War of Power (The Trouble with Magic Book 3)

by B. J. Beach

  Holding himself in check, the spymaster continued to lean against the railing. “I’ll make allowances and forget you said that, Captain Finn. King’s man I may be, but any one of us can succumb to stress in different ways. You shall have a ship, and soon, but not by force.”

  He placed a hand on Finn’s shoulder. “Take your men ashore quietly now, Captain. We are none of us unscathed, and Master Symon and I still have a long night ahead of us.”

  Finn’s only response was to hunch his shoulder away from Jack’s hand, and favour him with a sullen glare before stomping off to join his crew gathered in a huddle at the top of the gangplank. Pushing to the front, the disgruntled captain gave them a curt nod and led them down to the dockside.

  One thing Symon and Jack Parry were not expecting was a reception committee. Symon’s heart began to pound as he caught sight of the tall figure, cloak fluttering in the night air, surrounded by a half dozen palace guards. Beyond them a crowd of citizens shuffled and jostled as close as they dared, murmurs of speculation filling the air as they anxiously awaited the crew’s arrival. Her dark hair catching the light of the dockside lamps, Lady Evalin remained unmoving as the crew of the ‘Sea Mist’ disembarked. Captain Finn hurried towards her. With a slight shake of her head she lifted one hand and unsmiling, motioned him towards the flanking semi-circle of grim-faced guards. Still shaken and bewildered, the remainder of the crew milled around, their expressions betraying dismay and confusion. Noticing his captain’s grim expression, the bo’sun shepherded them into a huddle well away from the waiting onlookers.

  With obvious reluctance Symon started down the gangplank, Jack close on his heels. Only when Symon’s foot touched the coping stone of the dockside did Evalin begin to move towards him, pulling her cloak closely around her against a light but chill breeze lifting off the sea, setting clothing and pennants fluttering. Magician and lady gazed at each other, each one’s eyes reflecting the other’s pain.

  Almost afraid to ask the question, Symon, his suspicions aroused, looked across at the small crowd. “Why are they here? In the name of D’ta, what else has happened?”

  Evalin held out her hand towards him and gave him a wan smile. “Dear Master Symon. It is not as bad as it would first appear. You know how news travels in this city. Somehow these people got word of the shipwreck.” She turned to watch the crowd which was still being swelled by new arrivals. “It would seem that they have also heard that Karryl was aboard. There is little doubt that these are sympathisers. To be sure I sense no hostility in them.”

  Returning her gaze to the ship, her eyes gave voice to the question. Symon’s expression provided an answer she neither wanted nor needed. Murmurs of consternation began to rise from the increasingly restless crowd, as Sea Mist’s crew found themselves surrounded by guards and escorted from the dock in the direction of the ‘Flag and Anchor’.

  With a hand placed gently under Evalin’s elbow, Jack guided her to one side. He kept his voice low. “With all due respect my lady, I think it would be as well to get those men, especially Captain Finn, returned to Arinel as soon as possible. They won’t be taking kindly to being shut away.”

  Evalin raised an eyebrow as the corner of her mouth twisted slightly. Jack didn’t fail to notice the dangerous glint in her deep blue eyes. “And what would you suggest Master Parry? Should Master Symon and myself magic them back to the isle one by one in only their small-clothes?”

  Jack stood his ground. “I wasn’t thinking of anything so extreme. Get them a hot meal and bath, give them chance to acquire a change of clothing and provide them with a ship. They’ll recover far quicker than if they were forced to kick their heels in Vellethen for days on end. “

  Symon had wandered over and caught the tail end of the conversation. “I’m inclined to agree. After all, we have first hand reports of the whole incident. Perhaps we could ask Captain Finn to go through the details once more, but after that I think they would be better off in the environment they know best.”

  The little magician gave an assertive nod to confirm his opinion before tilting his head to one side and looking expectantly up into Evalin’s face.

  She returned his gaze for a long moment, then gave Jack a thin smile. “It would seem I must concede.” She folded her arms under her cloak and straightened her shoulders. “But will you be telling me, Master Parry, what shall we give them for a ship?”

  Jack feigned innocence. “We could grant Captain Finn’s wish. Let him take the ‘Ambition’. He…er…he admired it greatly as we were entering harbour.”

  Both Evalin’s eyebrows rose. “Did he indeed? Be that as it may, it is not in my power or yours to simply hand over a King’s ship, whatever the reason.”

  Symon and Jack both took a breath to protest, but Evalin held up a hand to forestall them. “Your crew are remaining on board, Master Parry?”

  Jack confirmed with a nod, and Evalin turned to face the crowd of onlookers who were gradually dispersing, some quite clearly intending to follow the Sea Mist’s crew to the inn. “Very well. We shall return with all haste to the palace. Vailin must be consulted. If he agrees, then that is what shall be done.”

  Like a fast cutter under sail, she moved through a lane made for her by her guards. She climbed into the waiting carriage, leaving Jack and Symon staring after her rapid but dignified departure.

  Jack watched until Evalin’s carriage had disappeared through the dock gate before turning to Symon who seemed to be gazing vacantly at some point in the middle distance. “It would have been nice to have been offered a ride up to the palace. Did we do something to upset her?”

  Pulled from his reverie, Symon glanced at Jack and gave a low chuckle. “Not at all. The lady just thinks that the idea of Captain Finn having the ‘Ambition’ is preposterous. I could see it in her eyes although she didn’t say so in so many words. She just wants to get to Vailin before we do.” His grey eyes twinkled as his round face creased in a mischievous grin. “I think she might be disappointed though.”

  Jack rolled his eyes upwards. “I suppose that means we have to do that flying thing again?”

  Symon returned a wry grimace. “I’m afraid so, Master Parry. As much as I would like to call at the inn, I doubt we would achieve much. Our presence at the palace will, I feel, prove far more productive.”

  Jack nodded, his eyes slightly wild. Jamming his cap firmly on his head, he held out his other slightly trembling hand towards the diminutive magician. “Come on then. Let’s get it over with.” He released a long tortured sigh. “This makes me feel more sea-sick than any storm.”

  Before he could utter another word Symon had seized his outstretched arm, the air shimmered, and the dock lay empty under a blanket of star-strewn, moonlit sky.

  * * *

  The pair materialised just far enough from Vailin’s apartment door to avoid being run through by the pike of a guard who was very much awake and took his post very seriously. Startled, Jack stepped quickly back. His face pale, either from the sudden and unexpected threat or the ordeal of translocation, he leaned with a sigh of relief against the corridor wall. Holding up a restraining hand towards the profusely apologising guard, Symon gave him a magnanimous smile and reached into a hand-sized niche, set into a small arched alcove. As he tugged on the slender bell-pull, Symon felt confident that even at this late hour Jobling would not be far away. The door was opened almost immediately from inside. To his surprise and a certain amount of chagrin, Symon could clearly see beyond Jobling that Lady Evalin had already arrived. She stood beside Vailin in the centre of the room, the anxiety in her dark blue eyes emphasised by the thin grim line of her mouth.

  She began to pace as the young king hurried forward. “Master Symon, Master Parry. Can you tell me anything good that will alleviate this catalogue of disaster?”

  Uncertain for once in his life as to what to say, Symon shook his head. An appeal in his tired eyes, he turned to Jack.

  Straightening his shoulders, the spymaster snatched off h
is cap and took a step forward, his normally relaxed manner with his king replaced by one of tense deference. “Not to put too fine a point on it Your Majesty, quite frankly we have no idea what has happened to either Master Karryl or to Dhoum. All the crew could tell us was that they had both lashed themselves to the mast before the ship was overwhelmed.”

  Pausing for a moment, he looked at each of the room’s occupants in turn. “There was nothing found of them when the crew were pulled out of the water.”

  Vailin listened intently as Jack continued to give details of the rescue and extended search. As if he could no longer bear to listen, Symon stumbled to a chair and slumped into it, his hands over his face.

  Seeing his obvious distress, Evalin ceased her pacing and crossed the room to crouch down beside his chair. “Don’t be giving way to despair Master Symon. It seems to me that we must conduct a wider search.”

  Something in the tone of her lilting voice told Symon she already had something in mind.

  Taking his hands from his face, he forced a weak, almost hopeless smile. “What else can we try?”

  Even as he asked the question the answer came to him, so simple he could only think that the stress of recent events had blinded him to the obvious. He sat bolt upright “Of course! Another scrying!”

  Evalin’s eyebrows rose, her eyes wide. “To be sure I never thought of that, but it may well be the better option.”

  Symon tilted his head to one side, his eyebrows gathered in a frown. “Why? What else did you have in mind?”

  Evalin looked a little bashful. “Well, to be honest, I was in half a mind to try calling the Lammergeyers.”

  The little magician thought for a moment, then folded his tiny hands across his stomach. “I wouldn’t want to pour cold water on the idea dear lady, but…don’t you think that if either Karryl or Dhoum were able they would have already done just that?”

  A deep silence fell over the room. Vailin, Jack and Evalin all stared open-mouthed at Symon, his words hanging like dark clouds of doom on the still air. For long moments, no-one spoke.

  The tension-laden atmosphere, pregnant with foreboding, was dispelled by Vailin’s deep measured tones. “For now, no-one is to do anything.”

  Four pairs of eyes regarded the young monarch, but their owners’ faces showed only one expression; undisguised disbelief.

  In a pre-emptive gesture, Vailin held up one hand. “All that can be done has been done. It only remains now to wait.”

  An air of resignation settled over the room as Vailin lapsed into deep thought. His eventual decision brought mixed reactions. “Master Parry; please inform Captain Finn that the ‘Ambition’ will be signed over to him in the morning. Master Gibb will meet you both at the docks with the necessary paperwork.”

  He gave Evalin a long flat stare as she opened her mouth to speak. Her chin jutting with obvious disapproval, she folded her arms and stared back in stony silence.

  The long impasse was broken when, craving the king’s indulgence, Jack Parry made his apologies, and set off for the ‘Flag and Anchor’, leaving the three most influential people in the land to wrestle with their tortured consciences.

  43 - A Stab at Escape

  Arms folded, his expression dark, Miqhal had watched his Jadhrahin speed across the cavern to swiftly and easily disarm the gaunt-faced, wild-eyed Vedrans. There had been little resistance. The majority, having already succumbed to a combination of numbing cold and oppressive unrelieved darkness, were only vaguely aware of what was happening around them. Lack of water and the effects of being forced to spend so long in the claustrophobic confines of the deep underground complex had taken their toll. Even so, there were still a small handful who had not allowed conditions to get the better of them. Despite severely diminished stamina their wits remained sharp. Hostile and determined to resist to the last, they attempted to struggle to their feet. One of these was Ushak. Grimacing, he pushed himself upright. Despite the subterranean chill, beads of sweat sprang from his forehead and trickled down his temples.

  His face a mask of contempt and loathing, he glared at Miqhal. “So; a few of you rats escaped. Lord Ghian said you were all dead, killed by the wraiths he summoned.”

  Miqhal’s dark eyes glinted cruelly in the cold blue glow of a dozen handheld torches. “The wraiths serve those who best serve them.”

  His breathing ragged, Ushak gave Miqhal a derogatory smirk and gestured towards his captured fellow soldiers. “We aren’t alone. There are hundreds of us down in this damned place.”

  The Jadhra chieftain returned the smirk. “Seventy-four to be exact, not including those who now sleep forever in the tunnels. As for the few who have lost their minds, our womenfolk have the charge of those unfortunates. The others have been taken to share our hospitality.”

  Ushak’s lip twitched in an involuntary sneer. With difficulty he spat. “Don’t you mean torture? We know what you do to prisoners.”

  Miqhal gave the pain-wracked man a pitying glance. “Then you are sadly misinformed. Torture is, at best, a cruel means to an inevitable end; at worst, brutal and unnecessary and not our custom.”

  Wary, suspicious and unconvinced, Ushak sipped from the water-skin he had been handed. His orange eyes gazing coldly at the Jadhra chieftain, he held the water in his mouth, repressing an urge to spit it out into the calm, confident face. Instead he swallowed the cool refreshing liquid. Wordlessly he handed back the water-skin and began to look around him as Miqhal strode away. The steady flames of a dozen more torches set into wall sconces revealed the enormity of the task Ushak had set himself in his attempt to lead his companions out. Fighting an inner battle with despair, he struggled to prevent it from overwhelming him as more of their captors entered through the tall narrow crevice in the wall opposite. He watched as one of them removed something from inside his black tunic. Crouching down, the Jadhra warrior held the object under the nose of one of the unconscious Vedrans. Only mildly interested, Ushak watched as the object was held under the noses of half a dozen more unconscious Vedrans, stirring them into spluttering wakefulness. Leaning his back straight against the cavern wall, Ushak concentrated on his breathing. Through half closed eyelids he assessed the distance to the crevice. All the Jadhrahin were now busy in the cavern, attending to their captives or bundling up weapons. A prickling chill spread itself across Ushak’s shoulders, crept up his neck and into the crown of his head.

  Opening his eyes fully, he felt his gaze drawn to his left, down towards the centre of the cavern. Miqhal stood there, one hand resting casually on the hilt of a broad viciously curved blade slung at his hip. Unflinching, Ushak returned the Jadhra chieftain’s stare. They held for the space of a few heartbeats until, with a sneering twist of his mouth, Ushak lowered his gaze, half closed his eyes and returned his thoughts to assessment of the crevice. Left alone and undisturbed he followed the movements of the Jadhrahin with occasional sidelong glances. His adrenalin began to surge. Miqhal had turned away and appeared to be in deep conversation with one of his lieutenants, while the others were beginning to haul the weakened Vedrans to their feet. Slowly Ushak pushed himself upright, his efforts receiving only a cursory glance and a nod from the nearest Jadhra. He was to be left to get on with it. Stretching and flexing, he rolled his shoulders as he allowed himself a brief half smile. He bent down to touch his toes, checking that the knife still lay concealed down the inside of his boot before beginning to straighten up again.

  Making a dash for the crevice, Ushak had covered more than half the width of the cavern when, with a roar of pain, he crashed to the floor, a narrow-bladed knife lodged firmly in the back of his thigh. Four more flickering blades hung arrested in mid-flight, hovering briefly in the air before clattering onto the floor.

  His hand still raised in the follow through from the potentially deadly throw, Miqhal nodded in Ushak’s direction. “I want him, and I want him alive.”

  Wounded and humiliated, Ushak began a painful crawl across the cold granite, a trail of blood
smearing behind him. Groaning through clenched teeth, his breathing harsh and ragged, he clutched at his leg as he attempted to stand. Half upright, his wounded limb outstretched, he slumped against the cold comfort of the nearest wall. The chieftain gestured to one of his lieutenants. Upright and self assured, the man strode across the cavern to retrieve the fallen knives. Tucking them into his waistband, he moved to stand over Ushak. Without warning the desert warrior slugged the Vedran quickly and cleanly under the chin. Before he could crumple to the floor, strong hands caught him and dragged him across the cavern to be dropped unceremoniously in front of his fellow Vedrans.

  Leaving by the way they had entered, Miqhal unerringly led the Jadhrahin and their captives through the vast complex of caverns and tunnels. The only sound was the strained breathing of the Vedran soldiers, with occasional grunts and protests from those who unwillingly carried the wounded and unconscious Ushak.

  44 - Revolt and Retaliation

  High above the city, Ghian and his queen grelfon soared on a broad, strong thermal. White-knuckled with fury, his fists clenched round the leather of the harness, the Grelfine lord glowered at the scene below. The city where his power had been developed and nurtured, whose streets and looming buildings he had envisaged becoming the centre of the world he intended and felt destined to rule, now lay inundated by the storm’s burden. Little more than a quarter of the ancient, brooding city now stood visible. Like black mocking fingers, the grelfon towers thrust above the rippled and storm-sculpted surface, their broad crenellated tops blasted tantalisingly clear of sand and the customary layer of rotting remnants.

  Seething with rage, Ghian bellowed a stream of vituperative curses as he urged his beast to fly low, searching for some tell-tale sign of the ancient courtyard’s location. His consummate need to summon the wraiths overcame any concerns he may have had for the city’s few displaced citizens or for his soldiers. Temple guards and Grelfi alike were now reduced to shovelling sand, aided by the limited magic of the priests in an effort to restore the temple district to at least some semblance of normality. Blinded by his own desires and ambitions, and oblivious to the warning screams of his grelfon, Ghian angrily curbed his mount with a short rein, failing to see the dark speck soaring high and far above the distant haze of the desert’s horizon. But Jaknu and Miqhal had seen him.