by B. J. Beach
Kimal sprang to his feet and strode along to the man nearest to him. “Strike again, Alek.”
The Jadhra brought the steel-shod butt of his spear down hard against the dark rock. The flat heavy tone echoed dully along the tunnel. Kimal’s thin lips twisted with satisfaction as he turned and beckoned to Buller. His expression cautiously hopeful, the bowman looked across to where the Jadhra was pointing.
Kimal’s eyes glinted in the blue torchlight. “There is a fault in the rock. If we can break it we may gain access to whatever is beyond it...if there is anything except more rock.”
Bending low, Buller joined the other Jadhrahin in peering at the wall. “How long d’you think it will take? We have no tools unless someone can go back and fetch some.”
Kimal grimaced. “Shaqim can go while the rest of us work. He will know what to bring.”
Handing one of the torches to the warrior who had stepped forward, Kimal gave him a brief instruction. “Ask the elders to give you access to the tool store. Bring what you can, and also bring Asalim if you can find him. He has some abilities which we may be able to use.”
As Shaqim began the long jog back to the main cavern, Kimal turned to Buller. Giving him a little smirk, the Jadhra shook his spear close to the bowman’s face. “Until he returns, we have these. It should not take long.”
A low throaty rumble from behind them made them all turn. Stretching out his long neck, Jaknu gave Buller a gentle push with his snout towards the spot where Alek had struck the rock. The bowman was about to give his charge a reprimand, but Jaknu gave him no chance. The grelfon lumbered forward sending the startled group scattering to the sides of the tunnel. Nostrils a scant two inches above the floor, he nosed quickly but thoroughly, eventually reversing his huge body a yard or so and stopping. He then did something Buller had never seen him do before. The bowman’s skin crawled as he considered a dozen possible and horrible consequences of such an action. Raising one front foot, Jaknu unsheathed and extended a menacing and deadly length of central claw, independently of the other two. A tooth-jarring screech filled the tunnel as the grelfon ran the claw along several feet of wall, clearly inscribing a gently angled line in the hard rock. Buller’s tension had been building for too long. With a sudden release he began to laugh while he gave Jaknu a series of hefty pats on the base of his neck.
His face animated, the bowman turned to the watching Jadhrahin, all regarding him with amused tolerance. “I think we’ve seriously underestimated our big friend here. What d’you say we stand back and see what else he has to show us?”
Kimal’s expression hardened. “This beast can do nothing that we cannot. All he has done is mark the fault. Now we must work on it.”
He had no chance to do or say anything further. Jaknu had raised himself up on his thick, heavily muscled hind legs, and with the top of his head uncomfortably close to the roof of the tunnel, glared down at the group. Uncertain of the Grelfon’s intentions, Buller sidled past and took up a position a few feet behind, beckoning the others to follow. The last man was barely clear as Jaknu’s shoulder muscles bunched. Dropping heavily onto his extended front limbs, he sent his whole massive weight crashing against the marked fault. Nothing seemed to happen. Stretching his neck, Jaknu nosed and snuffled up and down the fault line, before taking a short pace forward. Again he raised himself up to full height, immediately punching down with full force on the fault. Twice more in quick succession he repeated the powerful move, inching forward a little each time. Still nothing seemed to happen. The Grelfon readied himself for another strike.
60 - Wolf Pack
A whiff of fresh warm air found Magnor’s nostrils. Half a mile further on, sensing a change in the light, he relinquished dark-sight. The floor of the tunnel began a gradual upward incline, air and light both improving appreciably the further up he went. Sand now lay in drifts on the tunnel floor, getting deeper and making steady progress increasingly difficult, the closer he came to what he hoped was an exit. His feet sliding and ploughing in the unstable sand, Magnor finally decided he had had enough when he found his way barred by a wide six foot high drift. A few yards further on, a narrow shaft of light and air flowed over its top from the tunnel’s exit. Minutes later, flurries of pink-hued sand were flying backwards into the tunnel as a pair of broad clawed and hairy paws propelled a large russet-furred creature rapidly through the inconvenient obstacle. On the other side, having burrowed through some twelve yards, Dhoum the Grrybhñnös gave himself a long vigorous shake, ridding his sleek coat of pounds of sand before opening his eyes and nostrils. All six limbs to the floor, he loped up the remaining short length of tunnel and cautiously peered out across the hot shimmering expanse of desert. The mind-call slammed into his brain like a jet of ice-cold water. As quickly as it came it was gone, leaving no lingering vestige Dhoum could fix on. He waited.
The next call was much more low-key. “Magnor; need to contact you.”
Dhoum wrinkled his hairy snout, his bifurcated nostrils sniffing the air. Though quite clear, the call brought with it an unfamiliar taint, arousing the Grrybhñnös’ suspicions. He emerged from the comparative cool of the tunnel’s exit, left its sanctuary behind and prepared to head out across the wide open desert, his mind open and ready for the next call.
When it came, its sharp brevity shocked and worried him. “Magnor, we...”
Although cut off abruptly, it was still enough for him to establish a general direction. He wasn’t certain who had sent the mind-call, but on the strength of those few seconds he had recognised the taint. It was Vedric. He weighed up the alternatives. It could possibly be a hoax, devised by Ghian to draw him into a trap, or Karryl had made it to Vedra and was in trouble. Either way, Dhoum was left with no choice. He must ignore the risks and go to Vedra, roughly fifteen miles away. He remembered the companionship of the wolf-pack, thinking it would be good to have them around him again, maybe even helping him. He wondered briefly where they were and whether they knew of Shika’s death. Silently he cursed himself for a fool. He also could be a desert wolf.
Back in the shady concealment afforded by the tunnel exit, Dhoum let his mind fill with the image of the wolf he had been when he first met Shika. Stretching out each of his long legs in turn, he checked as much of himself as he could before venturing outside once more. A huge blood-red sun was dropping toward the peaks of a distant range of mountains, and Dhoum cast a long, dark shadow-wolf across the cooling sand. He felt more comfortable now, although the urgency of his mission still weighed heavily. After a vigorous shake to settle his fur, he set off. Huddled side by side like harbingers of death, a pair of Vuqhlari perched on the peak of a high rock. Bald red heads hunched into their shoulders, they silently observed his progress.
High above, in a purple and orange-streaked sky, a lone Grelfi saw movement far below. Urging his beast downwards he circled slowly. Seeing only a desert wolf, probably out hunting, the Grelfi took his winged mount high once again and headed at full speed for Vedra. Making a calculated guess, Dhoum headed in the same direction as the sun sank behind the peaks. Hungrily the darkening sky sucked up the desert’s heat, and the sands were shrouded in the cold shadows of a desert night. A half-hour of steady long-paced loping brought him to a large rocky outcrop, a stark granite staircase thrusting upwards from the desert’s surface. Dhoum bounded up it. Facing into the wind, he sat down on a broad flat ledge and sniffed the air. Microscopic scent molecules were drawn into his nostrils and analysed one by one. He detected various foods, possibly water, humans, rotting garbage and the rank, unmistakeable odour of grelfons. The strongest scent however, both pleased and troubled him. He could smell wolves. Dhoum dropped onto his belly, rested his muzzle on his paws and began to think. If they were Shika’s pack, how did they manage to get through the magical barrier which shielded Vedra from the eyes of the world? If they were not Shika’s pack, and this area of the desert was theirs, he might have trouble reaching the city. As he lay pondering his dilemma, the scarred and swollen
face of a gibbous moon slid above the horizon, turning the desert around him to a gold-washed field of contrasts, casting deep dune-shadows across the vastness.
His decision made, Dhoum rose to his feet, stretched and trotted nimbly down the rocky staircase to the desert floor. Following his nose, he once again set a fast lope and headed for the city, aware that he was more than likely being watched, and probably by more than one pair of eyes. He did not break rhythm when the crisp night air was suddenly shattered by a long ululating howl, close by and over to his left. Sensing rather than seeing shadows slipping through shadows to both sides of him, he slowed his pace a little, while maintaining the steady rhythmic lope. Carried low on the cooling breeze, the scent of wolf was now strong in his nostrils. A short sharp bark of challenge off to his right honed his senses to a new edge, and he slowed his pace to an unthreatening short-paced trot. A few yards ahead a large male wolf slipped out of a dune’s dark shadow to stand in his path. Thick tail bristling, the large male’s ears lay flat along his broad dark head. Dhoum trotted slowly to a standstill. A deep and threatening growl came from the wolf’s throat and he took a pace forward.
Tail lowered, Dhoum stood his ground. A question was barked at him. “Who are you?’’
His mind and linguistic faculties already adjusted to the distinctive lupine patois, Dhoum’s reply was quiet and unthreatening. ‘‘You may know me, or know of me. I am Dhoum. I ran for a while with an unusual first female and her pack. Her name was Shika.’’
The pack leader took a slow pace forward, his tongue lolling briefly in greeting. ‘‘I’m Ash. I thought your scent seemed familiar. It was us running with you. Has Shika come back with you?’’
Lowering his head, Dhoum extended one forepaw. ‘‘Shika is dead. I feel sorrow. She carried my cubs.’’
Ash also lowered his head. ‘‘Were you there when she died?’’
‘‘I was.’’
Ash sat on his haunches. ‘‘Tell me.’’
Dhoum moved slowly forward and sat beside him, so removing any threat of confrontation. The rest of the pack slipped quietly out of the shadows and sat in a circle around them, yellow eyes glinting in the moonlight.
Dhoum paused for a long moment, searching for the right phrases. ‘‘The Dark Lord of Vedra had laid a spell on her. She was in great pain, and I did all I could to try and comfort her in her last moments.’’ He paused again, then continued. ‘‘Soon after her death she became ... a...higher being.’’
Ash turned to look directly at Dhoum. ‘‘I understand.’’
Shifting his gaze, the pack leader stood and looked out across the moon-whitened sand. ‘‘Where’d this happen then?’’
Dhoum followed his gaze. ‘‘In a sacred chamber far below the sands, about an hour’s run from here.’’
Ash looked over his shoulder at Dhoum. ‘‘Are you like her?’’
Deciding to tell the truth now, rather than be caught out in a lie at a time when he might need the help of the pack, Dhoum lowered his head slightly. ‘‘I am, but it was not my intention to deceive you.’’
Ash seemed to ignore that. ‘‘So, in your proper form...you’re human?’’
‘‘No, although I can take human form. I am actually a Grrybhñnös.’’
Ash gave the wolf equivalent of a shrug. “Why are you heading for Vedra?’’
Dhoum hesitated briefly. It would take too long to tell the full story, time he could ill afford. ‘‘My task is now twofold. At first I was only to contact someone and relay a message. Now I also have to avenge the death of Shika. The one responsible for that is he who rules Vedra.”
Ash crossed the small arena of sand, touching each member of the circled pack as if assessing their mood, each one watching him as he moved onto the next. As he turned to face Dhoum, the entire pack rose to their feet and gathered behind him. Dhoum tensed.
Ash’s tongue lolled. ‘‘Join us. We’ll help you.’’
Nothing more was said as Dhoum moved forward. Sniffs, coat rubs and even licks were exchanged as Dhoum was accepted once more by the pack. Although sensing their eagerness to be off, Dhoum still had a question he felt needed to be answered.
He moved to Ash’s side. ‘‘Something puzzles me. How did your pack get to the Vedran side? The way is barred by a magical barrier.’’
Ash cocked his broad head to one side. ‘‘Wasn’t any barrier that we could see. We got itchy when you and Shika were gone so long, so we followed into the box canyon, slipped over the rocks and just kept going. Then we lost you, so we decided to go and see what pickings the city had to offer, but we found you first.’’
His question only half answered, Dhoum began to ponder as the pack set off at a fast lope, heading for the dark and evil city of Vedra.
61 - Captured
Secure in their soft leather pouch, the pair of tiny Mirikani artefacts, and a half dozen gold-mounted geffendrogger tusks nestled against Karryl’s breastbone. Fingers under his collar, Karryl eased the cord which held them. No longer within its heavy leather tube, but concealed beneath a glamour of matching fabric, the scroll rested deep in the pocket of his robe. Unbidden, a bright image flickered across his memory. A frown creasing his brow, the Mage Prime turned and headed for his study.
Symon’s voice cut across his thoughts. “Are you nearly ready?”
Calling back over his shoulder, Karryl briefly raised a hand in acknowledgment. “Give me a few more minutes. There’s something I have to look for.”
Having just spent over an hour with King Vailin, and not wanting to delay any further, the little magician’s voice carried a hint of petulance. “Do you have to do it now? Is it something you need?”
Karryl’s reply was muffled by a half-closed door. “It may well be.”
He knew exactly where to find the precious object. Its unique design and as yet undisclosed purpose had, during the last few years, provided him with many hours of deep contemplation. Sliding open a small concealed drawer in his desk, he reached into the back, his fingers closing over a small soft leather pouch. Quickly he pulled it open and shook out the intricately worked silver ball pendant into the palm of his hand. He slipped the silver rope chain round his neck, feeling the pendant settle beside the pouch containing the tiny Mirikani objects and the tusks. As he secured the concealed drawer, he felt a strong suspicion that the amethyst-eyed goddess D’ta had given him a little mental nudge.
He found Symon, arms folded, gazing thoughtfully out at the rose garden. Eyebrows raised, he looked quizzically at Karryl. “That was quick. Did you find whatever it was?”
Karryl nodded. “I did. Do you remember that silver ball pendant Detelia gave me for my seventeenth birthday?”
Smiling at the recollection, Symon tilted his head to one side. “I do indeed. So, you think the time has come when it may be needed?”
Karryl’s dark eyes glinted in the summer sunlight flooding the room. “Almost certainly, and I think you know what’s hidden inside it and what it’s for.”
With a whimsical little smile, Symon held out his arm. “I have one or two ideas, but unfortunately I was never made privy to the truth of it. That, it seems, is for you to discover. Now, if you’ll prepare, we’ll be off. When we get to where we’re going perhaps things will become clearer.”
His hand firmly on Symon’s arm, the Mage-Prime visualised the room in the empty house in Vedra where Miqhal, then disguised as Areel, had taken him and Magnor before the sickening experience at the Black Temple, and the recovery of the medallion.
The room was exactly as they had left it, what seemed to Karryl a lifetime ago. He hurried over to the alcove, took down a black robe from one of the hooks and held it up.
He grimaced as he looked hard at Symon. “I doubt whether they made these in your size. I don’t suppose you can transform?”
Symon shrugged and shook his head. “No need. Let’s get ourselves into these robes, and then you can take us both to wherever you think we can contact Miqhal.”
Ka
rryl stared at the little magician. “You’ll stand out like a beacon!”
Returning the Mage-Prime’s stare, Symon pointed an accusing finger. “You’re not thinking. How many times have you cast a glamour? I can be anything you want me to be.”
Managing to look a little sheepish, Karryl snapped his fingers. “Of course! You’re right, I wasn’t thinking. I was more concerned with contacting Miqhal and hopefully finding Magnor with him.”
Symon gave a short gusting laugh. “Sometimes I wonder whether the gods made the right choice when they picked you!”
Before the discomfited Karryl could respond, Symon waved a dismissive hand. “I think it’s more likely it’ll be Dhoum we find, not Magnor, but we’ll see. Anyway, no need for the glamour right now. Wait until it becomes necessary. Have you decided where we’re going?”
Tying the woven black cord round the waist of his robe, Karryl nodded. “There are two places I have in mind. It all depends on whether you want to risk being out in the open.”
Symon thought for a moment. “I hope you realise that wherever we go, Ghian will more than likely detect our presence, if he hasn’t already.”
The young Mage-Prime’s dark eyes glinted. “Then our first priority is to locate Miqhal or Magnor. So for now, we don’t go anywhere. We can attempt a mind-call from here. It’s not ideal, as we’re surrounded by huge stone buildings, but I’ve yelled through a mountain before now, so hopefully it shouldn’t be much of a problem.”