by B. J. Beach
A voice said a single word, not as a query, but rather as a statement. He turned his head towards the sound. The word was repeated. It sounded like a name. Again, panic fluttered briefly under his ribs as he thought it might be his own name, but realised he wasn’t sure what his own name was. The voice, deep, male and sounding slightly bored, spoke again. It seemed to come from behind him. Wary of replying, he tried to turn round but his feet found nothing under them on which to gain purchase. Panic fluttered again. Once more he touched his own face for reassurance. The brief panic calmed, he reluctantly resigned himself to the undeniable. He was in a situation over which he had, for now, no control. He was however, trained to assess adverse situations. He assessed. There being little to assess it didn’t take long, and he arrived at the conclusion that he was floating, somehow suspended in mid-air.
The deep voice confirmed it. “You are indeed floating. Does it bother you?”
He thought for a moment before replying. “Not much.”
His voice sounded hollow in his ears, and much too loud. He winced. There was a long pause.
Making a conscious effort to speak more quietly, he broke the silence with a question. “Care to tell me where I am, and why?”
He frowned as a rolling chuckle seemed to reverberate all around him. “Where? Can’t tell you that. Why you’re here? Because you’re dead.”
Panic fought a brief pitched battle with equilibrium. The latter emerged victorious by a very narrow margin. He took a deep breath. “So, is this all that happens then?”
The voice chuckled again. “Not at all. But don’t worry about it.”
He scratched vigorously as a furious itch began across his ribs. “I’d like to feel something solid under my feet before too long.”
There was another long pause, then the voice returned, seeming to come from inside his head. “Oh, you will, Ushak. We’re sending you back.”
50 - The Name of the Wolf
Impatient in the creeping light of a new dawn, the pack waited at the entrance to the box canyon. Going ahead alone, Dhoum and Shika trotted shoulder to shoulder between silent sentinels of dark glowering rock and huge tumbled boulders. Rounding a massive buttress of sand-seared stone, the two desert wolves found their way barred by a fifty-foot high wall of featureless blue-grey rock. Dhoum dropped to his haunches, wrapped his tail around his paws and carefully studied the impassable barrier.
He turned to Shika, a telltale droop marring the perfect symmetry of his black-tipped ears. “You must leave me now. There are things I cannot allow you to see.”
The she-wolf’s tongue lolled, and turning to face him she sat down at the base of the wall. “Already your cubs grow inside me. What you are, so now am I.”
Dropping to his belly, Dhoum beat his thick tail slowly on the sand-strewn rock of the canyon floor. “Are you sure? After all we’ve only…I mean, it was just…”
Shika’s golden eyes sparkled as she gave him a long-suffering look. “Yes, I am sure. We she-wolves know these things.”
He rested his chin on his front paws. This would not be easy, and none of the alternatives offered even the slightest hint of success. He was also gut-wrenchingly aware he had broken a whole cart-load of rules to be where he was now, he was running out of time, and from here on he had no firm plan. All that drove him was the necessity of locating Miqhal as quickly as possible.
* * *
An hour of discussion and argument had produced stalemate. Shika remained sitting defiantly on her haunches, refusing to move away from the sheer rock-face until Dhoum agreed to involve her in his mission.
The Grrybhñnös turned wolf stood on all fours, head lowered, tail moving slowly from side to side. “I’m sorry, but it is much too dangerous. If you come with me, both you and your …er…our pups will be at risk.”
Muzzle raised in defiance, Shika looked him in the eye. It was the moment Dhoum had been waiting for. Returning her gaze, he watched with a combination of misgiving and satisfaction as the she-wolf’s eyes began to close. Yawning widely, she lowered her sleek body, dropped her head onto her forepaws and fell asleep. After ensuring that she was indeed sleeping, Dhoum began to study the wall of rock. Minutes later, satisfied with what his senses told him, he began the slow and careful transformation from wolf to Jadhra warrior. Only in his human form could he work the complex spells necessary to take him through the wall.
An hour later, Magnor stared in frustration at the sheer rock face. Confident he would be able to find the spell to open the portal, he had not even managed to raise as much as a shimmer. A soft rustling behind him brought Magnor whirling round, prepared to defend himself against Shika, awake and ready to attack. Instead, he stood and stared. There was no sign of the she-wolf.
Seated on a nearby boulder, the auburn haired woman rested her chin in her hands and gave Magnor a knowing smile. “The portal will never respond to any ordinary spell, no matter how many or how long you try.”
Magnor gave her a long appraising look before turning to study the fifty foot high barrier once more. “I feel I owe you an explanation, but first it is imperative that I find a way through to Vedra.”
He caught a lingering whiff of musky wolf-scent as she moved to stand beside him. Her voice was husky with emotion. “It is I who owe you an explanation if you will allow me to accompany you.”
Magnor gave her a sidelong glance. “Why would you want to? You have an ulterior motive?”
Her eyes glinted above a thin cold smile. “The best one in the world for someone in my position. Revenge.”
Magnor’s face registered his obvious disapproval. “So, you would use me to settle an old score? Why would you want to draw me into the machinations of your own disputes?”
She gave a short mocking laugh. “Ha! And you haven’t used me I suppose. It seems to me, my dear Dhoum...if that is your name...that you are working to double standards. Favour for favour. I brought you this far. Now give me your protection until I reach Vedra.”
She took a step forward and placed a slender hand on the wall. “Besides, you need me to get you through here. There is no alternative, no way round. You could search for Vedra for weeks and never find it.”
Magnor had to admit to himself that she had a point, a very good one. Time was now a precious commodity, and it was rapidly running out. With a rueful look at the looming grey wall, he nodded. “Very well Shika. But there are things I have to do, and I can’t, with any conscience, involve you in them. Do you understand?”
The thin cold smile reappeared. “I think you will find it extremely difficult to avoid involving me. And if we are to continue as travelling companions, my name is Andra.”
She pushed a wind-blown strand of hair away from her face as she raised a quizzical eyebrow.
Magnor gave a low chuckle. “It would seem I have little choice for now. I am Magnor.”
Andra mouthed the name softly and smiled. “It is a good strong name. It suits you.” She moved close to the wall, placed both palms flat against it and looked over her shoulder. “Follow me, Magnor.”
A section of solid rock shimmered into a blue transparency and Andra strode through. After a second of hesitation Magnor followed, four long paces bringing him to stand beside her. Before he could say anything, she gave a long agonised cry. Slender arms wrapped tight round her upper body, she crumpled slowly to the sand, her pain-filled eyes fixed on Magnor.
A single strangled word escaped her lips. “Ghian.”
On his knees beside her, Magnor held a hand against her shoulder, feeling bone and muscle re-conforming under his fingers. As her neck stretched and thickened, her cries of pain and anguish turned to a long low haunted howling. Her small ears and delicate features began to elongate as her mouth widened, her eyes moving apart to lie deep-set under a wide sloping brow-ridge. Like a grey tide, sleek fur crept and rippled over her slender limbs and lean haunches, her muzzle gradually darkening until it matched the thick, white tipped brush extending from the base of her spine
. Dribbling over the sharp fangs curving down from her upper jaw, blood-mired saliva channelled down her lolling tongue to soak into the sand beneath her head.
Magnor’s mind gathered a buzzing jumble of confused and incoherent thoughts. Nightmare scenes flashed in and out, darting with firefly speed through thrashing strands of terror and despair. The she-wolf’s golden eyes slowly blinked her gratitude as Magnor’s strong arms encircled her shoulders and lifted her to rest more comfortably across his thigh. With a brief thump of her tail against the rock strewn sand, she let out a deep sigh and fell into an exhausted slumber. Thankful for the mental release this gave him, and for the protection of the Jadhra headdress against the merciless sun, Magnor pushed his thoughts outwards in a mental search for the only one he knew could now help them.
51 - A Battle of Wills
He shuddered. His hands and face were touching something cold and hard, and he was desperate to scratch at a furious itching under his ribs. Lifting his head, Ushak forced his eyes open, taking a few seconds to allow his brain to register what he was looking at. The rocky ceiling above him was bathed in a soft white glow. Ushak blinked, indulging himself in a long satisfying scratch while turning his head to either side. Serried ranks of ancient weapons gleamed, half shadowed against the wall. The Vedran guard pushed himself upright. Leaning back on his elbows he gazed at the collection of lethal spikes and blades as he shifted his brain into a higher gear.
He swung round on his buttocks, rested his arms on his bent knees and studied the metal chest. It seemed to him that the glow it gave off was very gradually fading. At that moment he realised that he had to get out, otherwise he would be trapped in total darkness, the terrifying thought providing the catalyst which set him scrambling to his feet. He stood and studied the weapons, finally selecting a long-bladed dagger and a slender but well balanced sword. Searching amongst the piles of helms and armour, he found a scabbard. He slid the sword into it, slung it over his back and tucked the dagger into his waistband. As an afterthought he chose another knife, small and narrow-bladed, which he slipped into his calf-length boot. After a quick glance round, he reached out and grasped the thick handles of the dimly glowing chest. It refused to budge. Snarling, he clawed at the fastenings, with the same result. With a contemptuous kick at the chest, and another scratch at his healing wound, Ushak slipped out of the cavern into the darkness of the adjoining tunnel.
Seconds later he turned around, cursing silently, and retraced his steps until he faced the ranks of cached Vedran weapons once more. He needed light. Somewhere amongst the pile of miscellaneous booty, he was willing there to be a tinderbox. The glow surrounding the chest now barely reached the stacked arms. Ushak knew he would have to work quickly and rely mainly on his sense of touch for recognition. Starting his search at one end of the pile of plunder, he carefully but quickly began moving the larger pieces to either side, his claw-tipped fingers probing deftly beneath them. Higher up the pile, a heavy spiked and bronzed helm shifted, toppling and tumbling to the rock floor, the noise of its fall sounding preternaturally loud in the oppressively silent confines of the cavern.
Ushak crouched, waiting for the echoes to die away as he listened for the tell-tale sounds of alarm or approach. The area of his search now lay in darkness, the light growing progressively more feeble. Soon it would die completely. Plunging his hands frantically into the motley heap, he fumbled amongst the pieces of armour, helms, pots and small weapons. The light’s meagre comfort flared, dwindled to a single bright spot and was gone. The cavern lay in total darkness. Now relying solely on touch, Ushak continued his search, inching forward on his knees, hands probing, and anticipation burning within him.
* * *
Dark-sighted, Miqhal watched, uncertain about the objective of Ushak’s search. A strange vibration through his senses had brought the Jadhra chieftain back to the cavern. Only some very quick thinking had prevented Miqhal from being detected as he materialised just outside the darkened entrance. Although intrigued and slightly awed by Ushak’s return from the dead, in the manner of his tribe he accepted the unprecedented occurrence as the will of the gods. Not caring to attribute the deed to any particular deity, all that concerned him was that there must be a reason that only the gods knew as yet. He had a quick mind and excellent warrior skills, assets which Miqhal would prefer used to Jadhra advantage, but even so, as things stood he would have no hesitation in killing the Vedran again, if that was now possible.
A short yelp of success escaped Ushak’s lips. Miqhal gave a puzzled frown as he watched the Vedran’s fingers close over a small object near the bottom of the strewn pile. Feeling around its edges and outlines, Ushak let the find drop to the floor and sat back on his heels. Miqhal allowed himself a knowing smile as he realised what it was Ushak hoped to find, and knew the Vedran’s search would be fruitless.
Quietly, Miqhal spoke Ushak’s name. “ Ushak. Can you hear me?”
The Vedran slowly lifted his head and stared blindly into the darkness. His voice trembled. “Who’s there?”
The Jadhra took a noiseless pace forward, watching as Ushak’s scaled fingers closed over the hilt of the long dagger in his belt. Disoriented by the absolute darkness, the Vedran struggled to his feet.
Swaying slightly he cocked his head as though listening. “Is someone there?”
Miqhal moved to the far side of the cavern to position himself behind the darkened chest and facing Ushak. The Jadhra chieftain could sense Ushak’s fear building. That was not what he wanted.
Miqhal spoke quietly and calmly, needing to put the Vedran warrior at his ease. “I mean you no harm, Ushak. You will die if I leave you now.”
Ushak turned his head towards the sound of Miqhal’s voice. “Who are you? Are you in here, or in my head?”
Miqhal smiled to himself. Despite the fact that this man was his sworn enemy, he liked the way his mind worked under extreme stress. Slipping his hand inside his tunic, Miqhal brought out one of the portable lights. He directed it towards the floor and clicked it on. The narrow blue beam afforded enough light for the two warriors to have a clear view of each other.
Ushak dropped into a defensive crouch, black lips curled in a snarl. “You! I should have known.”
As a precaution, Miqhal drew in a little power and held it. He knew he had the advantage, but he also knew that Ushak was a trapped and frightened animal, unpredictable and deadly if unnecessarily provoked.
Not making any move from the spot where he stood, Miqhal slowly raised his free hand. “I am not your enemy, Ushak.”
The Vedran guard’s mouth widened in a feral grin. “That’s why you tried to kill me is it...because you’re not my enemy?”
Miqhal returned the grin with a thin smile. “You killed yourself Ushak; an unfortunate accident. For reasons best known to themselves the gods have brought you back. Possibly I could have killed you again but that was not my wish.”
The Vedran’s yellow eyes narrowed, the snarl of mistrust returning.
Miqhal gave him no chance to question. “As things are I could have left you here to die. We both know the odds against you finding your way out without light. Now it’s up to you. Take your chances alone in the tunnels, or return with me and train as Jadhra. Lord Ghian offers you only hardship. I offer you life and a future.”
The Vedran sprang. Crashing to the floor, the two warriors rolled, turned and leapt to their feet. Despite his heavier build, Ushak proved faster. In one swift move he snatched the torch and directed its bright blue beam into Miqhal’s eyes. With the Jadhra chieftain temporarily blinded, Ushak swiftly side-stepped, holding the beam steady. Hands raised, Miqhal shielded his eyes from the glare but made no further move. Ushak took a pace backwards then stopped.
Still holding himself in combat readiness he threw a question at Miqhal. “So; why try to kill me then want to keep me alive? You have a change of heart?”
Miqhal allowed himself a little smile of triumph. At least he’d got the Vedran close to conversa
tion. “We are blood kin Ushak. It was never my intention to kill you.”
Ushak spat his contemptuous reply. “Blood kin? What are you scheming, you desert dog?” His hand clamped over the torch beam, the Vedran leapt for the cavern entrance. His parting words echoed in the darkness. “The next time we meet, I will kill you.”
Hardly daring to breathe, Ushak pressed his back flat against the tunnel wall and listened for Miqhal’s pursuing footfalls. After long minutes of hearing nothing he breathed more easily. Hungry, thirsty and close to exhaustion Ushak began to make his way back down the tunnel. He had to find a way out or die trying. There was only one way back and he knew it would lead him straight to the cavern where he had been held captive. He also knew there was another tunnel adjoining the one he was in, right outside the cavern entrance. His first choice had been the wrong one. He would get it right next time. All he had to do was slip unseen into the other tunnel and he could be on his way to freedom.
The Jadhra chieftain could only listen as the sound of Ushak’s rapidly departing footsteps faded. With a heavy sigh, Miqhal reverted to dark-sight. He knew it was only a matter of time. Redeploying his unused power, the Jadhra chieftain lifted the weighty metal chest off the floor and guided it in front of him out of the chamber.
52 - It’s All History
Heat shimmered above patchy sun-scorched lawns. Small swarms of insects hovered, buzzed and hummed over clumps and ranks of tired overblown flowers. Like a baker’s oven door opening, hot air washed over Karryl as he moved out of the dense shade provided by the porticoed cloister. Initiating a cooling spell, the young Mage-Prime set off at a brisk pace across the dry grass towards the barracks. Despite seemingly endless days and hours of talking and reading, and the frequent use of appropriately named Locator spells, the two magicians were no further forward in their efforts to discover what or where the other missing piece might be. Leaving Symon in the cool comfort of his study, Karryl felt the time had come to bring the problem to fresh eyes and a mind equally as sharp as his own.