War of Power (The Trouble with Magic Book 3) (42 page)

The Grrybhñnös reappeared shortly afterwards, but not in quite the way Karryl was expecting. Handfuls of sand erupted from the side of a small dune to Karryl’s left, closely followed by the emergence of Dhoum’s russet-haired face. All six limbs working furiously he quickly extricated himself, blew sand out of his nostrils and blinked once at his fellow magician. Knowing what was coming next, Karryl ducked, but not fast enough to avoid being showered as Dhoum vigorously shook pounds of sand from his long fur. Four legs tucked underneath him, the Grrybhñnös crouched beside Karryl and quietly murmured a few words. Karryl turned in time to see the wolf pack stand up, stretch and move slowly towards them.

Without looking at Dhoum, Karryl whispered ‘‘Are they going to recognise you in that form?’’

Before Dhoum could answer, a dark grey wolf with a piece missing from his ear and only half a tail, stepped forward and delicately sniffed at Dhoum’s face. Seemingly satisfied, he returned to the pack. As one, they all looked expectantly at Karryl and Dhoum.

His fur rippling, Dhoum rose to his feet. ‘‘I think it’s about time we went down and rescued Symon, don’t you?’’

* * *

Sharp ears pricked, Ash bounded up a long low dune and paused to listen. Already the city was far behind, the noise of the murderous screams faint and distorted as it drifted in the night air. Unable to identify the sounds, the silver-maned wolf swung away and headed for the mountains. The moon was now riding higher in the sky, its cold light turning sand to silver and burnishing the peaks just visible above the distant horizon. His fast lope extended to a near flat out run, Ash’s lean body seemed to fly along the ground. Constantly alert, his ears caught the slightest sound, his keen nose drawing in each drifting aroma and wafting scent of every swiftly covered mile.

With the mountains at last large in his vision, the merest vestige of a complex odour floated across his path. Nose low to the ground and his pace slowed to a steady trot, he veered slightly to the left. Capturing the odour again, he tasted and assessed it. Satisfied, he settled once more into a fast lope and headed for a tall peak near the seaward end of the mountain chain. Born of the cooling desert, a rising breeze swirled and drifted, pausing briefly to tug at the clothing of the man standing alone on the sand. His scent gathered, the breeze carried its distinctive molecules two miles across the dunes to the questing nostrils of the silver-maned wolf.

Taking most of his weight on the undamaged leg, Miqhal looked around. The power he had drawn from the cavern’s rock had not been enough. Relieved to find he had not translocated to the suffocating depths of a massive dune, his despair at finding himself so far from where he wanted and needed to be, threatened equally to engulf him. The positions of the emerging stars told him that time was not being any kinder. The mountain stronghold of the Jadhrahin filled his view, but its apparent closeness was little comfort. He knew he would be hard pressed to reach even the nearest hidden entrance before the time of the conjunction. To attempt another translocation to the safety of the interior would be a pointless exercise and leave him exhausted beyond recovery. Miqhal had one last hope. If Asalim had followed his orders, rescuers would have already discovered he was no longer in the cavern, a search party would be preparing to set out, and Jaknu would be with them. Not willing to take that chance, the Jadhra chieftain began the long trek towards the mountain. With no staff to lean on for support, it would not be long until his healed but weakened leg would start feeling the strain. Beset by doubts and conflicting emotions, the Jadhra trudged on.

Now barely half a mile away, Ash loped over the top of a long rolling dune. Below him, a wind-levelled sand-flat merged with a wide belt of rocks and shale to wrap itself round the foot of the looming mountain. With the scent of human strong in his nostrils the wolf slowed to a trot. Travelling up-wind, his paws making no noise in the sand, Ash headed in an undeviating line for his quarry. A few more minutes of steady trotting brought him within a few yards, and he slowed to stalking pace. The human smelled hot and troubled, his gait fast but unsteady.

An odd, light whisper brushed feather-like against the wolf’s brain. Before he could catch it, it was gone. Ash moved a pace closer to the human. The whisper touched his mind again, stronger this time. It seemed like a voice. The wolf watched the human and listened.

Miqhal stopped, turned and looked straight at the wolf. Ash dropped to his belly, tongue lolling. His thick tail thumped once on the hard-packed sand. He knew now, the sound in his head
was
a voice. He also knew it was not human, nor was it wolf. Miqhal walked slowly towards him. Ash stood.

The Jadhra chieftain hadn’t known the wolf was coming up behind him. It wouldn’t have made any difference if he had. He couldn’t run, not yet. He had no useful reserve of power to make any kind of escape. The wolf could have easily run him down and killed him.

The calm clear tones of Jaknu’s mind-call had alerted him. “
Do not kill the wolf.”

Relieved and pleased to hear Jaknu, Miqhal had still been puzzled. “What wolf?”

The Grelfon’s reply was short. “
Behind you.”
He had said nothing more.

Taking care not to make further eye contact, Miqhal continued to approach the wolf, one slow step at a time. He knew this had to be some unique kind of animal. Wolves had not roamed this region of desert for generations. He was also alone. Two paces from the wolf, Miqhal stopped. The animal’s eyes and silver mane glinted in the moonlight.

Miqhal’s newly mended leg protested as he crouched and held out his hand, palm open. “Is it me you seek, wise one?”

Ash edged forward, closing the gap to rest his muzzle on Miqhal’s outstretched hand. Again he felt the touch against his mind, a voice certainly, but no words he could understand. Only when Miqhal reached for the pouch hanging round the wolf’s neck did Ash realise the Jadhra was in contact with something or someone out of sight. Making no sudden movements, Miqhal slipped the pouch on its thong over the wolf’s ears. Ash rested his head on outstretched paws and watched as Miqhal opened the pouch and tipped the Mirikani artefacts and the folded parchment into the palm of his hand. Puzzled, he peered at the shining silver markings. Uncertain what to make of them, he dropped the pieces back into the pouch, drew it closed, and slipped the thong over his own head.

As the wolf stood, Miqhal reached out and fondled the black-tipped ears. “Did Karryl send you to me, my friend?”

The big wolf lolled his tongue, his tail waving slowly from side to side.

Miqhal nodded. “Will you return now?”

As if bidding the Jadhra farewell, Ash raised a front paw, holding it high for a few seconds.

The Jadhra chieftain smiled and raised his own hand. “Run swift and sure, my friend.”

Turning away, he headed once more for the mountain, knowing Jaknu would soon be flying down to carry him the rest of the way. Once in the safety of the stronghold he could prepare his tribe for the conjunction. When he looked back, the wolf was gone.

Ghian, Grelfine Lord and Master of Vedra, was angry. Sensing her master’s fury, his queen grelfon screamed her agitation into the shadowed heights of the temple’s massive sacrificial chamber. Black walls gleamed in the light of a hundred ensconced torches. A dozen thick red votive candles burned on the foetid, blood-encrusted altar, the smoke of their quivering flames forming black writhing serpents in the dense, over-heated miasma. The grelfon keened for blood. Unmoved by her protests, Ghian watched an ageing black-robed priest drag the headless and disembowelled corpse of the latest sacrifice across the temple floor to a deeply shadowed alcove. As with all offerings to his god, Ghian felt no remorse or concern for the victim or for the rapidly dwindling few left behind. He would personally sacrifice them all, down to his last Grelfi, priest and temple guard if the god to whom he believed he owed his power would answer. Even now, after all his dedicated efforts, the unseen and unheard deity had mocked him by allowing one of his valuable captives to escape. He took little comfort from knowing he still had the Mage-Prime inescapably confined. He and his apprentice worked together, of that he had no doubt, and he needed them both. They were his bargaining currency. Their lives would pay for the location of the artefacts, and the life of the Jadhrahin traitor Miqhal.

The ceremony of sacrifice complete, Ghian removed himself from the thick cloying atmosphere of the temple. Concealed in the darkly shadowed angle of two adjoining walls, he drew in deep breaths of cool night air and surveyed the carnage. A spell of calming brought his anger and frustration down to a manageable level, and he stepped out into the torch-lit street. Two guards slouching by the open cell door shuffled grudgingly to attention as Ghian approached. Sensing the residues of both Rhamnic and Vedric magic hanging in the air, he crouched down and studied the mutilated bodies lying on the ground. Once again his nostrils were invaded by the sharp metallic tang of freshly spilled blood. He peered in morbid fascination at the un-natural angles formed by broken necks and limbs, and wondered at the ragged gaping holes in torn-out throats. Despite his ability to turn human to wolf, he was not familiar with the damage which could be done by the animal’s strong jaws and knifelike incisors.

Rising to his feet, Ghian turned and glared at the two living guards. “Where is your commander?”

One of them gestured vaguely towards the city outskirts. “Captain Graak, Lord. He roused the Grelfi and their beasts, and sent search squads out to the desert edge.”

The second guard relaxed his stance and spoke to no-one in particular. “If we ‘ad more men we’d a prob’ly caught ‘em by now.”

His insubordination earned him a full force slap across the cheek. Ghian’s anger was rising again. Pushing the guard against the wall, the Grelfine Lord snarled into the man’s face. ‘Take care. In no time, I can have you wandering the Jadhrahin tunnels. Perhaps, if you were fortunate, you might even be the first to find his way out.’

Secure in the knowledge that guard and Grelfi numbers were now too depleted to afford the loss of even one more, the Vedran’s slanted yellow eyes glared unflinchingly back at Ghian. The sound of running feet broke the stalemate. Ghian backed away and turned aside as a small squad of heavily armed Vedran guards jogged towards him.

His raised hand brought them to a clattering, un-co-ordinated halt. “Is there any sign of them...of anything...anyone?”

A tall heavily built Vedran, short yellowing tusks overhanging his black lower lip, trotted briskly forward from the rear of the squad. He saluted Ghian. “Captain Graak, guard Commander, my Lord. We’ve made a thorough search, us and the Grelfi, and found no trace. They must’ve used a portal. They could be anywhere.”

Ghian stabbed a finger towards Graak’s face. “When I want your opinion Graak, I’ll ask for it. They will not have gone far. Their intention is to free the other magician. No doubt that Jadhra dog Miqhal has something to do with this, but I swear he will not best me this time. Keep searching. Kill anything that moves. Do you understand?”

Graak flipped a barely acceptable salute, his coarse black fur not even rippling with concern as Ghian vanished.

Dhoum seemed to have no difficulty communicating with the wolves. Karryl watched the pack pair off and slip away through the shadows of the dunes, down into the city.

When they were gone Dhoum explained his plan. “It’s simple. We rescue Symon the same way we rescued you. The wolves will scent out where he’s being held. That way we won’t need a locating spell. With that blanket barrier of Vedric magic over the city, it could get distorted and lead us into all kinds of trouble. With the wolves’ help we’ll be out and away with Symon, and Ghian will be short a few more troops.”

While appreciating Dhoum’s optimism, Karryl had his doubts. He thought it extremely unlikely Ghian would allow the same thing to happen again. One thing he
was
certain of. If it was going to be anywhere near approaching easy, Symon would have escaped by now.

Dhoum rose up onto his rear legs and looked into Karryl’s pensive face. “Can you transform?”

Karryl shook his head. The fur rippled on his companion’s muzzle. “Have you tried?”

The Mage-Prime’s mouth fell open but no words came out. He sat down with a thud on the side of the dune. The last thing he wanted to do right now was entertain the idea of trying something new. The thought of becoming something or someone else filled him with no small amount of trepidation.

His voice crawled up from his boots on a tight wire. “I can translocate. I don’t need to be anything different. Whatever you have in mind, I promise you I won’t like it.”

Dhoum’s fur rippled from the top of his head all the way down his back. He dropped to all fours and turned to look down at the city. There was no sign of grelfons, but dozens of torches now burned in the dark canyons of Vedra’s streets.

Karryl spoke from behind him. “We’d better get going and do what we have to do. It looks as if they’ve stopped searching for us, and time’s running out. Where are we going to wait for the wolves?”

Dhoum did his owl thing with his head, and his eyes glinted. “Where the Vedrans least expect us. You ready?”

Karryl sprang to his feet. Scrambling down off the dune, he brushed sand off his clothes then gripped the Grrybhñnös’ arm.

He opened his eyes and stared, trying to shake off the feeling he was going round in circles. Only a couple of hours ago he had arrived in the same room by the same method. The only difference now was the company.

He glanced at the closed door. “D’you know if there are any guards outside?”

Dhoum padded over to the door, listened, and sniffed along its lower edge. Standing on his back legs, he reached for the latch and eased the door open. Cold air and two wolves drifted in. Wolves and Grrybhñnös made long eye contact and the wolves drifted out again.

Karryl jammed his hands on his hips. “What?”

Dhoum shook his head. “Nothing so far. Those two are going to continue their search.”

“So, we wait here until every pair has been in?”

The Grrybhñnös settled himself behind the half-open door. He gestured to Karryl, indicating he should move away from the middle of the room. “Don’t worry. If Symon’s in the city, the wolves will find him.”

A wolf poked its head round the edge of the door. Catching sight of Karryl, the wolf slipped inside, closely followed by the one with half a tail that Karryl had noticed earlier. The long eye contact with Dhoum was repeated. This time Dhoum reached out his four-fingered hand and ruffled Half-tail’s fur. “They’ve found him. Time to go.”

The odd quartet stepped out into the street and Dhoum pulled the door closed. Half-tail cocked his leg and urinated against the door, then moved along and sprinkled the nearby wall. The act reminded Karryl of the way messages had been left when he was with the street-boys, only they had used stones or secret marks. He could read this wolf-message. The first part said ‘We were here.’ The second said ‘We went this way.’

With Half-tail leading, Karryl, Dhoum and the other wolf slipped into the deep shadows of a narrow, poorly lit side-street. Seconds later another pair of wolves followed them in. Street after broken street of looming buildings bore silent witness to their progress as they slunk through dark sand-piled alley-ways and dodged patrolling guards. Every so often Half-tail would stop, sniff the air and listen before moving on. At last, he led them down a high-walled alley, through a covered entry-way and into a semi-circular courtyard. By the flickering light of one wind-tossed torch flame ensconced in the far wall, Karryl could see enough to tell him this was a dead end. All that faced them was a low, outward curving wall set into the rear of a massive building and topped by a steeply sloping tiled roof.

Karryl moved close to Dhoum. “We’re at the back of the temple. There’s no way out, except the way we came in.”

Crouching on all fours, Dhoum looked up at him. “We’re in no immediate danger. Most of the pack are now behind us. They’ll guard the alley.” He jabbed a finger towards the protruding curved wall. “See that? It’s an underground dungeon. Symon’s in there. Those shutters just below the eaves are covering the windows, probably too small for anyone to get through.”

Karryl looked up at the huge edifice towering above them. “I think this is the back wall of the temple. It might be easier to try and go through there. I don’t see any doors this side.”

Dhoum grunted. “That’s ‘cos there aren’t any, not this side, not any side. More than likely Symon was translocated in, and that’s the only way we’ll get him out. But first, we’ve got to get in.”

Snarls and a deep throaty growl echoed down the alley. The wolves sped away towards the sounds as Karryl and Dhoum ducked out of sight. A shout was cut short, and reduced to a long, low gurgle. All went quiet. Six pairs of eyes gleamed in the shadows of the alley.

Dhoum jerked his head towards them. “Just a pair of guards wandering about. Bad idea.”

Half a dozen long paces took Karryl to the dungeon’s curved wall. He bent low to look at the iron shutters over the windows. Slots in the shutters fitted over circular hasps set into the stonework. Through these, a long iron rod had been pushed and connected to the next one by a short chain. The rod moved easily, but whichever way it was pulled, it would jam before the shutter could be opened. Karryl and Dhoum exchanged glances. The Grrybhñnös stretched out his hand towards the chain. Karryl stood quite still and stared at it. Nothing happened.

Dhoum grunted. “Shielded, inside and out. Try again, a bit harder?”

Karryl nodded. Crouching down, he clamped his hand round the iron rod. Dhoum stretched out his hand. After ten seconds there still wasn’t so much as a tingle.

Karryl took his hand off the rod as he ran the fingers of his other hand through his hair. “We can at least let him know we’re here.”

Dhoum gave him one of his rare, slow blinks. “We start shouting, we’ll have every guard in the city down here.”

Karryl shook his head but said nothing. Leaning on the wall, he reached down and pulled off his boot. With a firm grasp round the foot he struck the boot-heel against the iron shutter. Instead of the sharp clang he was expecting, the only noise was a dull, barely audible thud as the boot-heel rebounded.

The fur rippled on Dhoum’s muzzle. “That is very powerful shielding. I think the time has come.”

Karryl frowned. “The time’s come for what? Are we just going to go away and leave him?”

Dhoum rose up onto his hind legs, reached inside the neck of Karryl’s tunic, and lifted out the silver ball pendant. The inner lattice was now spinning too fast to be visible, the stone inside glowing red with a steady pulse.

The Grrybhñnös let the pendant rest on the front of Karryl’s jerkin. “Now try.”

Karryl struck the shutter again. The result was a reverberating clang as the shutter shook.

Dhoum dropped back onto all fours and pointed a finger at the chain which linked the rods. “Ready to try again?”

Karryl nodded and also concentrated on the chain. With a noise like breaking glass the chain shattered into dozens of tiny pieces and jingled to the ground.

Dhoum studied the metal shards for a few moments. “I think we over-cooked that one.”

Hearing no answer, he looked up to see Karryl gazing at the pendant in the palm of his hand. His voice was quiet, his tone close to awed. “They all knew. They all knew this would neutralise Vedric magic; all except me.” Accusation filled his eyes as his gaze shifted to Dhoum. “You knew, didn’t you?”

“Yes. I’m just surprised Symon never told you before this, if he knew, but he probably had his reasons. Anyway, we haven’t got time to go into that now. Try and pull that rod out. I’ll try this one.”

After some concerted jiggling and twisting, the rods holding the shutters finally slipped free. Dhoum and Karryl crouched down and peered through the tiny windows. Nothing was visible. Not wanting to risk singing up the Light of Perimus, Karryl took a few seconds to form a smaller, softer ball of light, and sent it wafting through the bars to hover over the centre of the small circular cell. It was empty.