War of Power (The Trouble with Magic Book 3) (35 page)

Abruptly, Arik stopped pushing and took a side-step to the right. Propelled forward by his own momentum, Gorak had no chance to turn before the flat of Arik’s already swinging blade had caught him squarely across his back. He staggered, his face contorted with pain. Angry that the younger man had managed to strike him, he swung round and thrust with a series of rapid blows. This sudden onslaught by the hardened veteran soldier proved too much for Arik. In a moment of misjudgement he took a dagger thrust in the side. As the blade penetrated, he lurched forward and viciously head-butted his crazed opponent. Leaving his dagger protruding from Arik’s side, Gorak stumbled back. Aware that his wounds could soon overcome him, and that he was compelled at all costs to save the young grelfon, Arik dropped his own dagger to the ground. Summoning every ounce of strength and energy he could muster, he gripped the bloodied hilt of his sword in both hands. With a fury which matched Gorak’s he began an onslaught of unforgiving over-arm blows and upward swings. All Gorak could do was edge backwards, continually blocking as Arik moved forward matching him step for step, forcing him further and further back.

In a split second the young grelfon’s head lunged downwards, wide jaws agape. With the precision of a double row of keen-edged knives her teeth sheared cleanly through Gorak’s neck. Blood spurted high and wide, dark drops spattering over Arik and raining down onto the sand. Her head thrown back, the grelfon gave a mighty gulp. Air whistled and whined as contractions of her bulging throat rapidly transported Gorak’s severed head to her stomach. Breathing hard, Arik leaned heavily over his sword. Unable to tear his horrified gaze from the bizarre sight, he watched transfixed as Gorak’s headless body twitched and twisted, before slumping to its knees. Sword still firmly gripped, the corpse toppled forward and lay still, a rich bloom of blood from severed veins and arteries spreading and snaking like ferrous tentacles across the sand.

A pained screech jolted Arik out of his shocked stupor. Sword half raised he spun round. In an automatic reaction of self-preservation, he flung his good arm up to cover his head as the grelfon ejected a steaming deluge of curdled yellow liquid from her wide, black-lipped gape. Arik threw himself to one side as something hard bounced off his elbow to drop with a heavy squelching thud onto the ground behind him. Lowering his arm, he turned, little doubting what he would see. His weapon’s tip scribing a ragged line in the sand, Arik stumbled forward, sword arm dangling, to stare down in disbelief at the slime slathered object by his feet. Misshapen and twisted almost out of recognition, Gorak’s spiked and studded leather helm lay wetly in a large glutinous gobbet of pre-digested flesh and bone.

Troak ambled over to stand beside him, the Grelfi captain’s bulky shadow falling over the mangled mess. He clapped a large hairy hand on Arik’s shoulder.

As Arik crumpled to the ground and slipped into the cool dark comfort which lies at the edge of unconsciousness, he heard Troak say “I think she likes you.”

* * *

In the severely reduced space of the compound a dozen grelfons and eight Grelfi milled, champed and grumbled. Uncleared, pink hued sand lay piled high in uneven drifts against the dark stone walls. With little room to manoeuvre, the grelfons were fractious, dagger sharp teeth snapping and nipping, not only at each other but also at their equally uncomfortable riders. Just to one side of the churning melée, a bandaged and somewhat bemused Arik stood beside the knee of his still unharnessed and obviously adoring grelfon. The grizzled Grelfi chief rider bawled in his ear as he gesticulated furiously in the young grelfon’s direction. The rising sun at his back, Ghian stood on the high raised platform overlooking the compound and watched the little scenario. Intrigued, but secretly pleased that a grelfon had bonded with a city guard, he waited for a few moments before stepping to the front.

His hands resting on the parapet, he drew a little power to amplify his voice, ensuring that none would miss his words. “You have lost many comrades, but I assure you it will not have been in vain.”

The response was a short low murmur rising on the warming air. Ghian ran a hand over his dark beard and continued. “I have recently received reliable information as to the exact whereabouts of those we seek.” Finger pointing, he swept his arm across. “To you, the cream of my Grelfi and guards, will fall the honour of flushing out and destroying the accursed Jadhrahin!” He paused to savour the enthralled silence. “Their exact location has been revealed to me. This time there will be no escape for them.”

The brief and muffled roar of approbation which greeted his words was drowned out by a long belling yodel as Troak’s huge male grelfon gave voice. In seconds every grelfon had its muzzle raised to the sky in an accompanying mind-numbing chorus. A sharp dig of Troak’s elbow in his mount’s scaled and muscular thigh stopped it in mid yodel. With the lead grelfon quietened, the others followed suit, restoring the din to manageable levels. Settling his spiked and studded leather flying helm firmly on his head, the Grelfi chief flashed a wicked and anticipatory grin at his squad.

Almost as loud as his own grelfon’s, his bellow reverberated around the high walls of the compound. “Right. Gnarak here has given me and your beasts the location given to him by Lord Ghian’s grelfon queen. In half an hour from now, we fly. We’ll keep wide formation and we’ll have the sun at our backs. Now dismiss and prepare, and I don’t want to find later that any beast has been fed.”

He pointed a meaty finger at Arik, not now looking so bewildered, and leaning against his young grelfon’s silver-grey scaled leg. “The Mage-priests healed your wounds?”

Pulling himself up straight, Arik nodded. “Yes sir. Gettin’ better by the minute.”

Troak strode over to where a rider was already astride his grelfon and settling into the harness. “You bring that spare one?”

The rider reached behind him, grabbed a neatly folded and looped harness and handed it down to Troak. “Reckon he’ll make it?”

The Grelfi chief grinned as he hefted the harness. “He’ll make it. Tough one he is.” Turning away, he threw a parting shot over his shoulder. “He even seems to have some brains!”

His planned visit to Jaknu’s cave briefly postponed, Miqhal translocated to the main cavern. After a few brief words with the elders and some specific instructions to bowman Buller, he headed upwards through the interior of the mountain. From a narrow rock shelf high above the desert Miqhal scanned the vast open sands for any sign of movement. Raising his gaze he squinted into the sun-whitened sky for circling shapes. Satisfied there was no immediate danger, he closed his eyes and let his thought stream out along a narrowly focussed channel. He knew it was a slender chance and a risky move, but if conditions were favourable, in the space of a few seconds he might just be able to let Karryl know what he intended to do.

The thought pattern which burst over his own was barely recognisable as a mind call, but he knew immediately it was not Karryl. Miqhal shut off his own call to focus on the stressed surges which were now flooding into his questing mind. Centreing his concentration he allowed himself a wry smile. He had felt the unique vibrations of this contact’s mind on many previous occasions. Dropping all mental barriers he waited for the hollow silence which always followed a mind-call.

He decided to respond with mental speech rather than images. “Welcome Magnor. What....”

The Grrybhñnös elder gave him no time to finish his greeting, cutting in with a speed and clarity which left Miqhal hard pressed to quell his admiration.
“Andra has brought us through the barrier, but we need help.”

Quickly assessing that either Magnor was mentally shouting, or, the more disturbing alternative, he was possibly in Vedra itself, Miqhal shut off all extraneous sounds and images, bringing all his concentration to bear on Magnor. “Where are you?”

Magnor’s thought was clear but fraught with concern. “I’m not sure. Andra is now a desert wolf. Ghian has laid a shape-change spell on her.”

A cold chill ran through Miqhal’s veins. If Ghian could do that, and had also acquired the skills to summon wraiths, his powers must now be far superior to his own.

Not allowing himself to dwell on the awful implications, he turned his mind to practicalities. “Stay where you are Magnor. I will fly Jaknu. We will find you.”

Magnor’s terse reply stopped him in his tracks. “
I need to get to Vedra.”

Not willing to question Magnor’s decision, Miqhal nevertheless had some niggling doubts. If Magnor and Andra had recently come through the barrier of power, they could still be in close proximity. It would certainly not be beyond his capabilities to translocate them to Vedra, but he was only too aware of the dangers.

He confirmed his earlier decision to Magnor. “Jaknu and I will find you. Wait”

Magnor’s only reply came as waves of relief which were almost tangible. Closing the connection, Miqhal turned and hurried back down into the mountain.

Well accustomed to taking orders, bowman Buller, clad now in the customary black of a Jadhra warrior, was making final adjustments to Jaknu’s harness as Miqhal entered the stabling cavern. The big Grelfon crooned a greeting, almost knocking the bowman over in his haste to welcome the master who had enabled him to form an unprecedented re-bonding. The rhythmic sound of many feet, treading lightly and swiftly, caused Miqhal to turn towards the cavern entrance.

Bowman Buller stepped forward. “As you were obviously intending to fly, I took the liberty of suggesting that lookouts be set on the ridges outside. Your lieutenants agreed. That’ll be them on their way up.”

With a brief nod of approval, Miqhal signalled to Jaknu his intention to mount. His long silver-grey belly low to the ground, blue-black feathered shoulder muscles rippling, Jaknu extended a scaled and fearsomely clawed foreleg. With the trailing reins in one hand Miqhal stepped nimbly up, settling himself in the deep cleft between and just forward of the huge leathery five sectioned wings.

He looked down at bowman Buller. “Would you care to fly with me? It may be dangerous, and I will understand if you decline.”

Even though his affinity with the massive creature was now almost as close as Miqhal’s, Buller had never felt any desire to become airborne. His feelings were not altered one iota by the Jadhra chieftain’s offer.

Taking a step back he looked Miqhal squarely in the eye. “I have no fear of danger, but if I was meant to fly I’m certain the gods would have provided me with wings. I can serve the Jadhrahin best by remaining here.”

Miqhal gave a short barking laugh and gathered up Jaknu’s reins. “Well said. I ask then that you take your bow and bolts, and join the lookouts on the upper ledges. No doubt the Grelfi will be out there searching for us. Your skills may well be needed.”

His right hand flat on the centre of his chest in the Jadhra salute, Buller watched as Miqhal guided Jaknu in a lumbering turn. Urging the beast forward, he rode out into the cool shadows of the long broad upward-sloping tunnel which led to the take-off ledge. A sense of deep foreboding overtook Buller as he hurried down to the weapons cave to collect his crossbow and bolts. His natural warrior instincts told him the next few hours were going to be far from easy.

The mountain which concealed the Jadhrahin subterranean stronghold nestled inconspicuously near one end of a long tapering chain separating desert from ocean. On the seaward side, a deep broad valley enjoyed the mountains’ shelter from the desert’s hot winds and freezing nights, a sweeping range of hills on the other side forming a protective bastion against salt laden gales. Seated astride Jaknu, Miqhal allowed his thoughts to wander among the lush meadows and fragrant hills. Realising that the temptation to visit them one last time might eventually overwhelm him, regretfully he turned the Grelfon’s head into the wind. Shielding his eyes, Miqhal looked out across the desert’s shimmer towards the rising sun.

Although speech was not necessary, the Jadhra chieftain vocalised to his beast. “A thousand years end today my friend. Only the gods know the outcome. Shall we fly?”

Slowly swinging his head, the Grelfon sniffed the rapidly warming breeze as he scanned the distant horizons. His response trickled into Miqhal’s brain
.”I would not advise it, if there was a choice. Danger is in the air. I too am marked for death.”

His free hand plunging into Jaknu’s thick plumage, Miqhal affectionately kneaded the great beast’s shoulder. “Then we must protect each other, and rely on my Jadhrahin to protect and defend what is ours. You know what we have to do?”

As if the task ahead of them was no more than a simple daily exercise, Jaknu’s reply was calm and precise.
“Your thoughts are clear in my mind. It is a good plan.”

Gathering up the reins in both hands and slipping his feet into the leather stirrups, Miqhal urged Jaknu into the air.

On the far side of the mountain a young Jadhra, keen-eyed and alert, let his long-sight drift over the valley. A movement in his peripheral vision brought him spinning round to be confronted by a grelfon silently soaring up on a swiftly rising thermal current. The rider’s spear plunged into the Jadhra’s chest. Punched off the mountain by the weapon’s impact, he hurtled down, crashing with bone shattering force onto a wide ledge far below. Not even sparing his victim a second glance, the Grelfi turned his mount into a steep climb, powering into the sunlight above the mountain. Emerging from concealment on the valley’s distant edge, three more Grelfi took their beasts surging into the air and followed.

Flying fast out of the sun, and heading towards Miqhal and Jaknu, an open formation of grelfons and Grelfi were as yet no more than shimmering fly-sized silhouettes dancing above the horizon. Closing swiftly with powerful wing-beats, the dreadful creatures repeatedly split the rapidly heating air with screams and yodels of challenge. Without any kind of warning, and almost unseating Miqhal, Jaknu dropped into a rolling dive, levelling out to face back towards the mountain. Furiously back-winging, the big grelfon bellowed his own challenge, his hot foetid breath gusting behind him and into Miqhal’s face. With a grimace of disgust the Jadhra chieftain covered his nose and mouth, his dark eyes constantly fixed on the first Grelfi and his mount now winging swiftly towards them. Never before having flown a grelfon in combat, and knowing this would be not only a fight to the death between grelfons, but also between Jadhra and Vedran, he relinquished control. With Jaknu given his head, Miqhal secured himself in the harness, drew the cruelly curved sword from his waist-band and prepared to seize whatever opportunity presented itself.

Half a mile behind the first rider, his three fellow Grelfi took up flank and rearguard positions, effectively blocking any possibility of escape to the mountains. Expecting Jaknu to turn and attempt escape over the open desert, Miqhal hissed sharply through his teeth as the great beast abruptly twisted round and up into a steep vertical climb. Now less than two hundred yards away, the leading Grelfi urged his mount to follow, but Jaknu had anticipated the move.

He flashed into Miqhal’s mind.
“Be ready to have your world turned upside down.”

Before the Jadhra chieftain had time to even think about it, Jaknu had arched his back, showed his belly to the sky and Miqhal found himself flying head down. At the top of the turn, Jaknu snapped his wings close against his body to plunge into a long curving power dive, vulnerable underside now protected. Coming out of the loop, Miqhal fell in line to look down into the face of the upcoming Grelfi. Totally unprepared for such an ingenious and spectacular manoeuvre, and his mount still in the climb, the rider’s coarse features contorted with horror. With no time now for the Grelfi to unsheathe his sword or avoid the inevitable, Miqhal’s blade swung cleanly through his attacker’s neck, abruptly disconnecting the bond between beast and rider. Instantly disoriented and vision impaired, the grelfon’s insane high-pitched continuous scream accompanied its ensuing crazed and erratic upward flight as the headless body of its Grelfi flopped in a macabre dance across the distressed beast’s shoulders, miring the thick plumage with stickily oozing blood.

Levelling out and powering into a tight turn, Jaknu forced himself into vertical flight and flipped over. Forelegs extended, wings beating a downdraught, his viciously curved claws raked deep into the Vedran grelfon’s soft underbelly. Maddened and confused, the mortally wounded beast’s wings frantically thrashed the air. Deprived of contact with his Grelfi, the creature was going berserk. Aware of how dangerous a deprived grelfon could be, Miqhal prepared to defend as Jaknu began taking evasive action. Vigorously back-winging, he twisted his body, narrowly avoiding a collision with the wildly careering and now highly unpredictable beast. In a rare moment of insane lucidity, the doomed grelfon caught sight of the three Grelfi speeding in for the attack. A trail of yellow ichor and stinking black fluid streamed from two long, deep parallel gashes in its belly as, its reasoning all but gone, it headed straight for them.

Jaknu’s massive wings pounding the air, he straightened into level flight and sped in pursuit, ignoring Miqhal’s loud and furious mental commands to fly clear. Closing fast, their beasts whipped into battle frenzy by the sudden and close proximity of blood and death, the two Grelfi at the rear fought to maintain control. Too close now to fly clear, in a desperate attempt to divert the crazed creature hurtling towards him, the nearest Grelfi loosed his spear at the moment his mount threw itself into a steep dive. With a loud explosive squelch, the eye of the dying grelfon burst open, the spear lodged deep in its brain. Finally deprived of life, three thousand pounds of grelfon tilted sideways and began to tumble out of the sky. Dead weight conforming to laws of gravity, it fell faster than the diving Grelfi. Five hundred feet above the desert sand, one flailing wing made heavy contact. Clawed wing-tip hooked inextricably into Grelfi harness, grelfon and rider were dragged over into a close and deadly embrace with the tumbling corpse.

Out of control, the live grelfon’s massive wings thrashed frantically in its efforts to break free, the whole tangled mess hurtling straight down towards Miqhal and Jaknu. Miqhal thought, and Jaknu responded. Making a steep banking turn to avoid collision, Jaknu pointed his nose downwards, the steep dive leaving Miqhal gasping for breath. In a swift glide the pair headed for the desert far below. Abandoning their intended pursuit, the two following Grelfi urged their beasts into a high speed intercept of their entangled fellow rider. Ordered by their riders to snatch corpse and captive apart, the two grelfons courted disaster with identical and equally misjudged moves. Forward limbs outstretched, they hooked their curved talons deep into the body of the dead grelfon. Now in horizontal travel, but still falling, the drag proved too much for the two burdened grelfons. Only a few yards above the desert sand, their agonised screams filled the air as their talons were ripped from their feet.

Jaknu’s back legs sent sand flying high in the air and left long deep channels across the side of the dune he had picked as a landing site. He barely had time to settle his footing before Miqhal had dismounted and drawn power. Even so, the Jadhra chieftain was not fast enough to use it. Plunging belly up into the sand with ground-shaking force, the spread-eagled limbs of the dead grelfon received the full crushing weight of its entangled kin. Between ear-splitting, ululating shrieks of rage and frustration the downed grelfon spat and sprayed acrid black fluid as it impotently thrashed one wing in its struggle to gain its feet. Torn and broken, the other wing lay folded beneath its body. One grotesquely twisted leg tangled in the stirrup leather, the Grelfi hung head down over his mount’s shoulder, dark blood oozing from his nose to fall drop by drop into the deeply furrowed sand. Pinned beneath it all, their mounts dying from loss of blood and the anguish of deprivation, two Grelfi with broken necks still sat astride. Struggling to free the last three feet of his long muscular tail from beneath the carnage, Jaknu set up a sustained and peevish grumbling.