by B. J. Beach
War of Power
by
B J Beach
Book Three of
‘The Trouble with Magic’
© 2015
Having purchased this eBook from Amazon, it is for your personal use only. It may not be copied, reproduced, printed or used in any way other than in its intended Kindle format.
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance between the characters in this work and any persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
The right of B. J. Beach to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1998.
Published by Ex-L-Ence Publishing a division of Winghigh Limited, England.
CONTENTS
1 - A Chance Discovery
2 -Terror at the Tower
3 - Disturbing Reports
4 - A Search for Amulets
5 - Breath of the Wraith
6 - Geffendrogger
7 - Solving a Puzzle
8 - A Crisis Averted
9 - A Cryptic Clue
10 - Cleansing the Crystal
11 - Finding and Keeping
12 - Departures
13 - The Jadhra and the Cat
14 - Nine Steps Down
15 - Cold Blood
16 - A Fight for a Life
17 - Jaknu
18 - No Time for Games
19 - A Last Resting Place
20 - A Mage Prime’s Legacy
21 - The Artefact Dilemma
22 - Caught in the Dance
23 - The Chapman’s Shadow
24 - Precious Gifts
25 - Can You Fly?
26 - A Plan Thwarted
27 - Two Heads are Better
28 - Grelfi
29 - Scorn of the Wraith
30 - Back from the Brink
31 - Reunion in Arinel
32 - A Friend no More
33 - Wraith-strike
34 - Frustrated Plans
35 - Restoration
36 - An Indefinable Something
37 - A Necessary Voyage
38 - Shipwrecked
39 - Search...
40 - ...and Rescue
41 - Descent into Madness
42 - A Mixed Reception
43 - A Stab at Escape
44 - Revolt and Retaliation
45 - Winging Home
46 - Translating the Scroll
47 - Missing Pieces
48 - Companions
49 - Ushak the Vedran
50 - The Name of the Wolf
51 - A Battle of Wills
52 - It’s All History
53 - Lost...and Found
54 - Over My Dead Body
55 - The Killing Skies
56 - Trapped
57 - No More a Wolf
58 - Tricks and Ruses
59 - Watch the Grelfon!
60 - Wolf Pack
61 - Captured
62 - Shape-shifter
63 - Foolproof
64 - A Short Fuse
65 - A Dead End
66 - Hard Truths
67 - To Catch a Vedran
68 - A Strike in Anger
69 - Divine Intervention
70 - A Wolf’s Clothing
71 - At the Death of a Queen
72 - The Wilder Power
73 - Ushak’s Redemption
74 - Vedran Reprieve
75 - An Ancient Curse
76 - Removed from Danger
77 - Destruction
78 - The King’s Magicians
AND NOW
1 - A Chance Discovery
The rattle of sleet lashing against his study window was doing nothing to improve Karryl’s mood. He had returned to the palace apartment after the winter holiday, keen to start work on solving the mystery of how Keril’s book and the medallion interacted. Now, after two days of fruitless trial and error, he sat gazing dejectedly at the pages of small close writing, wondering why something which reason told him would be so simple, was proving so intractable.
The young Mage-Prime looked at the water-clock, a birthday gift from King Vailin, and decided it was time for a few good breaths of fresh air. Ruefully eyeing the recalcitrant medallion, he dropped it almost carelessly onto the open page, pushed back his chair and left the room, closing the door behind him. Hands thrust deep in his pockets, lost in thought and oblivious to the wintery chill, he slowly paced the porticoed cloister. Vaguely he became aware of someone pacing beside him.
Symon looked up at him, grey eyes twinkling. “I gather from your expression that it has so far eluded you.”
Giving a brief nod, Karryl stopped to stare out at the sleet-covered courtyard. His voice betrayed his frustration. “I thought I had the answer, that time when I saw those circular voids within the writing. They didn’t yield anything, so either that was just a coincidence, or I’m missing something.”
Symon, Court Magician and erstwhile mentor of the tall Mage-Prime, chuckled and patted his palms together. “What have I always said about coincidence?”
Karryl gave a wry smile. “Yes I know, but at the moment there doesn’t seem to be any other explanation.”
Making the most of his five foot stature, the little magician thrust up a pugnacious chin towards his lofty fellow magician’s face. “Of course there’s another explanation. You just haven’t found it yet. Have you eaten recently?”
Karryl frowned. Symon gave a “Hmmph” of disgust. “I thought so. I leave you alone for a couple of days and you start neglecting yourself.”
Scurrying off along the cloister, he called over his shoulder. “Come on. Food for the body is food for the mind.”
With a little smile and a shake of his head, Karryl followed in the little magician’s bustling wake.
As Symon headed for the kitchen, Karryl wandered back into his study. Hands pushed deep into the pockets of his robe, he gazed down at the medallion lying innocuously on the closely written page of the book. Slowly he bent forward for a closer look, shook his head, then turned and left the room, quietly closing the door behind him. In the middle of the large but cosy sitting room, he looked round at the blazing log fire and the comfortable furnishings. He smiled to himself then, sniffing with appreciation at the appetising aromas teasing his nostrils, joined Symon in the kitchen. Two large mugs of steaming hot tea occupied round straw coasters on the polished white-wood table. Karryl sat down, picked up one of the mugs and took a tentative sip. Blowing gently on the tea to cool it, he looked at Symon over the top of the mug. Sensing his gaze, Symon ceased stirring the contents of the large pot already simmering on the top of the black-leaded range.
He raised a quizzical eyebrow in Karryl’s direction. “Have you decided to leave it for a while?”
After taking another sip of tea, Karryl slowly and precisely placed the mug back on its coaster. Elbows on the table, he clasped his hands under his chin and looked at Symon while pressing his lips together in an effort to keep a straight face. Unable to hold it back any longer, he let his infectious and triumphant grin take over.
Dark brown eyes glowing, he slapped a hand on the table. “I think I’ve found it! It was staring at me all the time! Come and have a look.”
After prudently shifting the simmering pot to one side, Symon, now grinning widely himself, scuttled after Karryl as he dashed from the kitchen across to his study.
To dispel the gathering dusk, Karryl quickly lit a lamp, placed it on his desk and gestured towards the softly shining medallion. “There! Can you see?”
Arms folded, Karryl tapped his fingers on his arm as he waited for Symon to see what he had
seen. The little magician gazed at the shining disc for a few moments, rubbing at his chin with the side of his forefinger.
He looked up, clearly perplexed. “Believe it or not, I don’t seem to be able to see anything unusual or significant. What was I supposed to see?”
With a slight frown Karryl took a step forward. He looked down at the book, then at Symon, then back at the book. The grin reappeared and he snapped his fingers. “Of course!”
Taking care not to disturb the medallion, he lifted the book off the desk and placed it carefully on the seat of his chair. “Now look.”
Standing over the chair, Symon looked down and almost immediately his hands flew to his face. “How ingenious!” His round face alive with interest, he gestured to the open volume. “How many are there on a page?”
Karryl perched on the end of the desk and shook his head. “I don’t know yet. I’d only just spotted it before I came into the kitchen. I hate to admit it but it was a sheer fluke. I only hope it proves to be the answer I’m looking for.”
Symon picked up the book and medallion and placed them back on the desk. “There’s only one way to find out, so I’ll leave you to it. I’m going to finish preparing supper.”
With one more glance at the book, he patted his palms together and headed back to the kitchen.
As soon as Karryl sat down he realised he wasn’t going to be able to investigate further in comfort. Either the book was too high, or he was too low. Deciding on the latter, he stood up and drew book and medallion into the circle of lamplight. Very slowly and methodically he began to move the golden metal disc over the small neat letters of the closely written page. Equally spaced around the edge of the medallion, which Slanvir had told him was called the locator, were three rectangular holes. Until recently one of these had a heavy gold chain threaded through it, but Karryl had removed this and put it carefully away. Now he looked down through the holes onto the pages of the book. With the medallion in one particular position, each hole was large enough to comfortably frame just two letters. By trial and error Karryl proved that the correct position was never the same for each group, and only one position would clearly show three unobstructed pairs. Others showed various combinations of part letters, or one letter and blanks. When Symon called him for supper, Karryl had progressed as far as discovering there were at least three groups on the first page, they didn’t make any particular sense, and his neck ached.
As Symon ladled rabbit stew onto their plates, Karryl told him what he had discovered so far. The little magician looked thoughtful as he replaced the cook-pot on the stove and sat to the table.
The two magicians ate in pensive silence for a few minutes, then Symon leaned forward, gesticulating with his fork. “Perhaps if you write each group down instead of simply memorising them, perhaps when you get to the end they’ll make some sense.”
Karryl nodded, frowning as he removed a tiny rabbit-bone from his mouth. “It’s going to be a lot of work. There are fifteen pages closely written on both sides, and that writing is different from the rest of the book. Even if there are only three groups of letters on each page, that’s still one hundred and eighty letters. That could be a very complicated anagram.”
Symon made a wry face as he stood up from the table. He ambled across the large homely kitchen, put his plate in the sink, then came back and rested his hands on the table. “I suggest you leave it for tonight, do something completely different, and then tackle it tomorrow after a good night’s sleep.” At the stove, he pulled the big copper kettle onto the heat. “I’m surprised the power within the book hasn’t been more helpful. Have you asked it?”
Karryl grinned as he too left the table and went to put his plate in the sink. “The first day back, I asked it until I was blue in the face, but I think the spirit of Keril has left it. I’m inclined to believe it was only there to ensure that the book and medallion ended up in the right hands. Now it’s up to me. Anyway, I’m rather inclined to take your advice and leave it for tonight and start fresh in the morning.”
Giving a satisfied smile, Symon poured hot water onto tea leaves. “Good. I know it’s only just after New Year, but there’s a lot to do. Even though it’s only seven months before the astral conjunction, we’re still not sure what the Vedrans are planning.
“I have to meet with the Grrybhñnös elders soon, and see if we can make some sense of the ‘prophecy’ that spy-master Jack Parry brought back from Naboria. For all we know, it may hold the key to the whole thing.”
Karryl’s eyebrows scrambled for his hairline. “Of course! I forgot to mention that. I’m certain Dhoum knows who or what the ‘golden one’ is. Do you remember me telling you about the cave that Slanvir showed me, with the drawings and the two painted wooden figures?”
The little magician nodded as he set the tea-tray. “I do indeed. And you said that the Grrybhñnös figure was painted in a sort of golden colour. That more or less confirms that it’s one of them doesn’t it?”
Karryl looked doubtful. “I wouldn’t be in too much of a hurry to accept that. Dhoum said the figure didn’t portray him, but a character from long ago named Quaxlor. Just because he had the rare golden fur doesn’t necessarily mean that the golden one of the prophecy is a Grrybhñnös.”
Symon gave a little shrug, then picked up the loaded tea-tray and headed towards the kitchen door. “Perhaps we’ll have another look at it while we sit by the fire and drink our tea. Maybe it will take your mind off the book for a while.”
Karryl felt it might take more than pondering over a vague prophecy to do that, but a change would be as good as a rest. He followed Symon into the sitting room, little realising the change which was about to come would prove to be anything but a rest.
2 -Terror at the Tower
A mile away as the crow flies from where Symon and Karryl were enjoying their cup of tea by the fireside, the palace guard were about halfway through their patrol of the precincts. Occasionally they stopped to stamp cold feet, and breathe on numb fingers. The night was sparsely blessed by the light of a new moon, and frost glittered on every surface. Two of the guard, Colm and Merthyn, had just arrived within sight of the tower which had been Symon’s home for as long as anyone could remember. Now it stood empty, Symon and Karryl having moved some five years ago to more spacious accommodation in a wing of the palace.
Taking advantage of the lee of the tall hedge bordering one side of the parade ground, the two guards were sharing a flask of warming herbal draught made up for them by a sympathetic palace herbalist. Before Colm could take the flask from Merthyn for a second swig he hissed a curse, his hand flying to the hilt of his short-sword. Re-corking the flask and pushing it back inside his greatcoat, Merthyn followed Colm’s gaze. He promptly echoed his curse. On the top floor of the tower, a bright green-hued light burned steadily, its glow turning the frosted ground below to a sheet of emeralds.
Colm slipped his sword from its scabbard and turned to Merthyn. “Daily orders didn’t say anything about anybody living up there again did they?”
Merthyn shook his head. “Not that I saw. Best go and have a look.”
Swords drawn, the two guards moved stealthily along the perimeter path towards the old building. In the shelter of the darkened porch, Colm placed a restraining hand on Merthyn’s arm. Colm edged forward, motioning for Merthyn to keep a lookout and remain by the door. Grasping the latch he applied gentle pressure. To his consternation it gave easily and the door swung silently open into blackness. Standing motionless while his eyes grew accustomed to the deeper darkness, he listened for any sound. All was quiet. The whole place seemed to be holding its breath.
Caution guiding his steps, he ventured forward into the small downstairs room, confidence building as he began to make out the shape of the banister disappearing upwards into the gloom. He inched towards it. A long, low creaking sound broke the black silence and he stopped, hardly daring to breathe. A bright shaft of light split the darkness above him, pooling on the landing of the d
og-legged staircase. With one tentative foot on the lowest tread, he tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword and with slow measured steps made his way up towards to the landing. Without any warning the shaft of light widened, washing round the upper walls and spilling down the stairs. Caught in the glare, Colm realised he could go neither forward nor back without avoiding detection by who or what-ever was in the upper room.
Shielding his eyes with his free hand he tip-toed to the banister and peered over. He gave a silent prayer of thanks as he saw Merthyn standing just a few steps below. The prayer died in his heart as he turned his head to follow the direction of Merthyn’s horrified gaze. Framed by the doorway, a ghastly figure stood silhouetted against the light. Glowing with a green unnatural fire, diabolically slanted eyes glared down at the young guard. High above its shoulders the creature raised broad threatening wings, the ominous rustle of black feathers tearing the heavy silence to shreds. Caught in the grip of horrified fascination, Colm stood and stared. Then his rigorous training took over.
He snapped a command at Merthyn. “Get back and raise the alarm!”
The hilt of his sword gripped in both hands, he leapt two at a time up the second flight of wooden stairs, dust motes swirling into the musty air as he made to close with the alien intruder. The figure glided backwards into the room and the door slammed shut. Unable to arrest his momentum, Colm hurtled into the heavy iron-studded wooden barrier and crashed to the floor. Angry and frustrated, he pushed himself up until he was kneeling in front of the unyielding door.
He began hammering on it with his fist. “In the name of the King, open this door.”
His arm was instantly held fast against the timber. At the same moment all feeling drained away from his sword arm leaving it hanging limp and useless. Knuckles dragging in the dust of the floor Colm knelt in the darkness, his insides churning as he attempted to break away from the force which held him. His mind still working, but powerless to move or speak, he felt the creeping chill of fear eating into him, visions of all kinds of unspeakable horrors crowding his consciousness. Unable to scream, and held captive in a dark cavern of terror and mental anguish, Colm was hurtling towards the limit of his endurance.