

Dhoum flipped a hand. “If you say so. Seemed a bit nervous to me. Didn’t like him, but he had the note and he knew what the artefact looked like. Suppose with hindsight, I ought to have checked with you.”

Symon looked dubious. “I doubt whether he would have waited that long.”

Dhoum’s bright round eyes turned to sea green. “He would have waited as long as I wanted him to, but I really wanted him out of here. He stank. As for checking with you, that would not have been a problem. My birds are trained to carry messages.”

Symon’s eyebrows made a synchronised jump. “Fascinating!”

Hands tucked into the sleeves of his robe, he stood deep in thought, until Dhoum gave him a not too gentle prod and waved him towards the door. “I have to lock up again. Anything else I can help you with?”

In most uncharacteristic fashion, the little magician gave Dhoum an almost coy little half-smile. “I don’t suppose it’s possible you could visit me in my tower?”

Dhoum blinked slowly, and his eyes changed to a glowing amber. “It’s entirely possible. Most gracious of you. My kind don’t get invited out all that much.”

Symon beamed.”How about the day after tomorrow?”

“Seems good to me.”

“Do you know my tower?”

“Oh. Yes. We all know your tower.”

A little taken aback, Symon took a moment to digest that little throw-away, then finally decided to let it pass. “How will you get there?”

“Same way as you I presume.”

“Do you mean you can…?”

Dhoum made a melodious gurgling noise which Symon took to be a chuckle. “Oh. Yes. It comes naturally to us . We don’t have to spend years practising.”

“Fascinating!”

“You already said that.”

It was Symon’s turn to chuckle. He patted Dhoum on his humpy shoulder. “Lead on, Dhoum. I’ll let you lock up and then I must be on my way. I have much to do.”

Dhoum barrelled along the corridor and opened the heavy door. Just as Symon was about to step outside, the Grabnose reached out and placed his long, four-fingered hand on Symon’s arm. “Thanks for the invitation.”

Symon nodded and patted the scaly hand. “You’re most welcome. Oh! By the way, what do you eat?”

“Anything that’s going. If it’s still alive so much the better, but it’s not essential. See you soon.”

Leaving Symon at a loss for words, Dhoum waggled his fingers by way of farewell, and closed the door with a resounding thump. Symon waited until he heard the sound of bolts being slid home, then sent himself back to his tower, his mind buzzing with thoughts of the stolen medallion, and the amazing Dhoum.

Karryl arrived early enough the following morning to catch Symon still in his dressing gown. Sitting at the table, an oversized mug of tea in one hand, he was staring intently at a large book propped up in front of him.

“Good morning Karryl. Did you have a good holiday?”

“Fine, thank you. Fairly eventful, but then, you know that don’t you? What are you reading?”

He dropped his bag by the door to his room, and wandered across to look over Symon’s shoulder.

He gave a bark of incredulous laughter. “Good grief! What’s that?”

“That, young man, is a Grryb
hñnö
s.”

“A what?”

Symon took a drink of his tea as if to help him recover from the vocal athletics required to pronounce the word. “It is easier to call it a Grabnose, and that is the name that has been in common usage for centuries.”

“Why are you reading about it?”

Symon laid the book flat on the table and inclined his head. “Because we have one visiting tomorrow.”

Karryl grinned. He pulled out the chair beside Symon, sat down and propped his chin in his hands. “You mean they really exist?”

“Most definitely. I met and talked with one only yesterday. Now, if you will excuse me while I go and dress, when I return I will tell you all about it.” He paused, as if debating something in his mind, then said “Unfortunately, I also have some bad news to impart.”

He scuttled off to his room, leaving Karryl looking at the sparsely detailed illustration of the Grabnose, and reading the small amount of information which accompanied it. A short while later, dressed in a soft robe of deep slate blue, Symon seated himself back at the table. Briefly he related the extraordinary events of the previous day. Despite his fascination with the Grabnose Dhoum, he was far more deeply concerned with the problems created by the theft of the medallion.

Karryl frowned as he heard the description of the thief, as Dhoum had told it to Symon. “I’ve seen someone like that somewhere before. It’ll come to me in a minute. If I go and put my things away, I might have thought of it by the time I’ve finished.”

He didn’t get that far. Just as he had picked up his bag and was reaching for the doorknob, he spun round appalled, his eyes wide with realisation. “I’ve got it! I knew something wasn’t right about the whole thing!”

Dropping his bag back on the floor, he bounded across the room.

Symon looked up in surprise as, leaning his hands on the table, Karryl looked intently into his face. “The man on the ship with Ghian, in the scrying bowl; he fits the description perfectly.”

Symon slapped both hands on the table. Standing up, he shoved his hands into the sleeves of his robe and began to pace the floor. “Didn’t you say he was giving a small bundle of some sort to this Ghian?”

“That’s right! But if it was the medallion, what does Ghian want with it?”

Karryl straightened up and rubbed at his forehead. A few thoughtful moments later he answered his own question.”Of course! You know, I felt there was something not quite right when I saw Ghian, or rather his shadow, at the docks the day he came back.”

Symon said nothing, just sat down opposite and waited for Karryl to work through the ideas taking shape in his mind.

His apprentice frowned again as he sought to frame a question. “How …um…I mean, what does dark magic feel like?”

Symon’s eyes glinted a warning and he raised an eyebrow. Karryl waved his hand to cancel the question. “What I mean is, if you’re near somebody who uses dark magic, can it be sensed in the same way as when someone is using Talmion or Rhamnic, say?”

Symon leaned back in his chair. Folding his hands, he tapped his forefingers against his chin.”I can see what you’re getting at. There are a few magicians, and I mean a few, who can sense dark magic, even when it is not being actively used. It can hang around its practitioner like a body odour. Sometimes it can make the senser feel quite uneasy, even depressed.”

Karryl’s eyes widened. “Yes! That’s just what I felt when I was near Ghian. So that could mean that all the time he was away, it’s quite likely he was in Naboria, learning dark magic!”

Symon slammed one hand down on the table. “It’s precisely to guard against such situations as this occurring that I have always advocated testing youngsters for latent talent when they are at least ten years old, and twelve at the most.”

It was at that moment that Karryl understood the gravity of the situation.

The magician’s grey eyes locked intently on his apprentice’s flushed face. “We must perform another scrying and attempt to locate him. But if he is back in Naboria, which I strongly suspect, then it may prove very difficult, if not impossible.”

Karryl didn’t answer. For a long moment he stood staring at the wall, his head slightly to one side as if he was listening. “I’ve got a better idea.”

Symon gave a wry smile. “I thought you might have.”

Karryl crossed the room, and stood in the spot which gave access to the alternative dimension. His mouth set in a thin grim line, he paused as if trying to reach a decision, before sending a questioning glance to Symon. A flicker of consternation crossed the magician’s round face, but he moved to stand beside Karryl. A gesture and a short whispered cantrip revealed the little cupboard which housed the ancient book he had found in the old cottage. He stood gazing at it for a few moments. Eventually he nodded, and proceeded to remove the first group of wardings. Between them, the two magicians removed the remainder of the wardings and Karryl lifted the book almost reverentially out of the cupboard. Back at the table, he laid the book down flat and began to turn each page slowly and carefully until he found what he was looking for.

Smoothing his fingers over an accurately detailed, full-scale drawing of the stolen medallion, he looked at Symon. “If this works, it will show us not only the present location of the medallion, but also the person who has it.”

Gently Karryl placed his hand over the illustration. As he watched, Symon could not avoid being impressed by the maturity and self-confidence of his young apprentice. In a mere seven months he had progressed at least as far as any third year student, and Symon had few doubts about his abilities. Quietly he stood and observed, but made no comment or any move to assist. The book was attuned only to Karryl. Shortly after its awakening, it had made it clear it would respond to no one else.

Eyes closed, Karryl began a unique and secret communion with the mystical volume. As he stood unmoving, the air in the room came alive with a pulsating chord of power, its presence magnified by a rhythmically gyrating eddy of iridescent purples and blues circling closely round the young magician. His whole body seemed to tremble and shimmer, but he remained still, seemingly oblivious to the manifestations which enveloped him. From deep within the swirls of intense colour, a low mellifluous humming began to emanate. Rapidly increasing in pitch and volume it crescendoed in an ear-splitting triumphal bell-note. Then it was gone. The spinning colours slowed and faded to no more than a memory, as a fresh tang reminiscent of a sea breeze pervaded the room. Karryl opened his eyes, looked about him, then blew out a long, deep breath.

His mouth widened into a grin as he noticed Symon’s expression of deep concern. “I think I may have been a bit too intense with that. It certainly gave me a good telling off.”

Symon stepped forward and thrust his face up towards Karryl’s. “Literally?”

“Oh yes. I’ve just been given a short, sharp lesson in power management. But I think it forgave me, because I’ve found out what we wanted to know.”

Symon’s sigh of relief was audible. “That is excellent! I think it best to return your friend to safe-keeping before we start putting wheels into motion. I feel we have a busy time ahead of us.”

* * *

Karryl peered at the map. “According to this, the capital city is Negon, so why has the emperor got his palace in Nebir?”

Symon gave a scornful snort. “Well, if it can ever be said about any Naborian city, Nebir’s a nicer place than Negon for a start. It also has the advantage of a deep water harbour. Negon’s silted up years ago.”

With a deep sigh, Karryl slumped in his chair. “I’m not at all looking forward to this you know.”

Symon removed the heavy star-stone paper-weights off the corners of the map. “Not looking forward to what?”

The map re-rolled itself with a swish and a loud snap. “Going to Naboria to recover the medallion.”

Symon picked up the map and pushed it back into its leather tube. “Who said anything about going to Naboria?”

Karryl’s brow furrowed. “Well, we can’t just leave it there!”

“Why not? It’s no use to Ghian or anyone else without the book, and that’s quite safe. I think the best thing we can do, now we’ve …I beg your pardon… you, have located it, is to leave it exactly where it is, and just check on it now and then. Even if it gets moved, I have a feeling that book and medallion will find a way of getting together when the time comes.”

His mind now too preoccupied to think about study, Karryl crossed the room and stood staring out of the window. “What I can’t understand is, who it is that Ghian has stolen the medallion for.”

Symon’s tone seemed distant, as if he was thinking out loud. “Maybe he had it stolen for himself. If he has become the tool of some higher power, it could be he has been led to believe that possession of the medallion is essential for his success.”

Karryl turned away from the window and stared at Symon. “Success in what?”

Crossing the room to stand beside his apprentice, Symon looked closely into his face. “In defeating you, my boy. That’s what this is all about. Getting you out of the way. I’m not sure of the ulterior motive just yet, but I do feel that if you turned up in Naboria, it would make their task a whole lot easier for them. So, we will wait them out.

“Someone, somewhere, has been studying signs and portents, waiting for your appearance on the scene. They will now be expecting you to make the first move.”

“Like going after the medallion?”

“Exactly. But for now, we can manage without it. The most important thing is to ensure that you are fully prepared for whatever is going to happen. So we will carry on as normal.”

Karryl appeared slightly confused. “But how will they know that we know it’s gone?”

“I doubt if they will, unless our new friend Dhoum has a foot in both camps, and I think that’s unlikely. No, we will wait them out as long as possible.”

“How long do you think that will be?”

“It’s hard to say, but I think you can rest assured that the powers that be have their own agenda. We are simply their agents, or rather, you are. Still, I suggest you try and put it to the back of your mind and carry on with your studies. You’re making excellent progress, and it could be years before they, whoever they are, decide to act.”

Only slightly mollified, Karryl picked up the text he had been studying earlier, while Symon went into the kitchen to prepare supper. They both knew there would be many protracted discussions in the days ahead, either between themselves or with Mordas, Kimi and Detelia. Karryl was determined that when the time came, he would not be found wanting. He did, however, find the prospect of coming into conflict with the older brother of his best friend, rather daunting.