by B. J. Beach
For a few moments, his face wore a distant expression, then his shoulders slumped. “I thought I was getting something, but for some reason all I could grasp was a dim impression of a flying grelfon.” His frown still in place, Karryl stared at his fellow magician. “I wonder. D’you think Magnor’s found him, told him something’s missing, and he means to fly Jaknu here?”
Symon scurried to the window and peered out over the palace grounds. “It’s a possibility I suppose. Wonder what time he’ll get here if that’s his plan.”
Karryl slipped the pair of tiny matching caskets into the little bag, pulled the drawstring tight and placed the bag with its precious contents on his desk. “I’m sure we’ll soon know. I’ll try another mind-call, just in case.”
Turning away from the window, Symon patted his palms together. “I will leave that to you. I think it’s time Vailin was brought up to date. He’s no doubt aware that the conjunction is imminent, but it’s essential that he knows who is where and what they are doing.”
Karryl was not really listening, his whole attention focussed on pulling in a clear and understandable communication from Magnor. With a shrug of his shoulders, Symon turned and hurried out of the study. He fervently hoped Vailin wasn’t in a meeting. After waiting for a few moments Symon quickly changed robes and moved himself to the ante-room adjoining Vailin’s private chambers. There was just enough time to inform the young king of developments, before the entire proceedings shifted to the other side of the world...if Karryl’s mind-call proved unsuccessful.
54 - Over My Dead Body
He knew for a fact that Karryl was dead. The Wraith had told him, and they would not lie to him. No, they would not lie to the Grelfine Lord. Even so, Ghian still felt uneasy. From his vantage point on the west wall, he let his gaze move slowly across the city. Another storm the previous day had brought more tons of sand swirling over Vedra’s walls and through the already choked streets. Ghian knew he had no hope of further contact with the Wraiths. Even though they had warned him against it, his intention had been to use them again at the first opportunity. Patience was not the Grelfine Lord’s greatest asset, but for now that was his only alternative. He now had few troops remaining to send into the tunnels in pursuit of that treacherous dog Miqhal, and he knew his Grelfi would not go anywhere without their beasts. Even now they soared above the constantly shifting desert, searching for any sign to indicate that the Jadhrahin had emerged and were on the move. His keen eyes watched as two tiny black specks high in the sky gradually resolved themselves into a pair of grelfons, riders mounted high on their scaled and feathered shoulders. Ghian’s hopes rose, anticipation burning inside him as he waited for the great winged beasts to be circled above the city, a signal that their mission had at last been successful. He scowled, knuckles white on clenched fists as the Grelfi allowed their mounts to head straight for the cavernous entrance to their stables beneath the city. There they would be rested for a few hours before being flown again.
Abruptly Ghian smacked his fist into his palm. Black robes swirling he strode along the wall and hurried down the dark stone stairs to the street below. Outside the temple a pair of guards, stripped to the waist, their weapons laid to one side, were shovelling huge drifts of pink-hued sand away from the studded and carved panels of the forbidding black door. With a clatter they dropped their shovels and stood to attention as Ghian materialised just feet from them.
The Grelfine Lord was animated. His dark eyes flashed with renewed anticipation and hope as he screamed at the guards. “I have new orders for the Grelfi!”
He paced in the sand as the guards hurriedly donned their metal-studded black leather armour and snatched up their weapons. “This time we will taste the blood of the Jadhrahin. It will drip from our altar and slake the thirst of the Grelfi and their beasts.”
The two guards snapped to attention and presented arms. Not seeming to notice, Ghian glared at each one in turn. “Two Grelfi have just returned. They will be messengers and you will fly with them. Make sure that all Grelfi return immediately, and be on the lookout for Jadhrahin on the ground. Now go.”
Stunned, the guards sloped arms but Ghian was already gone, a furious miniature whirlwind briefly marking his departure. The guards set off at a steady ground-eating jog towards the far side of the city, two miles distant.
One flicked a worried sidelong glance to his companion. “You ever flown grelfon-back before Gorak?”
The other grunted. “Not bloody likely, an’ I ain’t gonna start now. You can if yer like. Not this soldier. I’m just gonna stay out the way ‘til they gets back.”
Nothing further was said. A few minutes later and still breathing easily, the guards trotted up to the entrance of the grelfon stables. A Grelfi leaned against the cavern wall, sorting harness.
Hardly bothering to look up, the rider’s blue-black lips curled in a snarl. “What you two want?
Gorak took a step closer. “Me an’ Arik got a message for you lot from Lord Ghian.”
The rider adjusted a buckle then held out his hand, the red palm incongruous against the grey scales of his leathery skin. “Let’s have it then. We’ll read it later.”
Gorak snorted. “Since when you lot bin able to read? Anyway, it’s verbal, ain’t written, and it’s like now. Lord Ghian wants all you Grelfi brought back ‘ere. Arik ‘ere is goin’ with yer, make sure you all come back, and to look for those bloody Jadhra dogs.”
The rider raised his head and looked Gorak up and down, a hoarse rumble rising from somewhere deep below into his sinewy throat. “We bin lookin’ fer them fer weeks. What good you think you can do? As fer ridin’ the grelfon, you got no-o-o-o chance.”
As if that was his final word, he hitched the harness onto his shoulder, strolled into the cavern entrance and sent a long, piercing whistle echoing down the tunnel.
Just before he disappeared into a small side tunnel he called across to the two guards. “Better get outa the way. Gonna get dangerous ‘ere in a bit.”
From the comparative safety of their perch on top of the grelfon compound’s wall, Arik and Gorak watched the two riders prepare for another flight. Bad-tempered from being disturbed just as they were settling down for a long well-earned rest, Grelfi and their beasts snarled and snapped. Only their deep and lasting bonding prevented the grelfons from turning on the riders and tearing them limb from limb. Huge, leathery wings beat the sand and clawed forelimbs lashed out at the two riders as harness was once again fitted in preparation for another long flight. Once the Grelfi had mounted and had control of their beasts, Arik and Gorak jumped down from the wall. Exercising more than a little caution they approached the restive grelfons and their unpredictable riders.
Gorak looked up, squinting against the sun. “Don’t forget, they all gotta come straight back. Lord Ghian’s orders.”
One of the riders made an insulting gesture behind his beast’s reins, at the same time revealing yellowed pointed teeth in an evil grin. With a nod to his fellow Grelfi he urged his beast into flight, thrusting hard and high into the air to the accompaniment of hissing wing-beats and grelfon screams. Awed by the size and power of the great beasts, Arik suddenly raised his arms, muscles and sinews stretching and rippling.
His barking voice rose into the dusty air, competing with the grelfons’ screeches. “You have to take us with you!”
Gorak darted forward, grabbed Arik’s wide leather belt and pulled him back. Pinning him against the wall, he snarled into his face. “You don’t wanna do that. Get yerself killed yer will.”
Arik’s look of terror had nothing to do with Gorak’s warning. A hugely taloned claw reached down and hooked into the back of Gorak’s belt, swinging him round and high, snatching him away. Before Arik could dodge out of reach, the other Grelfi had pulled his mount into a tight turn. With a blood-curdling cry the creature swooped down and hauled Arik off the ground. Their laughter mocking and loud, the two Grelfi powered their screaming beasts, each with a kicking, bawling Vedran guard in its talons,
into the yellow-hued sky.
* * *
Heading south, an hour’s swift flight away from the city brought them first contact with the Grelfi already searching. A long airborne conference followed by a series of recognised hand signals accompanied by grelfon screams and yodels, brought the entire flight circling to the desert below. Dropped sprawling into the sand at the moment contact was made, Gorak now staggered to his feet. Ten yards away Arik, legs splayed out in front of him, sat with his hands round his head.
Gorak stumbled over to him. “Told yer didn’t I? Now they’ll prob’ly kill us!”
Arik squinted up at his furious companion.”My head feels funny. Started seeing things.”
Hunkered down in the sand, Gorak snorted. “Ain’t surprised. Wonder we’re ‘ere at all after that. Stand up, you’ll be all right.”
Almost afraid to move, Arik scrambled onto his knees then pushed himself to his feet. Wobbling slightly he turned just in time to see the Grelfi captain striding towards them.
A thick, scale-covered finger poked in their direction. “You two. Over here!”
The heavily built Grelfi jerked his head towards the gathered grelfons and riders. Their matched movements born of long service, Arik and Gorak squared their shoulders and settled their weapons. Lean bodies casting brown shadows on the sand, they approached the Grelfi.
Gorak’s black lips curled in a snarl. “Lord Ghian will ‘ear abaht this, Troak.”
The burly captain ignored the remark. All his attention was concentrated on Arik. Hands hanging loosely at his sides, the younger Vedran guard barely spared the Grelfi leader a glance as he moved past him and headed towards the assembled circle of Grelfons and riders. Gorak sprinted after him and grabbed a handful of his tunic, only to find his wrists being grabbed and pinned behind his back, while Arik continued ahead.
The Grelfi leader’s voice was a gruff whisper. “Let him go Gorak. You’ve got no part in this.”
Wrenching himself out of Troak’s grasp, Gorak spun round, clenched fists pummelling empty air. “What? What’s goin’ on? Lord Ghian said we was s’posed to come ‘ere.”
Troak’s grin was cold. “Not nice, the penalty for disobeying orders, is it Gorak? Now you’ll shut up and stay clear of Arik if you know what’s good for you.”
A short wall of silent riders parted to let Arik through, closing behind them as Troak and Gorak followed into the wide circle of grelfons and Grelfi. The only sounds were the sharp hiss of wind-blown sand and the occasional rustle of restive wings. Grelfon and Grelfi alike, all eyes were fixed on one point in the centre of the arena formed by the watching riders and their beasts. Crouched low, wings widespread, a young unharnessed grelfon slowly swung its head from side to side as if searching. Abruptly it stopped, staring long and hard at Arik. Raising its long blunt muzzle to the sky the creature began a long high-pitched keening.
His hand on Arik’s back, Troak pushed the Vedran guard forward. “She is un-bonded. You are her choice. Approach slowly and keep your thoughts clear. She will search your mind.”
Arik grimaced and swallowed hard. “I was born to guard-stock, not Grelfi. Suppose she doesn’t like what she finds?”
Troak gave a throaty grunt. “Then she’ll either turn away or go for you. Don’t worry, we’re prepared.”
The keening stopped as suddenly as it started, and for a while Arik and the young grelfon eyed each other. Unable to stop his whole body trembling, the Vedran guard took a hesitant step forward and stopped. Slowly the grelfon lowered her long lizard-like head until it rested on the rippled sand. Unblinking, wickedly slanted golden eyes watched him.
Arik looked over his shoulder at Troak. “Shall I go closer?”
The Grelfi leader grinned. “She ain’t going to come to you. I reckon you can touch her now.”
Wiping one hand nervously across his face Arik paused to look around at the other Grelfi. None of them moved, just stood quietly beside their beasts, arms folded, their black cloth neck protectors fluttering in the heated breeze. About to take another pace forward, Arik froze. The grelfon had raised her head to glare at something or someone behind him. He looked round. Hand resting on sword hilt, Gorak was moving slowly towards him. Alert, but silent and motionless, the Grelfi watched. His face a mask of disgust and disbelief, Gorak reached out and grasped Arik’s studded leather arm-guard.
His words hissed through his teeth. “You can’t do this! You ain’t one of them. This is a trick to make us look stupid.” He tugged at Arik’s arm, trying to pull him back.
With a scowl the younger Vedran snatched his arm away. “I got no choice Gorak. I know enough about Grelfi training that if I refuse, that grelfon’ll prob’ly die. I ain’t goin’ to let that happen.”
Arik took two swift paces forward to stand with his head directly beneath the young grelfon’s silver-grey scaled neck. A low rumbling came from the creature’s throat. Steel hissed on leather as Gorak drew his sword, furious at what he considered to be a betrayal of not only their birthright but also their oaths of comradeship as guards. Looking across at Troak, Arik furrowed his broad dark brow. Troak nodded once. Arik reached up and firmly patted the grelfon’s black-feathered shoulder, stepped sideways and forwards, and drew his own sword.
The watching Grelfi made no moves to intervene as the two Vedran guards began to circle. Making a swift sidestep, Gorak darted forward, his sword raised to lunge at the neck of the young grelfon. Nimbly moving to intercept, Arik brought his sword whistling down to block the thrust, ramming Gorak hard in the chest with his other hand, pushing him back.
He snarled through clenched teeth. “You ain’t killing this beast. She’s mine.”
Gorak’s face was fury, his tone thunder. “It’s gotta die, else we don’t get out of this mess you got us into.”
His tone cold and level, Arik matched the other’s glare. “Over my dead body.”
Swinging his sword in a slow downward arc across his own body, Gorak bared yellowed teeth. “If that’s the way you want it...”
Eyes flashing with bloodlust he swung his sword at Arik. The younger guard stepped back and blocked with a slashing movement, steel clashing on steel. Reaching to his studded belt, Gorak pulled his dagger from its sheath and lunged at Arik’s gut. Blocking the down-ward thrust, Arik grabbed Gorak’s wrist, stopping the knife just short of piercing his stomach. Holding position, he pushed hard against Gorak, forcing him three paces backwards. Seizing a brief opportunity to draw his own dagger, Arik lunged in, only to be blocked by Gorak. Now with a deadly blade in each hand, Arik’s sword once again sheared down. Although successful on the blade, the block turned Gorak’s hand and the hilt of his sword smashed into Arik’s forehead. Wincing with pain, a thin rivulet of blood threatening to blur his vision, Arik staggered backwards.
Sensing an opportunity Gorak lunged forward again, his anger surging. Relentless in his attack and determined to kill not only the grelfon but also the young Vedran who was once his best friend, Gorak’s blows rained down thick and fast. All Arik could do was block repeatedly just to keep himself alive. At this moment all he had on his side was youth, but he sensed he could soon exploit that asset. Gorak’s furious blows were beginning to have less effect. Arik could see tiredness in the older guard’s eyes, his breathing frantic and laboured, only his anger driving him on. He was tiring but he wasn’t finished yet. Wielding sword and dagger Gorak lunged forward. Blood instantly welled from a deep gash as the dagger’s blade found the unprotected part of Arik’s arm. Giving him no opportunity to do more than grimace at the sudden burning pain, Gorak attacked again, forcing Arik to block with both sword and dagger. Weapons locked together, they engaged in a fearsome pushing match, each trying to force the other away. Arik could feel the strength draining from the older man.
Abruptly, Arik stopped pushing and took a side-step to the right. Propelled forward by his own momentum, Gorak had no chance to turn before the flat of Arik’s already swinging blade had caught him squarely across his back. He
staggered, his face contorted with pain. Angry that the younger man had managed to strike him, he swung round and thrust with a series of rapid blows. This sudden onslaught by the hardened veteran soldier proved too much for Arik. In a moment of misjudgement he took a dagger thrust in the side. As the blade penetrated, he lurched forward and viciously head-butted his crazed opponent. Leaving his dagger protruding from Arik’s side, Gorak stumbled back. Aware that his wounds could soon overcome him, and that he was compelled at all costs to save the young grelfon, Arik dropped his own dagger to the ground. Summoning every ounce of strength and energy he could muster, he gripped the bloodied hilt of his sword in both hands. With a fury which matched Gorak’s he began an onslaught of unforgiving over-arm blows and upward swings. All Gorak could do was edge backwards, continually blocking as Arik moved forward matching him step for step, forcing him further and further back.
In a split second the young grelfon’s head lunged downwards, wide jaws agape. With the precision of a double row of keen-edged knives her teeth sheared cleanly through Gorak’s neck. Blood spurted high and wide, dark drops spattering over Arik and raining down onto the sand. Her head thrown back, the grelfon gave a mighty gulp. Air whistled and whined as contractions of her bulging throat rapidly transported Gorak’s severed head to her stomach. Breathing hard, Arik leaned heavily over his sword. Unable to tear his horrified gaze from the bizarre sight, he watched transfixed as Gorak’s headless body twitched and twisted, before slumping to its knees. Sword still firmly gripped, the corpse toppled forward and lay still, a rich bloom of blood from severed veins and arteries spreading and snaking like ferrous tentacles across the sand.
A pained screech jolted Arik out of his shocked stupor. Sword half raised he spun round. In an automatic reaction of self-preservation, he flung his good arm up to cover his head as the grelfon ejected a steaming deluge of curdled yellow liquid from her wide, black-lipped gape. Arik threw himself to one side as something hard bounced off his elbow to drop with a heavy squelching thud onto the ground behind him. Lowering his arm, he turned, little doubting what he would see. His weapon’s tip scribing a ragged line in the sand, Arik stumbled forward, sword arm dangling, to stare down in disbelief at the slime slathered object by his feet. Misshapen and twisted almost out of recognition, Gorak’s spiked and studded leather helm lay wetly in a large glutinous gobbet of pre-digested flesh and bone.