War of Power (The Trouble with Magic Book 3) (44 page)

Now, let’s go our ways and save the world.”

Before Karryl could utter another syllable, the soft ‘puh’ of Dhoum’s instant translocation had left him standing alone.

In the main cavern of the underground stronghold, Miqhal sat in the centre of a circle of elders, relating the details of what had happened and the discovery of the subterranean lake.

With only a few hours remaining before the conjunction, he was anxious to be away to the cavern which now housed all the artefacts and shielded them from discovery. Although barely a mile, the journey would take time. Translocation was out of the question. Miqhal would have to lead his tribe through the tunnels. The location of the cavern was known to very few, his trusted lieutenants among them, although the majority of the elders knew what it sheltered and had been sworn to secrecy. Every Jadhrahin warrior, elder and woman knew something incredible was to occur as three stars aligned. They just didn’t know what.

A commotion near the cavern entrance stopped Miqhal in mid-sentence. He rose to his feet, stepped through the circle of seated elders and strode across the floor. Barred by two armed Jadhrahin from approaching Miqhal while in council, Asalim waited, his face a portrait of anxiety. At a signal from Miqhal the guards stood aside, and he waved Asalim forward.

Dispensing with the customary formalities Asalim gestured behind him. “There is an intruder in the tunnels.” He lowered his voice. “Smells like a Vedran. I watched him, in a narrow tunnel opposite the ledge where you were. You’d gone by the time he appeared.”

The Jadhra chieftain grimaced and clenched his fists. “Ushak! He may well be close to madness by now. He has seen and heard much, and endured more than most could bear. Can you find him again?”

Asalim nodded. “It will mean returning to the lake cavern. I can trail him from there.”

“Who will you need?”

The shape-shifter’s tone was hard. “Alek alone will be enough.”

Miqhal nodded his agreement and beckoned to Alek, enjoying a well earned supper near the far side of the cavern. The Jadhra warrior put down his dish, wiped his mouth and rose to his feet. From its resting place against the wall he grabbed his spear and walked across to stand beside Asalim. Their eyes met. Without a word being said the two Jadhrahin left the cavern, and Miqhal made his way back to the circle of elders.

* * *

The route through the tunnels was clear in the minds of Alek and Asalim. They had travelled it once before. That was enough. They were Jadhrahin. Their footfalls were light on the rock floors, their senses alert for any sign of the intruder Ushak. A fifteen minute forced march brought them to the cleft opened earlier by Jaknu.

Asalim handed his clothes to Alek. His breathing deep and steady, he eased his head and upper body into the cleft before settling his arms, slightly bent, at his sides. Although he had witnessed it more than once, Alek always felt a slight surge of revulsion when Asalim was changing. He steeled himself to watch. For a few seconds nothing happened then Asalim released a long, low groan. Slowly and steadily the shape-shifter’s body and skull elongated and his limbs shortened. His nut-brown skin rippled and reformed to become smooth, supple and olive-hued speckled with black. Reaching forward, Alek slid his fore-arms under the giant lizard’s yellowish-white belly and lifted its rear end, with its suckered feet and heavy crested tail, into the cleft. He shone his torch inside until the creature was out of sight then settled down in the darkness to wait.

At the end of the cleft Asalim twisted round and skittered up the lake cavern wall. Upside down, he ran across the ceiling, down the opposite wall and crawled into the cleft where he had seen and smelled Ushak. The Vedran’s scent was still strong and easy to follow. His forked tongue flicking, Asalim slithered out into the tunnel, over the curve of the wall, and with sixteen sucker-padded toes attached himself to the tunnel roof. Ushak was not hard to find. Hopelessly lost, the stink of his fear drew Asalim like a fly to rotten meat. Unfamiliar with this area of the tunnel complex, Asalim kept his distance from the fugitive, waiting to taste something he recognised apart from the Vedran’s odour. Once he had dealt with him, he could follow the scent trail and find his way back to where Alek waited.

At that moment fortune chose to favour Ushak. The narrow blue beam of his torch struck a wall of grey rock and vanished into unrelieved darkness. Cautious but alert, the Vedran padded forward playing the light against the merging line of wall and deep shadow. A low breath of relief escaped from his dry mouth as the torch’s beam revealed nothing more ominous than the narrow entrance to a side tunnel leading away at a slight angle from the one he was in. He paused, and stood listening, unable to shake the feeling which had been plaguing him for some time; the feeling he was being watched. Hearing no sound but his own laboured breathing, he played the beam around behind him. He could see nothing but shadows and the glint of quartz reflecting the cold blue light. With no more than gut feeling to go on, he slipped into the side tunnel and increased his pace. He determined that if someone was following they would have to make an effort to catch up with him.

The going was surprisingly easy. Curved riven walls met a reasonably smooth floor which inclined gradually downwards the further he travelled. Ushak estimated he had covered about a half mile when the tunnel floor levelled out and took a long curve to the right. The air here seemed fresher, and his acute hearing began to detect a low, resonant humming noise. He slowed his pace to a brisk walk, directing the torch beam straight ahead. Unfamiliar glyphs began to appear at irregular intervals along the walls, becoming more frequent the further along he went. Abruptly, the tunnel’s curves gave way to clean cut verticals and a flat ceiling, polished smooth, as was the massive featureless granite wall which barred his way a few yards ahead. It appeared to be a dead end.

In frustration Ushak hammered his clenched fists against the unyielding wall. Near to exhaustion he leaned against it and hung his head in despair. He knew that if he turned back he would almost certainly run into whoever he was certain was following him. Determined not to give up without a fight he swung round and shone the torch beam down the tunnel. Just beyond the light, near the ceiling a shadow flickered before blending into the deeper darkness. Holding the torch high, Ushak crept forward. A few yards ahead something glinted high up on the tunnel wall. A shape slithered forward and skittered down to the floor. Ushak’s black lips drew across his teeth in a feral grin as he reached down for the knife concealed in his boot. A lizard, even one as large as this, presented no threat, but Ushak was taking no chances. Taking care not to make any sudden moves, he approached the creature. Barely two paces lay between them when it slowly raised itself from its crouch and lifted its head to gaze directly at him.

Making each movement unhurried and deliberate, Ushak side-stepped and turned until his back was against the tunnel wall. With the knife held in readiness to defend, and his eyes fixed on the creature’s head, he began to sidle past. The long straight, pale-lipped mouth opened. Ushak froze. In less than a heartbeat a stream of viscous greenish-white liquid splattered over the Vedran’s upper body. Arms flailing in a vain attempt to rid himself of the sticky fluid, his roar of horror and revulsion turned to panic-stricken gasps as the fluid congealed and set solid. His arms gripped in mid-flail by the stiffened web, he staggered sideways. Another stream of the fluid slammed against his thighs, oozed over his knees and dropped in strands and gobbets to solidify on and around his feet. Immobilised, Ushak could only utter an inane babble as Asalim swayed closer and stretched his thick sinuous neck to look up into his captive’s face. The lizard’s forked tongue flicked as it swung its head from side to side as if checking its handiwork. Hardly daring to breathe, Ushak closed his eyes and clenched his teeth. Leaving his captive glued firmly to himself and the floor, Asalim turned and headed back along the tunnel to the place where he had left Alek.

As the shape-shifter slithered out of the crevice, the Jadhra warrior turned away, waiting for him to resume human form before he thrust his bundle of clothes at him. “I was beginning to think you would not return. Have you killed him?”

Asalim shook his head. “Miqhal wants him alive. He still lives, although he may not think so. Miqhal will be surprised when he hears where I found him.”

In the time they had been away, a complete transformation had taken place in the main cavern. Over a dozen lights of Perimus illuminated a scene in which no fires burned, no weapons stood ready against the walls, and what few creature comforts there had been were all cleared away. The Vedran captives had been herded into a group near the entrance, armed and black-clad Jadhrahin watching their every move. The remainder of the tribe of Jadhra, now barely a thousand, had assembled at the farthest end of the cavern, the women clutching cloth-wrapped bundles, the majority of the warriors fully armed and leaning against their grounded spears.

Deep concerned etched on his features, Miqhal strode forward as the two Jadhrahin ran in. “Have you found him?”

Asalim nodded. “He had found his way to the rear door of the secret cavern. He still lives. I have bound him to the floor. If he hasn’t died of sheer terror he will be more than willing to listen to reason by the time we arrive.”

A Light of Perimus hovering above his left shoulder, a warrior approached Miqhal. After giving the Jadhra salute he gestured towards the assembled tribes-people. “All are ready. Shall we begin to lead them out?”

His tone brisk, his manner assured, the Jadhra chieftain touched Asalim’s upper arm.

“You have done well. Go with Shaqim here and help lead our people to their destiny. I will go on ahead. The main door will be open and all will be ready when you arrive.”

As his lieutenants hurried back across the vast cavern, Miqhal took one last look round. One by one the magical lights floated out through the entrance, each followed by an orderly procession of Jadhrahin. When only two of the softly glowing orbs remained, Miqhal released a deep sigh and translocated himself to another cavern.

On the floor of the temple two wolves lay dead, their fur smoking, their lean bodies in a magically induced rigor. Standing with one hand resting on the now empty altar, Ghian’s mouth twisted with contempt as he surveyed the scene. A few paces inside the door three under-priests and a temple guard, throats torn out, lay sprawled in a lake of their own blood.

Denied by her master this opportunity to feed, the grelfon queen squatted in a shadowed corner and maintained a high-pitched and petulant keening. Ghian ignored her. Inside he was seething. The elation he had felt as the being he thought was his god came at last, had been crushed by the speed and ferocity of the deception. A tidal wave of anger and frustration roared over him. His god, if indeed it was his god, had proven false, allowing him by devious means to be robbed of the Mage-Prime and to be humiliated in front of his temple guards, priests and servants. Ghian could not and would not comprehend. Irritated by the creature’s incessant noise, he waved his grelfon toward the carnage. Leaving her to gorge herself, and the priests and temple servants to clear up the ensuing mess, he strode out. With the Mage-Prime and his assistant free once more, it was time to raise his game.

In his sleeping quarters, he hurried to a deep and shadowed niche set in the rear wall. There, rendered almost invisible by its cracked and worn black binding, lay a thick heavy book. With no regard for any value it may have had, Ghian snatched it up with both hands and dropped it onto a nearby table. Ancient vellum crackled as he opened the book and began to read. Within minutes he had found what he was looking for. Eyes gleaming with malevolence he lifted the sinister tome and, with the prospect of victory intensifying his zeal, relocated it and himself to the top of the furthest grelfon tower. Nursing the possibility that he might catch sight of the escapees, for a few moments he scanned the shadowed planes of the moonlit desert. For one brief instant he thought he saw something glint high up on the side of a distant dune. Tense with anticipation he watched and waited until, resigned to seeing nothing more, he turned his mind to his purpose.

With the book resting on the deep crenellated wall of the tower he began to utter the execrable words of the forbidden summoning. ‘
From darkness and depths unknown I summon thee to attend and serve, to do my bidding. I summon thee to rise in form and essence, to forsake and to forswear all others until thy task is fulfilled. By the ancient powers vested in me and by the elemental force of these words I thrice summon thee.’

Nothing happened. No dark sinuous forms flowed from the shadowed gullies within the storm-piled sand. Incensed, Ghian spun round to fix his gaze on the distant dune. Certain that his eyes had not deceived him he stretched out his hands and sent broad rays of acidic yellow light bursting out, filling the night air with the acrid tang of Vedric magic. The light bloomed and spread, destroying shadows, and reducing the vista of dunes to a flat and featureless plain. Against this backdrop Ghian could just make out a pale-robed figure, its size reduced by distance to that of an ant.

Magically amplified, the Grelfine Lord’s voice rolled like thunder over the city walls. “So, Mage-Prime, we meet at last, and this time you will not escape. You have...”

His threat was cut short. From a half buried courtyard below the tower, huge spiralling plumes of sand erupted high into the air. With a brain-numbing sound like a swarm of locusts, racing streams of sharp abrasive grains flew outwards and upwards, scouring and burnishing the black stone parapet to gleaming steel-grey. Unseen hands snatched the book of summoning and cast it high into the whirling sand-blizzard. Ghian’s long-drawn-out “No-o-o-o!” of anguish was lost in the tumult as age old leather and parchment was reduced to shreds and tatters. Spinning and swirling, ragged fragments flew in a frenzied dance to be scattered by the wind across the desert’s vastness.

As quickly as it had begun, the fury abated. Robbed of momentum, air-borne grains and grit cascaded downwards, filling cracks and crevices and invading Ghian’s hair and robes.

Ignoring the discomfort, the loss of the book instantly forgotten, he stared with macabre fascination at the dark smoky vapours which swirled and eddied around him and the top of the tower. Engorged with his perceived victory over the wraiths he watched with heightened anticipation as the strands and swirls coalesced into menacingly solid form. Blue-black wings at threatening half spread, one single Killer-Wraith stood on the parapet and glowered down at the Grelfine lord.

Its words lanced into Ghian’s brain on a menacing susurrus
. “Once again you take liberties with our kind. Did you believe that a thrice-time summoning would give you dominance over us? Understand this. Although we are compelled to obey such a summoning, we are not so compelled to do your bidding.”

Rigid with fury, his face a mask of rage, Ghian screamed as he stabbed a finger towards the distant dune. “There is your enemy! Destroy him and the city will be yours!”

The wraith turned its hostile green-eyed gaze in the direction Ghian pointed, but said nothing. A thick dark mist swept up to the heights of the tower bringing with it a long low drawn-out moan like the sound of a thousand tortured souls. With one last malevolent glance at Ghian, the Killer-Wraith spread its wings wide and launched itself into the black seething tide.

As it once more relinquished its corporeal form, the scornful tones of its voice hissed into Ghian’s brain.
“The city has always been ours.”

Stunned and infuriated, Ghian stormed across the tower and leaned on the parapet to look out across the dunes. The yellow light had dwindled to a sickly ochre, but he could still make out the figure crouched Jadhra-style against the side of the dune. In a fit of unbridled hatred and sheer bad temper, Ghian wove a net of pure power and hurled it crackling and spitting towards the Mage-Prime. Searing heat melted tons of sand, turning it into a gigantic sheet of brittle glass. Its integrity undermined, the dune began to shift, a multitude of cascades and rivulets swiftly combining to form a massive avalanche. Stressed and unstable, the glass sheet cracked and shattered, releasing its grip on the sand beneath. With an explosive thump the side of the dune collapsed, its bulk flowing downwards in a relentless surge.

Teeth bared in a feral grin, Ghian watched, waiting until the tide of sand abated. His nemesis had vanished. Turning his gaze in the direction of the now dark and silent city, and sensing victory, the Grelfine Lord took himself to the complex of caves which stabled the grelfons and housed the Grelfi. There was still time. He was certain that with his few remaining riders he could finally enter the Jadhra stronghold and snatch the artefacts from under their noses. The two Grelfi who were standing guard stepped forward, saluting almost as an afterthought as Ghian strode towards them.

He gestured in the direction of the darkened caves, his voice an avaricious snarl. “Ready your beasts. The time has come to finish this. The location of the Jadhra dogs is known. This time no failure will be tolerated. I will lead. Be ready when I return.”

With a noise like a dry stick snapping the Grelfine Lord vanished.