by B. J. Beach
His tone was puzzled. “Why are you doing that?”
“To get out of course. There’s no room to turn round.”
It was then he discovered that cats can laugh. Slightly disgruntled, he carried on shuffling. “It’s alright for you, but I’m not a cat.”
“I’ll agree with that, but may I suggest you try behaving like one for a few moments?”
Karryl stopped and gave the cat a long sideways look. “Pardon?”
Moonstone blinked slowly. “Watch me.”
Arching his back, he drew his front paws up to his back paws. With the tiniest of steps he turned completely round. “There. Now you try.”
Extremely dubious, Karryl nevertheless pushed himself into a crouch and slowly curved his six foot frame into the confines of the four foot high tunnel. Feeling slightly ridiculous he felt his shoulders brushing against the roof as he clutched his ankles and began to jiggle his way round.
His voice sounded as if he was talking inside a sack. “Let me know when I’m there. I’m in serious danger of being suffocated by the front of my tunic.”
A few seconds later Moonstone’s welcome tones entered his mind. “That’s it. You can stop being a cat now.”
Sinking gratefully to his knees Karryl drew a deep breath, winked at Moonstone and began the long crawl back. Once out of the tunnel, Karryl charged up the steps, dashed through the kitchen and out to the privy. Greatly relieved, he made his way back to the house, the pale light of the intermittent winter sun taunting him as an icy sea breeze threw knives at his face. Hurrying indoors he pushed the door to behind him, stopped dead in his tracks, and stood staring at what he had not noticed in his rush to get outside. All the cat baskets were now placed neatly against the walls, leaving a clear floor which had been thoroughly swept. The antiquated black stove had been cleaned until it shone, and the appetising aroma of a rich stew rose from a large pot simmering gently on the hob. A scrubbed whitewood table had been placed at one end of the large kitchen and was laid for three people.
Hearing the low murmur of voices, Karryl crossed the kitchen and made his way down the hallway into the sitting room. All the dust, grime and shabbiness had gone. Sitting cross-legged on a cushion on the floor, Miqhal was talking to Hieronymus Smeers who appeared to be quite comfortable in a large armchair.
He gestured towards a similar one. “Master Karryl. Come and join us and rest a little from your task. Your colleague has been entertaining me quite royally with tales of life in the deserts of Naboria.”
Karryl gently lifted the blue-eyed white cat out of the chair then sat, while the cat settled by his feet. “What’s happened to this place? It’s a complete transformation.”
The old man made a staccato rasping sound which Karryl took to be a chuckle. “It occurred to me that such an auspicious occasion was worth a bit of a clean-up. It didn’t take long.”
Moonstone sauntered in, jumped on to Karryl’s lap and sat looking up into his face. “The whole business took a lot less time than it took me to find my basket.”
Raising an eyebrow at the cat, Karryl smiled as the full import of what Moonstone had just said hit home.
The old man made the rasping sound again. “It looks just as if that cat’s talking to you. Very smart these cats. I’m sure they understand every word I say.”
Karryl nodded as he smoothed Moonstone’s fur. “I’m sure they do; particularly this one. He seems to have taken to me.”
The old man tilted his head to one side, reminding Karryl very much of Symon. “Don’t know where he came from. Only been here a week or so. Gets on with the others all right though. Now, if you and your colleague would like to join me in the kitchen for a bite of lunch I would be most honoured. It’s only a simple rabbit stew, but it will set you up for the task ahead.”
Leaning heavily on his stick, he pushed himself to his feet and looked hard at Karryl. “I presume you intend to go back down there today?”
His suspicions about Hieronymus Smeers growing stronger by the second, Karryl nodded. “Yes, I do. There isn’t much time left, and the job is much trickier than I first anticipated. A good hot meal will be very welcome.”
Miqhal rose effortlessly to his feet. After returning the cushion to a chair, he touched his fingers to forehead, lips and chest. “We are humbled by your hospitality. I fear this day will be a long one.”
The old man nodded in a matter-of-fact sort of way, then shuffled off towards the kitchen with Miqhal following close behind. Karryl brought up the rear with Moonstone at his heels. Although Miqhal and Karryl offered to help, the old man would have none of it and waved them to the neatly laid table. Using a thick folded cloth he lifted the pot off the stove, and carried it across the kitchen. The narrow gaps between the sides of the pot and his hands were all the confirmation Karryl needed.
As he placed the pot on an iron trivet in the centre of the table, the old man apologised. “Sorry there’s no dumplings. I ran out of flour.”
His dark eyes troubled, Miqhal looked first at the pot then at Karryl. “What are ‘dumplings’?”
With a quick glance at the old man, Karryl smiled, gazed at the pot of stew then pointed. “Those are dumplings.”
The old man peered into the pot, gave Karryl a toothless grin and made a small gesture towards the table. An earthenware jug filled with yellow tulips appeared to one side of the pot of stew. It was Karryl’s turn to grin as, not to be outdone, Miqhal pointed towards the old man. Heironymus Smeers suddenly found his shoulder occupied by a long tailed, brightly coloured bird which nibbled gently at his earlobe with its thick curved beak, before flying off to perch on top of the open pantry door.
The old man ladled stew and dumplings onto plates. “Well, now we’ve satisfied our egos and proved what accomplished magicians we all are, perhaps we can satisfy our appetites.”
The three magicians laughed and settled down to eat. The meal was a cheerful affair, the soft light from brass oil-lamps dispelling the winter gloom and creating a homely atmosphere in the warm kitchen. All too soon it was over. Karryl prepared to return to the tunnel and his second attempt on the complex lattice ward.
15 - Cold Blood
As Karryl stepped through the pantry door, Miqhal placed a hand on his arm. “It would save some time if you were to use translocation, now you know the position of the lattice.”
The young Mage-Prime shook his head. “With the small size of that tunnel, and the depth of solid rock above it, it’s a risk I’d prefer not to take. I think I’d rather put up with sore knees a little longer.”
Miqhal’s eyes spoke volumes. Karryl turned away and started down the steep flight of steps while Miqhal took up position at the top of the shaft. As his dark-sighted eyes fell on the small white shape of the second hour-candle, to Karryl’s mind his second incursion into the tunnel had seemed much faster and easier than the first. Feeling for the threshold of the lattice ward, he made himself comfortable in front of it, lit the candle and began. Even though the lattice had assumed a different configuration, it was no more complex than the first, and Karryl had little difficulty.
With two of the twisted strands remaining, Moonstone’s voice filtered through his concentration. “The candle is very low.”
Deftly parting the link which joined them at their centre-point, Karryl discarded the final pair of strands. With an explosion of bated breath he threw up his hands and sat back on his heels. The candle went out.
Moonstone’s reaction matched his own. “I’d call that just about perfect timing.”
Before replying, Karryl quickly recast the dark-sight spell and then looked down at the cat. “Well, it’s certainly brought us a bit closer. But now we have another problem. The way I see it, according to the riddle, somewhere round here there should be something with writing on it.” He grinned at the cat. “It’s a pity you can’t read. An extra pair of eyes would be useful right now.”
Wrapping his tail round his paws, Moonstone adopted an air of quiet indignation. “
I may not be able to read but I can recognise writing. What are we looking for?”
Karryl frowned as he ran his fingers through his dark hair. “I don’t really know. It might be a piece of parchment hidden away somewhere, or even something written on the ceiling. It’s just a matter of searching until we find it.”
The big tortoisehell’s body glowed pale lilac as it wandered up the tunnel into the deep purple shadows of Karryl’s dark-sight. On hands and knees the young mage inched along behind, carefully scanning walls, floor and ceiling. He had crawled only a short distance further when the words entering his mind chilled him to the marrow.
Miqhal’s tone was calm but urgent. “Master Karryl. I sense grelfons. I fear the attack has begun. If you will continue to search for the Navigator, I will deal with them.”
Karryl swore loudly and vehemently, angry that the Wraith had not kept his part of the bargain. In his heart he knew Miqhal was right, but he also knew that their combined powers would be far more effective, even essential, against the flying killers.
Lifting his head, he directed his thought back along the tunnel as Moonstone trotted back and stood peering up into his face. “I heard. You will go?”
Karryl nodded as he pulled the cat gently towards him and held the warm, furry body against his chest. “There is enough time, Miqhal. Over half a moon still remains. Wait there.”
Holding Moonstone close, Karryl looked into the broad face and spoke out loud. “I’m going to try something. It’s risky inside all this rock. If it fails, well, it doesn’t bear thinking about. I want you to go back to the house. If I make it back safely I’ll leave a dish on one of the pantry shelves.”
Moonstone squirmed out of Karryl’s arms and looked up at him. “Better if you filled it and left it on the floor. See you back at the house.”
He streaked off down the tunnel, while Karryl offered a short but very sincere prayer to D’ta.
* * *
Feeling slightly queasy, Karryl peered round the pantry door to see Miqhal looking down into the shaft. “I came the quick way.”
The Jadhra warrior turned, scowled and hurried out of the pantry. Dashing some bits of cold meat into a dish, Karryl placed it near the top of the shaft.
As he came out Miqhal placed a hand on his arm. “This is not the Wraith’s doing. Only Grelfi and some grelfons have come. Lord Ghian’s blood is up and he has grown tired of waiting.”
Karryl’s dark eyes glinted with a new fire. He gave his companion a mirthless grin. “Then let’s give him something to think about. Where are they?”
Rather than showing any kind of concern or misgivings, Miqhal’s answering grin was almost feral, his dark eyes gleaming with an equal fire. “They are everywhere. Lord Ghian has played his hand. I sense the thoughts of riders. Now they will see true power.”
Alarmed by Miqhal’s uncharacteristic zeal, Karryl held up his hands. “We have to think of the safety of the King and the citizens! We can’t just go out there and start blasting bolts of power!”
“Karryl, where are you?” Evalin’s mind call was thunderous.
Calmly, Karryl replied. “In a house at the top of Broad Street, and I have Miqhal with me. He’s all for going out there and reducing every one of them to ashes...or something. Is the palace under attack?”
The short silence which followed was loaded with apprehension. “It was very sudden. Some of the guards and soldiers have been killed. Orders were given throughout the city yesterday for everyone to stay inside but an unfortunate few were caught out. Vailin is safe. Your orders are to do nothing to antagonise them.”
Karryl was incredulous. “You can’t be thinking that if we ignore them they’ll go away? They’ll have no trouble getting inside.”
Evalin’s reply was sharp. “We’re aware of that but we are not defenceless. Kimi has returned from Ingalia with two of the witch-women, and Magnor and Agmar are here.”
Despite her tone, Karryl could tell she was worried. For Miqhal’s benefit he thought out loud. “It’s me they’re after, and the artefacts. They’ll locate me sooner or later, especially if they’ve heard us. I think the best idea is to try and draw them to me. Then you, Kimi and the others can mount a counter-attack.”
A deep voice spoke calmly and quietly from the hallway. “It’s a good plan, but with all due respect I think I may have a better one.”
Karryl and Miqhal spun round together. Dressed in a pale grey robe embroidered with blue and white sigils on hem, cuffs and shoulder, the medium height, straight-backed character who stood watching them was barely recognisable.
Taking a couple of steps towards him, Karryl stopped, looked closer, and gave a knowing smile. “Hieronymus Smeers! The master of disguise.”
The grey-robed magician bowed in acknowledgment. He regarded his two companions from clear blue eyes set over a high cheek-boned face, comparatively free of the lines and wrinkles of advancing years. “It is indeed, but Hieronymus Smeers is not my true name. There is no time now for lengthy explanations, only to say that I am in fact called Bardeen.”
No longer taken easily by surprise, Karryl’s eyebrows nevertheless scrambled for his hairline. “Well that’s food for thought and no mistake, but we’ve got other things to think about. What’s your plan?”
Hands clasped behind his back Bardeen strolled into the kitchen and stood looking up into the faces of Karryl and Miqhal. Self-assured, a little smile twitched the corners of his mouth. “For now, we wait.”
Karryl opened his mouth to protest, and Bardeen held up a cautionary hand. “If my calculations are correct, which I’m sure they are, something will take place shortly. Then we can act. Doubtless it will not be a final solution, but it will hopefully make the achieving of the same a whole lot easier.” He looked at them from under lowered eyebrows. “Trust me. I’ve had a few hundred years to figure this out.”
Moonstone wandered in and leapt lightly onto a chair. “Quite something isn’t he?”
Managing to look a little exasperated, Karryl glowered down at the big tortoise-shell. “I suppose you’re going to pick this moment to turn into something or somebody we’ve never thought of as well.”
The cat blinked slowly. “On the contrary; I am what I am; a rather out of the ordinary cat, but a cat nevertheless. I’ll tell you something though. There’s going to be a change in the weather very soon.”
In the short space of time it took Karryl to digest this apparently useless piece of information, the pale afternoon sunlight which struggled into the kitchen had faded, and they all heard the ominous rumble of thunder. Bardeen crossed to the window and peered out, Miqhal and Karryl close behind him. As they watched, a large raindrop splattered against the glass.
Grimly triumphant, Bardeen clenched his fist. “It begins!” He strode across to the hallway then turned. “Shall we venture outside gentlemen? We have work to do.” As he opened the door he looked up at Karryl. “Are you conversant with the Altic Discipline?”
The young mage gave a non-committal waggle of his hand. “Not fully practising but I could get by without much trouble. Why?”
Bardeen’s eyes narrowed. “I’ll need you to spin wind while I freeze this rain that’s coming down.”
Karryl had no chance to reply. A huge grelfon, its black clad rider perched between its shoulders, swooped over the rooftops on the far side of the wide street just as the rainfall, which had been merely heavy, escalated to a torrential downpour. The two magicians drew in power. Bringing his beast to a hover, the rider slid from its back onto the ridge of the roof below. Head down-wards, he glided lizard-like on all fours swiftly down the wall. Miqhal leapt towards him, prepared for a fight to the death with one he once called brother. Intending to take only a quick glance, Karryl instead found himself temporarily transfixed. A shout from Bardeen jolted him back to the present, and he turned away.
Water running in rivulets from his plastered-down white hair, the older magician gestured impatiently towards the grelfon glaring malevolently down
at them through the sheeting rain. “Ready?”
Compelled to focus on the task at hand, Karryl nodded. He had learned about the skills of Altic weather-workers from Symon and had even seen them in action when he had accompanied the magician to Altanica during the second year of his apprenticeship. Focussed on the point above the roof where the Grelfon hovered, almost instinctively Karryl called on the unique elements of the Altic discipline. Knowing they had only seconds in which to act, he swiftly created a steady breeze and sent it swirling and eddying round the monstrous creature.
Bardeen raised his hands. “Hold it steady and slower.”
Karryl moderated the flow. The blowing raindrops began to solidify and coalesce as Bardeen rapidly and proficiently encased their cold and helpless victim in solid ice. With a loud, creaking groan the massive weight sheared away from the roof and began to topple. Combining power, the two magicians arrested the fall of the grelfon’s icebound corpse. To the clattering accompaniment of a dozen roof-tiles they lowered it steadily onto the street below, the deranged and hysterical screams of the bereft and isolated Grelfi filling the deserted streets with tortured sound.
With a crackling burst of power Miqhal turned the rider’s anguish to eternal peace, and walked slowly back.
16 - A Fight for a Life
It was a brief lull which spared no time for comment or congratulation. Intent on avenging the death of their leader and its rider, a murder of un-ridden grelfons hurtled down through the grey murk and the driving rain, straight towards the group of magicians. Karryl stopped spinning wind, immediately augmenting Bardeen’s ice spell with one of his own. A grim smile of satisfaction curved his mouth. Immobilised by cold and encased in ice, the front pair of attackers crashed heavily to the ground, sending shards of ice splintering and flying all around the three magicians. The respite was brief. Necks and viciously curved claws outstretched, two more of the screaming creatures veered off and plunged sharply into a counter attack. The monstrous flying beasts crashed headlong into a solid wall of triple generated power as Miqhal added his own unique skills. Stunned to insensibility by the impact, the creatures collided heavily and tumbled. Entangled wings were encased in rapidly thickening ice as Bardeen swiftly and flawlessly converted his spell. Tons of frozen flesh crashed to the ground, bursting apart to send chunks and shards flying high into the air, and clattering down the cobbled street. Above the rain-swept hill which led to the palace, another half-dozen massive winged forms darkly filled the louring sky.