War of Power (The Trouble with Magic Book 3) (47 page)

He could breathe, he could open his eyes, and that was all. He had lost all track of time, the unrelieved darkness played tricks on his senses, and the deep sporadic humming which emanated from behind the granite wall fifty feet away was slowly turning his tortured brain to mush. Wrapped and trapped in a rigid, unyielding web of solidified lizard puke, Ushak could control neither his terror nor his bladder. He whimpered with shame and self-loathing as hot urine spread inside the front and down the legs of his leather trousers. Unable to turn his face away, his wide black-lipped mouth twisted with disgust as acrid fumes rose to assault his eyes and nostrils. Unbidden, a scream began to squeeze itself upwards from somewhere deep inside his chest. It reached his throat, faltered and was relegated to a throaty choking gurgle. A puff of disturbed air had touched the cold sweat on his forehead.

Ushak strained to stifle a cough, swallowed hard and listened. He could hear nothing, but his senses had alerted him to the presence of another in close proximity. Eyes tight closed he fought to dispel the fear that the huge lizard may have returned and was crouched in the darkness, preparing to finish what it had started. A chin-quivering whimper escaped through Ushak’s lips as the blackness behind his closed eyelids turned to flickering bright blood red. A groan of despair clawed at his throat as he forced one eye open. In front of him stood two black-clad Jadhrahin holding flame torches. One of them stepped forward, curved sword poised to strike. Two sharp cracks echoed down the tunnel as the flat of Shaqim’s blade struck the hard crust which encased the Vedran’s body and legs. Pieces, shards and chunks clattered to the floor, along with Ushak who had toppled sideways in a dead faint. Asalim darted forward and began to haul the Vedran to his feet.

The Jadhra shape-shifter screwed up his face in disgust. “Yech! He stinks like a latrine!”

He lowered the unconscious Vedran back onto the floor and grinned at Shaqim. “I’ll stay with him. You go and open the door. When he wakes he can follow on his own feet. Miqhal may want Ushak, but Ushak can carry himself.”

Shaqim returned the grin, slipped his sword back into his belt, and headed off towards the concealed door which had so effectively deceived Ushak’s searching eyes. The soft sound of his footsteps faded away, to be replaced by the whispering rustle of many more, and the low murmur of nervously excited voices from further back along the tunnel. Asalim gave his captive a prod in the backside with the toe of his boot.

Ignoring the resulting snarl of protest, Asalim added another prod for good measure. “On your feet, Vedran. It’s time to move.”

Ushak snarled again, rolled over and struggled unsteadily to his feet. With his upper arm held in Asalim’s firm grip he found himself being steered back the way he had come only hours before. The Jadhra warrior hissed in his ear. “It would not be wise to think of escape, Vedran. Look behind you.”

Ushak twisted his thick neck as far as he could and squinted over his shoulder. Acting as escort for a large group of Jadhrahin men and women, four heavily armed Jadhra warriors glared back at him from about a dozen paces behind. Ushak bared his yellow teeth in defiance then turned away, alert and fearful, as a low rumbling, grating noise caught his attention. Asalim pulled him to a stop and tightened his grip on the Vedran’s arm.

Crouched beside a polished metal plate set flush with the granite floor, Shaqim gestured to a gradually widening ribbon of light reaching almost from wall to wall of the tunnel. “The door is open.”

The rumbling and grating sounds continued, the heavy stone door rising steadily until it was hidden inside a recess in the tunnel’s ceiling. A long wide ramp led down to a massive chamber flooded with soft white light. Halfway up the ramp stood Miqhal, his mouth set in a grim line, the expression in his dark eyes unreadable as he fixed them on Ushak. The Vedran hardly spared him a glance. His awestricken gaze swept across the cavern, noting the deep, steeply angled aperture set just below the curve of the ceiling and open to the sky, and the two large and four smaller access tunnels which pierced the walls. Before too long he returned his gaze to rest on the long and sleekly gleaming object which sat on a low plinth in the centre of the cavern floor. Two Jadhrahin stepped round to its far side and out of sight. Seconds later the demanding and resonant humming which had tormented Ushak began again, its noise filling the cavern for a few seconds before falling quiet once more.

With a harsh and unrestrained bark of triumph, he wrenched his arm from Asalim’s grip and loped down the ramp. Miqhal held up a hand to forestall any pursuit, and followed to stand near one end of the shining artefact, watching with interest as Ushak walked slowly round it. It was not long and slender as it seemed when viewed from the top of the ramp, but was instead a perfectly annular form, its centre occupied by a deep circular straight-sided recess. Set near the front of this was a vertical row of three dimly glowing lights of red, green and white, below which a number of apertures each snugly held an intricately crafted geometric shape. On the floor of the circular recess sat a wide-based truncated cone, near the top of which a panel, little more than a hand’s width, was just visible set flush with the cone’s smooth surface. Next to the panel, two small horizontal slots gaped black and empty against the pale grey metallic surface.

The Jadhra chieftain stepped forward and clasped his hands behind his back, as the Vedran stopped near the centre, a covetous gleam in his deep-set yellow eyes.

Miqhal’s voice was calm and persuasive. “Look at it, study it Ushak. Perhaps in doing so you will help us discover why the gods saw fit to restore your miserable life.”

Ushak bared his teeth in a feral grin. “The answer is here, desert dog. This is the artefact which you stole, and I am to be the one who returns it to its rightful place in the temple at Vedra. Then Lord Ghian will be glorified as Vedra rises and your people will be reduced to nothing more than slaves.”

Disparagement twisted Miqhal’s mouth. “We shall see. It is my belief that the gods restored your life for a far more noble purpose; one that you could never have suspected, though I have had my suspicions for some time. Now perhaps we shall learn the truth.”

He reached out and pressed the panel near the top of the cone. The deep humming began again. Smoothly the panel opened, a shallow, intricately worked metal tray slid silently forward and the humming stopped. Miqhal frowned, his expression one of grave apprehension. Ushak’s eyes opened wide and, like a striking cobra, he lunged for the shining object which nestled in its metal cradle. Miqhal was faster. With one hand in an iron grip round his wrist, Miqhal placed his free hand on Ushak’s broad brow. The Vedran tried to twist away, but he had moved too late. His black lipped jaw went slack as his avaricious expression gave way to a vacant glassy-eyed stare.

Leaving the entranced Vedran standing motionless in front of the navigator, Miqhal moved across the cavern and stood for a minute or two, gazing up through the deep recess at the patch of night sky framed by its circular rough-hewn rim. Apparently satisfied with what he saw, he gave a brief nod and walked over to stand beside Ushak. The Jadhra chieftain had long suspected that the reason for Ushak’s resurrection was very different from the one which the Vedran so fervently believed. Now the time had come to discover whether his suspicions were justified. His enhanced voice carried the melodic and softly guttural words of the ancient language of Dahrian to the furthest reaches of the cavern and into the adjoining tunnels. Only a handful of the waiting Jadhrahin would understand, but Miqhal felt it was important to stir memories of the old tongue once more.

In a swift gesture, he passed his hand in front of the Vedran’s eyes. “Ushak. Your mind holds the memories of our grandfathers and their grandfathers’ grandfathers, for although we have been separated by time and circumstance, we are truly one race. Bring the ancient knowledge from the secret places of your mind Ushak, and let us return as one people to the home of our forebears.”

A quiet murmur of approval came from the few who understood the words their chieftain had spoken. A profound silence followed, the atmosphere heavy with expectation as Miqhal reached forward and removed the medallion from its metal cradle. With his fingertips around its rim, he lifted Ushak’s hand and pressed the ancient artefact into his palm, folding his fingers round it. For a long tense moment there was no response, then as if the spell had been broken, Ushak looked down at the shining disc resting in his outstretched hand. His thick eyebrows meeting in a deep frown of disapproval, with one clawed finger of his free hand he flipped the medallion over, and stepped up close to the Navigator. Intrigued and yet apprehensive, Miqhal also moved closer, standing shoulder to shoulder with Ushak as the Vedran placed the medallion carefully and precisely in its metal cradle. The panel remained open, as if some vital process was incomplete.

Speaking in the common language, Ushak’s voice crawled out in a slow flat monotone. “Who has the activators?”

Miqhal’s heart thumped in his chest as realisation dawned. The visit of the wolf, the objects the animal had carried and the final, almost cryptic mind-call from Karryl all fell into place to complete the puzzle which had tormented Miqhal’s brain.

He lifted the small soft pouch from around his neck, pulled it open and tipped the folded parchment and the two tiny artefacts into Ushak’s hand. The Vedran said nothing as he unfolded the parchment, gave it a cursory glance and handed it back to Miqhal. Picking up one of the tiny rectangular silver-etched pieces, he held it width-wise between his thumb and forefinger, reached up and pushed it firmly into one of the narrow apertures below the panel. As it clicked into place, the green and the white crystals set into the wall of the recess bloomed into rhythmically pulsing life.

Miqhal expected him to place the second activator in the remaining aperture below the panel, but Ushak’s flat monotone delivered another question. “What is the destination?”

Suffering a brief and uncharacteristic moment of indecision, Miqhal glanced round at his half dozen Jadhrahin lieutenants grouped close behind him. One by one they responded to his glance with an assertive nod.

Their chieftain took a deep breath. “The destination is Dahrian.”

Ushak turned the remaining piece on its end. Holding it by its long edges, he slipped it through one of the slots in the medallion and gently but firmly pushed it down. The Locator slid inwards on its tray and the hinged panel whispered shut, to fit flush once more with the body of the Navigator. In contrast to the earlier sound which had driven Ushak almost to distraction, the device now began a steady, unwavering and barely audible humming. From a point near the top of the Navigator a narrow beam of silvery light streamed out to strike the cavern wall just below the rim of the deep open recess. The beam widened, spreading out and downwards to form a broad shimmering arch. As the outer edges touched the cavern floor a threshold of gently pulsing blue light rippled across to connect them. Gradually the view of the cavern wall through the archway was obscured as the space filled with smoky swirls like windblown fog.

Impressed and gratified, Miqhal touched his fingers to the Vedran’s forehead. “Your task is done, Ushak, and I thank you in the name of all our people.”

Ushak shook his head, blinked and groaned. Clasping his hand against his side he doubled over as he slowly turned and stared at Miqhal, his eyes wide with horror and disbelief. Miqhal also stared, not at Ushak’s face, but at the blood which was welling over the Vedran’s scaly fingers. Ushak staggered, twisted and slumped against the body of the quietly humming device, his re-opened wound dripping and smearing the smooth shining surface with streaks of reddish-black blood.

Miqhal beckoned one of his lieutenants forward. “Help me lay him on the floor, then you and the others go and assist Asalim and Shaqim in moving everyone through the portal.”

With no thought for his own comfort, the Jadhra pulled off his long black tunic and rolled it into a pillow before helping Miqhal to move Ushak away from the device and into a clear space. As the bare-chested warrior hurried away, Miqhal knelt beside the trembling and moaning Vedran and pulled his blood-soaked tunic away from the re-opened wound. With both hands pressed against it, he drew in as much power as he could muster, letting it flow into Ushak’s body, but to no avail. Although the gaping wound had begun to close, the sudden shock, added to the combined traumas of his ordeal in the tunnels and his recently entranced state, had proved too much for the weakened Vedran soldier. His mouth working soundlessly he stretched out a shaking hand to Miqhal. The Jadhra chieftain leaned close, just in time to catch a sigh and a single word ‘Dahrian’, before Ushak’s eyes closed and his body went limp.

For a long moment the Jadhra chieftain studied Ushak’s face, peaceful and almost child-like in death, before unrolling the tunic which had pillowed his head, and draping it gently over his face and upper body. This would be his final resting place. After one last lingering look at the sleek lines of the portal generator, Miqhal turned away and began to make some final checks before preparing to follow his people through the shimmering arch.

The remaining thirty or so Vedrans, each with a water-skin slung over his shoulder, stood in a sullen huddle at the far end of the cavern, guarded by a quartet of lightly armed Jadhrahin. At a nod from Miqhal they up-ended their barbed spears and, using the iron-shod butts, shepherded their reluctant charges towards the narrow entrance of one of the smaller tunnels.

In a show of ill-advised bravado one young brown-faced captive bared short curved fangs as he turned and snarled into the nearest Jadhra’s face. “Gonna finish us off now eh, desert dog?”

The Jadhra remained stony-faced as he quietly returned the insult. “Only if that is your wish, cross-breed.”

The Vedran made a poor choice. His enraged lunge was countered by an immovable force-shield as the Jadhra warrior drew power. Face, fists and pride injured in equal measure, the Vedran staggered back, turned a malevolent glare on the Jadhra then shuffled out of reach. Miqhal’s lieutenant strode round the group and into the tunnel.

He waved the Vedrans forward with the business end of his spear. “Follow me.”

The narrow low-ceilinged tunnel was suddenly flooded with blue-white light as the Jadhra warrior switched on his torch. Startled, suspicious, and forced by the narrow confines of the tunnel to stumble along in single file, the Vedrans growled and jostled. Their shepherds kept them moving until military training kicked in and they settled into a fast-paced forced march. After about ten minutes the Jadhra warrior, jogging a few yards ahead, side-stepped into a shallow recess carved out of the tunnel wall and held out his spear, bringing the Vedrans to a lurching cursing halt. He turned round and placed one hand flat on the back wall of the recess. The grooved and rippled surface of the rock whirled and shimmered out of sight. The Jadhra shone his torch inside, revealing another narrow passage.

His expression unreadable he pointed. “Just beyond here the tunnel will begin to lead upwards. There are no branches or junctions. Keep following and you will emerge at the foot of the mountain. As our chieftain promised, we have led you to the surface. You have water. Vedra is approximately twenty miles to the east.”

He stepped back, held his spear like a barrier across his body and waited, saying nothing more. The Vedran at the front favoured him with a malicious grin before hawking out a gobbet of yellow spittle at the warrior’s feet. Not waiting for a response he turned aside into the narrow passage, and with one hand on each wall began to move warily forward. A few paces in he stopped, turned round and called back. “We will need light!”

The Jadhra warrior’s disdain was evident. “Do you fear the dark, Vedran? Follow the walls. This tunnel goes nowhere except out.”

Using the butt of his spear once more as a prod, he encouraged the muttering and hesitant Vedrans to follow. A little over half of their number had made their way into the dark and uninviting passage when the next one in line stopped suddenly. Those behind bumped into him, snarling and grumbling but he ignored them.

Lighter skinned, fangless and a head taller than most of his companions, he squared his broad shoulders and looked the Jadhra warrior in the eye. “I don’t want to go back to Vedra. There’s nothing for me there.”

The Jadhra said nothing, simply took a pace backwards, grabbed a handful of the defector’s tunic and pulled him out of the way, motioning those behind to keep moving into the side passage. By the time the last Vedran had passed through, two more, each with remarkably similar physical characteristics to the first, had expressed their unwillingness to return to Vedra, and stood surrounded by their Jadhra guards. The warrior who had removed the glamour from the passage entrance stepped forward. With a slow broad gesture of his hand, he replaced the concealment.

Framed within the now unremarkable recess he turned a stern dark-eyed gaze on the three Vedrans. “Will you forsake the dark city of Vedra for all time?”

After glancing at each other, each Vedran gave an assertive nod. The Jadhra continued. “Will you accept the training, laws and way of life of the Jadhrahin, knowing that any attempt by any one of you to renege on this decision will result in banishment and almost certain death?”

One by one the Vedrans answered ‘I will’.

In single file and sandwiched between two pairs of Jadhrahin, the defectors were escorted back down the tunnel and into the chamber to join the tribe to whom, at the last minute, they had sworn allegiance.

* * *

On the opposite side of the mountain the remainder of the Vedrans emerged near the wider end of a wedge-shaped cleft cutting into its base. Shale crunched under their eager feet as they rushed towards the starlit expanse of the desert which beckoned from a hundred yards away.

One of them looked up and studied the sky. Turning a couple of points, he gestured to his left. “The city is in that direction. Twenty miles, the Jadhra dog said. If we pace ourselves we can be there before morning.”

There was no argument, just a few growls and murmurs of agreement. Each one of them took a long drink from his waterskin before lining up to form a loose semblance of a squad and setting off at a steady jog-trot in the direction of Vedra. An icy wind gusted into their faces, bringing disturbing odours to their questing nostrils, along with the gradually fading sound of wingbeats. Some kind of innate sixth sense prompted their direction finder to raise a hand in a signal to halt.

One of the others stepped forward to stand beside him. “What’s up, Karg?”

The one named Karg sniffed the wind and peered ahead into the darkness. “Summat’s not right. I’d swear I heard Grelfons flying a few minutes ago, and I can feel heat coming from somewhere.”

A gruff voice came from somewhere to his left. “I felt that too. An’ it’s too quiet, even for the desert. Summat’s ‘appened ‘ere.”

Immediately alert and on edge, the squad spread out and began to creep forward, the sandy crust cracking and forming deep hollows under their broad feet. Yellow eyes strained to penetrate the blue-black desert darkness. They had gone no more than a few feet when a ball of light danced low over the sand behind them before rising swiftly to hover above their heads. As fast as they were breathing, its radiant glow expanded outwards and downwards, illuminating them and the flat shale-strewn sand for yards around. In seconds they had formed a defensive circle, standing back to back and facing outwards, each one looking about in an attempt to locate the source of the light.

A quavering wail rose into the chill air. “It’s the gods! They’re watching us!”

Karg replied with a snort of contempt. “Gods? There ain’t any gods. That’s some desert dog magician trying to scare us.”

As if to give credence to his outburst, the light dimmed a little and a deep voice carried towards them, resonating from the mountain’s flanks. “Turn aside. If you keep going in that direction some of you will fall to their deaths.”

His face contorted with rage, Karg broke the circle and shook his fists as he glared up into the light. “You can’t trick us Jadhra! We ain’t goin’ wanderin’ off into the desert on your say-so!”

The voice bore a note of resignation. “As you wish; but keep your eyes open. You will soon see that it is no trick.”

After some minutes of bad-tempered mutterings and arguments, interspersed with more nervous glances up and around, the Vedrans reformed their ragged squad and with some reluctance stomped off after Karg towards the open desert. Two hundred yards further on, with the hovering light keeping pace, they straggled to a halt, a grumbling response to Karg’s upraised fist. Exasperated, they broke ranks and strode forward to see what was causing yet another delay. A few of them groaned, others cursed, but all stared. To their left and to their right, the desert floor gaped open, a dark wide mouth stretching as far as they could see. From its throat a fog of dust and vapour rolled and writhed like a ghostly thick-bodied serpent high into the air. An errant gust blew the serpent’s long belly apart, revealing the scene which lay beyond the gaping crevasse. A howl of animal rage erupted from each Vedran throat, a spontaneous and reflex response, not only to the carnage and devastation which met their eyes, but to the sight of the tall robed figure which stood facing them across the impassable divide.

Karg began to jump up and down, waving his arms. “Shut up! Shut up!” The din reduced to a low wave of vengeful snarls and growls. “That’s no Jadhra. It’s a magician, and this is a bloody trick!” He stabbed a scaly finger towards the wide fissure a few yards in front of them. “That ain’t real. It’s an illusion!”

He swung his arm for the others to follow. As they charged forward, thunder rumbled in the far distance. Beneath their feet the ground trembled and shifted as the canopy of light above their heads died away. From a nearby mountain ledge a grelfon’s strident yodel carried a long and urgent warning high into the air and across the disturbed and trembling desert. A coruscating web of power flowed from the magician’s fingers, its strands reaching out to wrap themselves around each of the running Vedrans it touched. Some tried to dodge aside, but the strands sensed and located them, capturing and holding them fast. The magician vanished, and the magically ensnared Vedrans found themselves floating back towards the mountain to be unceremoniously dumped at the wide end of the wedge-shaped cleft at its base.