War of Power (The Trouble with Magic Book 3) (45 page)

Alone and totally focussed, Karryl watched and listened. The voice which entered his mind was familiar and welcome. “You did well to escape from that. Saw it coming did you?”

Pleased to hear the calm tones of the affable entity who had guided him at the ocean of mist, the Mage-Prime smiled. “It was inevitable really, after the wraiths abandoned him...” he held out his open hand...“but I think the sight of these ‘drogger tusks might have had a bit to do with it. I must admit that holding until the last split second was certainly nerve-wracking.”

“Mmm. You did it, that’s the main thing. Anyway, who are
you
going to choose to help
you?”

Karryl swallowed hard. “Help
me
?”

The entity’s tone was matter-of-fact. “Yes. Help you. He’s set the precedent by summoning the wraiths to help him. Just because they refused doesn’t change anything. You’re now permitted to have someone or something to help you. The balance must be maintained. Also, time is of the essence.”

Puzzled, Karryl frowned up into the star-strewn sky. “Can I think about this a minute?”

“One minute. Oh! And it cannot be one who has been involved from the beginning, such as Dhoum or Kimi.”

A smile crept across Karryl’s face as an idea occurred to him. “I think I’d like Ash. He must be well on his way back by now.”

There was another pause. “Erm...Ash is otherwise engaged. You can have the rest of the pack as second choice if you want.”

The Mage-Prime decided that at this stage nothing would be lost by bargaining with an entity. “Only if you give me the ability to understand wolf-speak.”

“That’s cheating.”

“Ha! Who started cheating in the first place? The balance and all that?”

The entity’s tone was flat. “Just because someone else does something doesn’t necessarily make it right.”

Karryl stood up, slipped the tusks back into his pocket, and shook sand from his robe as he waited for the familiar hollow feeling in his head to dissipate. A chain of gleaming topaz jewels caught the moonlight as they snaked steadily on a wave of shadows down a nearby dune, resolving themselves into dozens of eyes as upwards of fifty wolves settled on their haunches in a semi-circle facing him. From the centre of the semi-circle one wolf rose and trotted the twenty yards to stand in front of him. It was Half-tail. He remained standing, tongue lolling as he looked up at Karryl.

His words rippled into Karryl’s mind like water over pebbles.”We have been sent to render assistance. How may we help?”

Karryl crouched in front of him. Not wishing to confuse the animal with the images flooding his mind, Karryl decided to vocalise. “Thank you, friend. What name shall I call you?”

The wolf made a sound which Karryl took to be a chuckle. “As you already think of me as ‘Half-tail’ that is what you can call me.”

Karryl wondered briefly whether he was speaking in wolf or was the wolf thinking in human. The implications were tremendous and he let it pass. After taking a second or two to gather his thoughts he gestured towards the waiting pack. “I’ll come straight to the point. By helping me you will almost certainly be putting yourselves in danger.”

Half-tail dropped to his haunches and gave one of his front paws a cursory lick. “Nothing’s changed then.”

The Mage-Prime shook his head. “What I’m trying to say is that you’re at liberty to refuse, just as the Grelfine Lord was refused by the wraiths. The decision is yours.”

The wolf didn’t reply. Instead he turned and trotted back to the other wolves, touching muzzles with each one in turn, a silent communion known only to wolves. When each muzzle had been touched, a russet-maned white-fronted wolf stood up and stepped forward to join Half-tail. Together the pair came forward to stand in front of Karryl.

Half-tail looked at his companion. “This is Fern, my second. Should anything happen to me he will be leader.” Half-tail and Fern spoke in unison. “So, what’s the plan?”

Karryl had no chance to reply. From somewhere to the east of the city a discordant chorus of yodels and fractious screeches began to carry towards them on a rising breeze. Mage-Prime envisaged and wolves responded. With only seconds to spare, a glamour of coarse pink-hued sand enveloped them and Karryl before the powerful downdraught of numerous wings pumping low overhead whipped the dune ridges for hundreds of yards around them. Amid the raucous din Karryl recognised the high-pitched warble of Ghian’s queen grelfon. His heart pounding he gritted his teeth. For Ghian and the Grelfi to be flying at night could only mean one thing. Immediately Karryl realised he had a major problem. Although he knew he had no other option but to follow, he had no idea where the Jadhra stronghold was. For the simple reason that what they didn’t know couldn’t be forced out of them, Miqhal had never taken Karryl or any of his companions to that most secret and secure of places. He waited a few more seconds until the sound of the flight was no more than a distant rhythmic whistle, then scrambled to his feet and dispelled the glamour which had shielded him and the wolves against discovery. Half-tail stood a couple of paces to his left, sniffing the wind as if following the flight with his sensitive nose.

Without turning, the wolf sent a question rippling into Karryl’s mind. “
Shall we follow?”

Clearing his own mind of extraneous images, the Mage-Prime conveyed his concern. “I know where they’re going but I don’t know whereabouts it is. I could do unfocussed translocations all night and simply end up being lost in the desert. Gods, this is awful!”

As if emerging from a mist, an image filtered into Karryl’s mind. Near the end of a mountain chain, its feet entrenched in a broad flat plain of sand and shale, a craggy rock face swept high to a jagged moonlit peak.

The image printed indelibly on his brain, Karryl’s despairing expression changed to one of amazed relief. “You know where it is! Have you been there?”

Half-tail sniffed the breeze again. “No, but that is where Ash found the Jadhra chieftain. Another creature was nearby, not wolf or human. Ash heard its voice.”

Certain that the other creature had to be Jaknu, Karryl’s hopes rose to new heights.

Now he had a location to focus on, he could be there before Ghian and the Grelfi. His estimations of the wolves and their abilities also gained a few levels when the pack trotted forward and gathered closely round him.

Half-tail gave Karryl’s leg a little nudge.
“Shall we go?”

Once again the Mage-Prime was faced with a dilemma. To move himself and fifty wolves would require a very long, complex and time consuming spell. The alternative was selective transference. He had seen Miqhal do it, had done it himself once or twice with small objects, and he knew the theory. To attempt it with a large pack of wolves was stretching credulity almost to its limits.

“Is there a problem?”

Karryl shook his head and looked down into Half-tail’s upturned face. “Er...no. It’s just that the spell I want to use might not cover all of you.”

The wolf made that soft warbling growl again that Karryl had, by this time, decided was a chuckle.
“We can move ourselves you know. How do you think we got here so quickly?”

The thought had never occurred to him, and Karryl felt not a little humbled. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think about that.”

Like Magnor, the Mage-Prime had wondered who Ash really was, and now he was having similar thoughts about this remarkable wolf-pack. If they had been magically enhanced, then who had done it? His first thought was the affable entity. If so, then the balance seemed to be tipped in his favour, for the time being at least.

He looked at Half-tail, but his words were for the whole pack. “Time is running out. We’ll worry about details when we get there. Let’s go.”

There were no sparkling motes to dwindle into the night air, only a few puffs of disturbed sand which quickly settled leaving barely a trace of the pack’s presence. Karryl smiled then focussed on the image Half-tail had given him. A sand gecko gaped at the blue and silver spiral as it faded away to nothing.

The robe which Symon had conjured for himself was at best a poor fit. The sleeves were too short, the skirt was too long, and the colour was a decidedly unattractive muddy grey. Magnor tried to look impressed but failed.

Symon shrugged. “Oh well. Considering the circumstances, it could have been a lot worse. It will serve its purpose for now. At least I’m no longer as naked as a new-hatched bird.”

Less than an hour ago he had woken to find Magnor crouched beside him, using torn strips of his shirt to wipe away the last few smears of the viscous golden liquid which had been poured over the little magician’s body in the Vedran temple. Now, refreshed by a few mouthfuls of clear cold water, and some transferred power from the Grrybhñnös elder, Symon was already taking their situation in hand. He tugged at the sleeves of his new robe as he looked round the cavern to which Magnor had brought him. Lights of Perimus hovered at intervals just below the curved ceiling, their soft shadow-less light revealing glimpses of black and grey striated rock walls covered with exquisite and masterly carvings of birds and foliage interspersed with geometric shapes. One hand grasping folds of his overlong robe, Symon shuffled from scene to scene, intrigued and a little awed as he ran the fingers of his free hand over the lifelike forms.

A wistful expression on his round face, he turned to Magnor. “It would be too much to hope that these are in any other place than Vedra, I suppose?”

His companion nodded. “I’m afraid so. There are similar depictions on the walls of the temple. I suspect they were worked by the same hand. Fortunately, we are some miles from that despicable place.”

Symon cocked his head to one side. “Erm...where are we exactly?”

The Grrybhñnös gave a little shrug. “Exactly, I’m not sure. It has been very many years since I last set foot in this place. I know it is called the Chamber of Memories, and is centuries old.”

As he spoke, his glance drifted to the furthest reaches of the cavern where a glamour of sand and small pebbles now concealed Andra’s lifeless body. Symon followed his glance, but seeing nothing turned and gestured upwards to the massive lintel above the cavern entrance. Even in the steady glow of the magical light, the triple row of deeply etched glyphs gleamed bright, seeming to pulse with a regular and urgent rhythm.

Symon gazed at them for a short while then gave Magnor a long hard look. “Can you read this?”

Magnor nodded. “I can, with a bit of care. It is a most solemn utterance created over a thousand years ago to invoke some incredible power, and from what I can make out the time when the words must be spoken is very close.”

Looking a little alarmed, Symon glanced up at the shining lintel. “Do you know the identity of this power?”

Magnor shook his head. “It may well be that it is included in the invocation contained in the second and third lines. The first line of the glyphs seems to simply stipulate the time and circumstances.”

Symon took a couple of paces back and leaned against the cavern’s carved wall. “So, who is going to do it? I doubt very much whether I could make a decent fist of it. That only leaves you.”

Before Magnor could reply, a movement just beyond the entrance had him reaching for his sword. Topaz eyes and silvered mane shone with an ethereal glow as a large wolf stepped forward into the cavern’s soft golden light. Symon raised a hand, fingers spread in a warding gesture, but Magnor stepped in front of him, shaking his head as he let his own hand fall away from his sword hilt.

Symon kept his voice low as he peered round his tall companion. “Is that one of those wolves you were telling me about?”

Magnor nodded. “Indeed it is, and we owe a lot to this one in particular. This is Ash.”

The big wolf’s tongue lolled as it padded softly towards them. Pausing briefly in front of Magnor, it raised one front paw as if in acknowledgment, before turning aside and heading into the deep shadows at the far end of the cavern. Symon’s eyes followed the impressive creature until he was out of sight.

The diminutive magician’s expression was one of bewildered disappointment as he looked up at Magnor. “It appears that our visitor has no desire to be sociable, but having had no previous dealings with their kind, I assume it’s just the way they are.”

Magnor nodded in silent agreement, and began pacing the width of the chamber, his brow furrowed as if his mind was wrestling with a particularly complex problem.

A deep, softly modulated voice pulled him up in mid pace. “Contrary to your observation Master Symon, as you well know, I am the most sociable of persons.”

Symon’s arms spread wide with surprise and pleasure as he recognised the slender, middle-aged man dressed in the court attire of Arinel, who emerged from the shadows. “Prince Florian! It is indeed good to see you again! Magnor, you remember Prince Florian.”

Magnor sketched a respectful bow. “I do indeed. I only regret that our meeting could have been under more amenable circumstances.”

An unreadable expression flickered across Florian’s face. “As do I, dear Magnor, but let us hope that those happier circumstances are not too far off.”

His face registering some degree of concern, the Arinish prince looked Symon up and down. “Forgive my candour Master Symon, but it distresses me to observe that you are not at your customary height of sartorial elegance.”

A flicker of impatience crossed the magician’s face as he tugged at a too-short sleeve. “I’ll rectify it later. Please bear in mind that I was under a certain amount of stress when I conjured this rag.”

He looked down at the over-long skirt of his robe and hitched despondently at a couple of loose folds. Then he looked up at Florian and surprised both him and Magnor by giving a boyish giggle. “I suppose there is a
little
room for improvement.”

With a conspiratorial wink at Magnor, the prince reached out and pinched a piece of the muddy grey fabric between finger and thumb. Neither Symon nor Magnor felt a thing, but almost instantaneously Symon’s ill-fashioned garment was transformed to a beautifully tailored and elegantly embroidered robe in a flattering shade of evening sky blue.

Before anything further could be said, and leaving no time for admiration, Florian was all business. Clearly and concisely, like a general giving orders to his troops, the prince told Symon and Magnor exactly what he wanted them to do.

Standing beneath the gold limned lintel, he looked at each of them in turn as if assessing their individual strengths. “I have to leave you now, and it may be quite a while before I see you again. You know what to do when the time comes.”

Symon asked the question he had already asked Magnor. “How will we know when that is?”

Florian gripped his shoulder briefly and gave him a reassuring smile. “You’ll know, Master Symon.”

The Arinish prince vanished. No shimmer of air, no sparkling motes rising marked his departure. It was almost five minutes later that Magnor noticed that the triple row of shining glyphs on the lintel had faded to near invisibility. Leaving Symon hunched against the wall and obviously lost in his own thoughts, Magnor wandered down into the deep shadows at the far end of the cavern. There was no trace of Andra’s body or of the glamour which had concealed it. Magnor smiled, knelt beside the tiny spring which bubbled up in the cavern’s floor and offered up a little prayer of thanks, before scooping up a couple of mouthfuls of the clear cold water. As he walked quietly back to Symon, he hoped it would not be too long before they had to act. Until that time came, the spring water was the only sustenance they had.