War of Power (The Trouble with Magic Book 3) (21 page)

A few thousand miles to the east, and also abandoned by the sun, the sands of the Nebiri Desert quickly chilled. Soaring half a mile above, Jaknu circled and observed. In the meagre protection of a rocky outcrop a lone figure stood, dark cloak fluttering in the breeze which swirled and shifted constantly across the vast and arid expanse. With no other sound than the quiet rush of air over outstretched wings, the grelfon spiralled slowly downwards. Identifying the object of his focus, he made a long turn and planed through the air, rapidly gaining height and distance until the rocky feature fell far behind beyond the horizon. Powerful shoulder muscles flexing, Jaknu thrust into straight flight, only beginning a rapid descent as he approached a range of low mountains, a dark and forbidding rampart set between the desert, the seaward plain and the ocean beyond.

On a high and precarious ledge inaccessible to humans, he folded his wings over his broad feathered back and sidled through a crevice hardly wider than himself. At a lumbering canter he set off down through the interior of the mountain, unerringly making his way through a labyrinth of passages and tunnels until he arrived in a large, warm dry cavern. Taking a drink from a small clear pool which lay off to one side, he sent out a mind call. In a long pit of deep soft sand, he stretched out, closed his eyes and settled down to wait.

Less than half an hour had passed when the wall of the cavern shimmered and two black-robed figures stepped through.

Miqhal jumped lightly down into the sandpit and vigorously patted Jaknu’s outstretched neck. “What have you seen, king of the sky?”

The huge beast lowered his long lizard-like head onto Miqhal’s shoulder, letting the images he had gathered pour into the Jadhra’s mind. The wordless communication complete, Miqhal scratched gently for a few moments on the grelfon’s scaly brow-ridge.

He stretched out a hand to his companion. “Bowman Buller; our faithful creature has earned his reward this night.”

The contentedly subjugated keeper smiled. He stepped forward, placing his feet well apart for stability before hefting up a large wide-mouthed leather sack in front of Jaknu’s muzzle. Thrusting his long head inside, the grelfon noisily devoured the contents with relish. He emerged with fragments of shell clinging to his wide muzzle, egg-yolk dripping from his straight, sharp-toothed mouth.

As Buller folded the sack, Jaknu licked his thin hard lips. He stretched and flicked his long segmented tail.
“Do you wish that I should fly you, Miqhal?”

The Jadhra scratched the grelfon’s brow-ridge again then sprang out of the sandpit. “Not this time Jaknu. You have served me well tonight. It would be better if you remain here and rest. It may be I will need you soon, but tonight I will use other means.”

The grelfon wriggled himself comfortably into the sand.
“I understand.”

As Buller began to follow Miqhal towards the cavern wall, Jaknu pushed his head forward. He whiffled contentedly as the bowman also rubbed vigorously at the scaly brow-ridge. “Goodnight Jaknu. I’m glad you enjoyed the eggs.”

Miqhal and Buller stepped through the wall. The huge grelfon settled down to dreams of exhilarating free flight over sun-drenched deserts.

As unerringly as Jaknu had done, but this time far below the vast ocean of sand, Miqhal negotiated passages and tunnels. Moving steadily on, he paused only to pick half a dozen of his best warrior-mages on the way. Although the one who waited above was once a friend, Miqhal was quite aware that this might not still be the case. He did not have to go. It would have been a simple matter just to leave them waiting, but he was curious. Did this person wish to contact him or was there a more sinister underlying purpose? Even though his own magical powers and warrior skills were more than enough to provide him with protection, he knew that the other’s powers were far from insignificant. Also, although Jaknu had not detected any others waiting in the desert, that was not to say that they weren’t there. It would be foolish in the extreme to go alone. He was also intrigued as to how this person had managed to get so close to his location.

Aware that any spell of protection or concealment would in all likelihood be detected, Miqhal opted for a more stealthy approach. Touching hands and minds with his chosen tribesmen, he visualised a sheltered wadi about two miles from the place where the lone figure waited. From there, the group set off at a steady long-paced run, circling wide to approach the outcrop of rock unseen. While his men remained concealed by the bulk of the rock, Miqhal slipped quietly around its far end, emerging about ten paces from the waiting figure. Although it might cost him a short-lived pang of conscience, he would not hesitate to use the cruelly curved blade balanced in his hand, if the situation arose.

He spoke softly. “Why are you here?”

The figure spun round, the wide hood falling back from her long, deep auburn hair.

Making no move to approach, she held out a forestalling hand. “You will not need your blade Miqhal. I come alone and as a friend, although my warning may already come too late.”

The Jadhra chieftain slipped the blade slowly into his waistband and stood arms folded and feet apart, holding her in a steady gaze. “Warning of what?”

Andra moved closer. Even in the deceptive light of the full moon, Miqhal could see the dark shapes of bruises on her face and wrists. Taking a deep breath, she hesitated as if uncertain what to say.

Then her words tumbled out in a sudden rush. “Ghian summons the Wraiths tonight, to find the hiding place of your people. He means to have them all killed. You he will take prisoner and then take the artefacts for himself.”

The shoulders of the once proud and confident priestess slumped, and she gave a wracking sob laden with fear and remorse.

Miqhal’s response followed closely on a stony glare. “Thank you Andra for the warning, but I foresee no great difficulty in overcoming a few Wraiths. As for the artefacts, they are too well concealed to ever be discovered, even should all my tribe be dead. Now, tell me how you found me.”

The red-haired priestess gave him a long slow smile. “Have you forgotten Miqhal? I am of your kin. The desert is as well known to me as the innermost depths of the temple. It was not difficult for me to intuit the probable whereabouts of you and your tribe.”

The Jadhra chieftain winced inwardly. He had forgotten her inborn skills. There was a bitter twist to his mouth as he stepped closer.

Andra could feel his breath on her face as he spoke. “Return to your master. Had you betrayed
me
in such a manner, your own death would have been slow and painful.”

The Jadhra chieftain turned brusquely and began to stride away. His pace barely checked as Andra’s stricken and fearful voice called after him. “Please Miqhal, take me with you! I cannot return to Vedra now!”

At the end of the long low rock outcrop the Jadhra chieftain turned and looked back. Her face alight with hope, she began to walk towards him.

Laden with scorn and derision, his words cut her hope to shreds. “You should have considered that before you committed to the deed.”

In a final desperate bid Andra hurried after him. She reached the far side of the rock just as the last swirling vestiges of distorted air faded to nothing.

Lying deep within the roots of the Nebiri Mountains, the complex of caverns had been carefully chosen from a number of other similar ones. Although it occupied an area of almost a square mile, it had one distinct advantage. The subterranean stronghold was easily defended. It also lay a two hour march from the place where the artefacts were concealed, but Miqhal had no intention of allowing the Wraiths to get that far. Immediately they returned to the main cavern he gave his lieutenants their instructions although it was hardly necessary. Every move they and their Jadhrahin warriors would make from now on had been instilled through long days of arduous training. Even though the expected attack would come from something less than corporeal but potentially far more dangerous, they were well prepared.

Much as they had done in the desert encampment, the elders were sitting round a central fire, discussing the day and making themselves available to any member of the tribe who wished to benefit from their wisdom and combined years of experience. With no constantly moving breeze to disperse it, the smoke from the fire lingered in a blue haze, clinging to the high ceilings until it found its way out through various tiny crevices. Miqhal studied it for a long moment before approaching the elders. Touching fingers to forehead, lips and chest, he accorded them due deference with the customary greeting before seating himself cross-legged in front of them. He waited patiently, paying no attention to the activity going on around them, until the senior elder leaned forward slightly and gestured that Miqhal should speak.

The young chieftain looked at each of the dozen patriarchs in turn. “Fathers, and fathers’ fathers, Vedra has sent Wraiths to seek out and destroy us.”

A thoughtful silence followed. One of the elders leaned forward, his gaze fixed firmly on Miqhal. “So, it would seem it is as you predicted at the beginning. His power has exceeded your own. We would not have thought that possible.”

Miqhal’s gaze was equally intent. “At best, his power equals mine. We each have powers the other does not. Yet everything he does is ferocious and forceful. He lacks experience, has not the subtleties and nuances that distinguish the master. He hopes to bring us down with brute strength and explosive power. Also, I have learned much from Master Karryl, purely by observation.

“I know the mind of the Grelfine lord. He thinks that we, a simple desert people, will have no defence against the cursed and otherworldly beings with whom he communes. It may not be within my power to raise them, but I have the knowledge and skills to deal with them.”

Miqhal rose quickly to his feet, touching his fingers to his forehead. “With your blessing, I will confront this threat and we can remain undisturbed until the day comes for which our people have waited.”

Twelve wrinkled brown-skinned hands were raised in a gesture of sanction. Miqhal turned swiftly away, his warriors close behind as he led them into the darkness. Less than an hour later, their movements as wraith-like as the Wraiths they would inevitably encounter, nearly two hundred and fifty fit and desert-hardened warriors in five separate groups made their way on sure and silent feet deep into the tunnel complex. Far underground, where no light reached to make shadows, shadows moved. Each group led by a man chosen for his gift of dark-sight, and their reactions honed by a lifelong knowledge of this subterranean world, the warriors moved rapidly forward.

A tiny Light of Perimus no larger than a sparrow’s eye kept station at the back of every man’s neck, a focus point for the man who followed him in the blackness. At the halfway point of their incursion into the chilled, labyrinthine tunnels which snaked and plunged far below the desert, the two furthest groups were at least a mile apart. If necessary they would split again in a smooth and practised movement which ensured that each group was not without the benefit of dark-sight and magic. Selected and trained personally by Miqhal, the last man in each file also had dark-sight and a range of limited but powerful magical abilities. Lighter eyed, shorter and stockier than his companions, the last man but one in Miqhal’s file cradled a crossbow against his shoulder. Now almost as well trained as any Jadhra, bowman Buller was eager for battle.

A hypnotic whispering hiss echoed around the straights and curves of deep passages and caverns. Miqhal signalled a halt, moved forward, paused and listened. His dark-sight revealed nothing but smooth walls. Returning swiftly the way he had come, he rejoined his group of armed and black-clad Jadhrahin quietly waiting at a point where three tunnels connected. The warrior chieftain slipped through a narrow crevice to his left, leading his men up the dark artery’s shallow incline. In a master-stroke of timing fifty tiny pin-points of light appeared almost simultaneously to circle the perimeter of a broad, low-ceilinged cavern. Instantly silent and unmoving, yet poised and alert, the Jadhrahin prepared to wait. In the deep, almost tangible darkness, one tiny orb of light detached, gradually expanding as it progressed slowly towards the centre of the cavern. It hung motionless just below the seamed and striated ceiling. In seconds all eyes would become accustomed to its soft shadow-less glow.

Seconds were all they had. Hard pressed not to succumb to the deep sense of dread which pervaded the cavern, the desert warriors watched as streams of fluid blackness flowed and undulated, swift and menacing, along its smooth-scoured floor. Writhing and swirling, the flows gyrated upwards, twisting and spinning higher and faster. Hearts pounding, the Jadhrahin stood fast as shadows coalesced to take shape and form. Essence became solid and terrifying substance. Massive-winged and fiery-eyed, two Assassin-Wraiths glared around the cavern, their presence absorbing every vestige of light and warmth. The galére of Wraiths struck, the speed and power of their attack a screaming black maelstrom which slammed the waiting Jadhrahin against the cold stone walls. Offering no defence, every man collapsed, toppling against the man next to him or slumping against the cavern wall. Overwhelmed by the sudden impact, the tiny magical lights they carried snuffed out. Needing no light, the Wraiths surveyed the results of their onslaught, reaching out to detect any remaining life-signs. There were none. With a long drawn-out hiss of derision they whirled once more round the cavern. Like black snakes through dark water they glided swiftly out.

Five other caverns witnessed similar scenes during the course of the long night, every Jadhra warrior succumbing almost instantly to the devastating power of the Wraiths. The eldritch beings sped through the subterranean complex of tunnels and caverns to emerge on the outskirts of Vedra’s glowering pile, where they joined to commune with the one who had summoned them.

Incomplete in form they swirled around Ghian, their disembodied voices a blood-chilling, triumphant hiss. “It is done. All are dead or dying. Our task is complete.”

Aghast, the Grelfine lord tried to focus on the smoky insubstantial flows eddying around him. Waves of rising panic almost caused him to choke on his words. “But…where are their bodies? Where are the artefacts?”

He spun round as the contemptuous reply hissed from the air behind him. “You must find them in the tunnels and caverns. We have done as you asked.”

As the unbearable clarion of the desert’s dawn song banished the Wraiths into depths far darker and more unfathomable than those they had recently travelled, the Grelfine Lord gave vent to his frustration and rage.

Arms raised, fists punching empty air he screamed impotently towards the rapidly lightening sky. “Zo’ad, supposed great god, give me what is mine! This is not how it should be!” Deprived of the highly anticipated and perverse pleasure of not only taking possession of the precious artefacts but also of observing Miqhal’s pain and suffering, Ghian sank to his knees. Beating his fists against the cracked and tilted flagstones, he howled and cursed. The god maintained his silence.