by B. J. Beach
For one awful moment he thought he had miscast the spell. The scrolls and books below the ceiling recommenced their circling of the rigid stack. Then he realised they were simply completing an unfinished rotation, as a thin wide volume drifted slowly out of the circle and floated downwards to nestle tidily against the one which Karryl had placed in the bookcase. The remainder of the aerial display now following gracefully down in orderly fashion to join their companions, the young magician allowed himself a smile of satisfaction.
Having returned from the stable, Symon had allowed his curiosity to get the better of him, and hurried across to stand beside Karryl. “I hope you’ve allowed for the adjustment upward when they get to the end and have to go onto the next shelf.”
Karryl gave an affirmative nod as he continued to watch the procession. “I thought about that. I think I’ll just do a directive gesture when they reach that point. That should do it. They’ll all follow on from there.”
Symon’s grey eyes twinkled. “In that case, as you seem to have solved the problem and have matters well in hand, I’ll go and make us a cup of tea. I haven’t used my new kitchen yet.”
Karryl remained with the books until he was sure the ceiling-high stack was moving satisfactorily. Placing a limit spell on the last book in the pile, he closed down the initial activation part of the spell and went in search of Symon and his new kitchen.
CHAPTER THREE
To the undisguised relief of both magicians, everything went smoothly after that, and it was only a matter of a few days before they were fully settled in and Karryl was back in the depths of his studies. One sunny morning, after wrestling with a particularly difficult exercise, and Symon having gone out earlier on business of his own, he closed his book and stood looking out of the window. The room which Karryl had chosen as his private study looked out on a walled garden. Neatly pruned rose bushes in beds set into the neat lawn, were beginning to show miniscule green leaf buds. Smiling to himself, he thought how pleasant it would be to walk there on a summer’s afternoon with Aenys, his betrothed, making plans and discussing the future. After a few more moments of pleasant reverie he turned away from the window, gathered ink, quill and a particularly fine piece of vellum he had been saving, and settled down to write a letter to Aenys.
Their friendship had developed and strengthened during the four years since they had first met at the Apprentices’ party. Now, following the announcement of the couple’s engagement, friends and families waited with eager anticipation to hear of a wedding date. However, with all the business of moving and settling in, along with Aenys’ journeyman examinations this year, opportunities for them to spend any time together had been virtually non-existent. Aenys’ older brother Braen had also become a good and close friend, but his free time had also been severely curtailed since he had become the new Guildmaster of the Silversmiths. Karryl thought it was time to rectify the situation. Neither Aenys nor Braen had seen the large and pleasant apartments which the two magicians had been allocated, so Karryl decided to invite them both to dinner. The letter he wrote was friendly and cheerful. When it was finished he read it through, feeling well pleased with the result. Sealing it carefully with the signet which Symon had given him for his last birthday, he wrote Aenys’ name and the address of the Silversmiths’ Guild on it, then pressed it with a piece of the new-fangled blotting paper.
He was about to ring for Jobling, but a spur of the moment decision stayed his hand, leaving the bell-pull untouched. It had occurred to him that a walk would do him good. With the letter tucked into the pocket of his tunic, he closed his study door behind him and set off along the complex system of corridors towards the main palace, in search of the trusty major-domo. As he strode along the portrait lined, slightly dusty corridors, his thoughts turned again to Aenys, his hand occasionally drifting to the pocket containing the letter. An intersection brought him up short, and he peered right and left, undecided as to which way to go. It was then he felt the now familiar and tell-tale prickle on his skin. Somewhere nearby, someone was almost certainly using magic. Undecided as to whether or not to investigate, he stood quietly for a few moments, until curiosity eventually overcame indecision. Patting the pocket which contained the letter as if to somehow reassure its intended recipient, Karryl turned down to the left. His skin continued to prickle, his unique senses telling him he had chosen the right direction. As he made his way along the dimly lit passage, he frequently stopped to listen outside various deeply recessed doors. He heard nothing out of the ordinary. Constant and continuous, the emanations left Karryl in no doubt that whoever was working was using a very long and complex spell.
He arrived at another intersection. About to follow his finely attuned senses and turn left again, he caught a shadowy movement far down the corridor. Unseen fingers of an indefinable, wetly scrabbling sound played uncomfortable teasing games with his ears then drifted away into the gloom. He slipped quietly behind the angle of the wall and cautiously peered round, his eyes straining to focus on the distant shadows. Again, he saw movement. At the same moment he realised the tell-tale prickling of his skin had stopped. Without this unique sense to guide him he had no alternative but to leave his place of comparative safety and venture down into the corridor’s shadowy distance. Away from the concealment of the wall, he swung into a position which would put him in full view of who or what was moving down there. Purposefully he strode towards it. Closer to the point where he had seen the movement, he became aware of a heavy nauseating stench, redolent of rotting meat, pervading his nostrils. Slowing his pace, he held cupped hands over his face as he fought to quell his natural instinct to throw up. His reaction almost caused him to miss the slithering movement ahead of him. He edged nearer, forcing himself to ignore the evil miasma filling the air around him. Shadows coalesced suddenly into two densely dark, sinuous forms which glistened in the fitful light of an almost spent wall-mounted torch. Karryl’s steps faltered as the forms whipped round. They hurtled away from him down a dark connecting corridor, their swift departure punctuated by a furious hissing, and the scratching, skittering sound of claws on stone. Karryl broke into a sprint and gave chase, his senses now latching on to the noxious odour the creatures were leaving in their wake. Struggling to weave a spell of shielding around himself as he ran, he had just completed it when a yawning hole appeared in the floor in front of him. Arms wind-milling the foetid air, he teetered on the top-most step of a precipitous staircase which plunged downwards into impenetrable darkness. His balance recovered, Karryl took a pace backwards and surveyed the grimly uninviting scene, at the same time carefully considering his options. Despite his confidence in the spell of shielding, he was nevertheless reluctant to follow. The only alternatives were to attempt a spell of summoning and bring Symon to assess the situation, or turn on his heels and run. After giving the matter the briefest consideration he decided to do neither.
Holding out his hand palm upwards, he stepped gingerly onto the topmost step. Wary of making any unnecessary sounds and so alerting whatever was down below to his presence, he decided on a condensed form of his intended spell. A circle of air above his palm shimmered. In the centre appeared a tiny luminous orb which hovered steadily, growing progressively larger until Karryl limited its size to a sphere no larger than his thumbnail. He turned it loose, gave it direction and using both hands against the walls to steady himself, followed his mobile light downwards. A dozen steps down, the staircase angled sharply to the left, continued downwards another dozen or so, before stopping at a heavy iron-studded wooden door. The door stood ominously ajar. Turning his face away from the stench emanating from beyond it, Karryl tilted his head in an attempt to find a breath of fresher air above, but to no avail. Gulping back nausea, he guided the tiny glowing ball to a resting place close under the lintel, tiptoed down the last few steps and pushed open the door.
They were waiting for him. Ejected from wide reptilian mouths lined with multiple rows of murderous, flesh-ripping needle teeth, two vil
e streams of steaming black liquid spurted towards him. The force of the vitriolic stream against the shielding knocked Karryl to the floor. The spell of shielding held. Using his hands for purchase he scrabbled backwards, wincing as the edge of the door jammed against his spine. Horrified, he watched the foul black venom spread its acidic fingers across the floor to sear smoking, crackling channels into the ancient stone. Cruelly slanted yellow eyes gleamed from the shadows. As if impatient, the nearest creature shifted slightly, enabling Karryl to make out closely overlapping scales covering a densely muscled thigh. A suggestion of heavy blue-black plumage rippled across the broad shoulder. With a slithering rustle the creature raised one dark leathery multi-sectioned wing, a row of long, wickedly curved barbs lining its leading edge. Never shifting its malevolent yellow-eyed gaze, it lowered its greenish-white belly to the floor as if daring Karryl to make the first move.
To one side of the door the little ball of light still hovered like a comforting sentinel. Focussing his mind Karryl began to move it in almost infinitesimal steps across the fume-filled room, praying its slow movement would not attract the creatures’ attention. The second creature shifted its stance, and Karryl forced himself to work through a calming spell. He was now controlling three spells simultaneously, one of which required substantially more power than the others. He knew it wouldn’t be long before his magical strength began to fade. It was a fair assumption that the creatures possessed some kind of awareness and were awaiting their moment. The glowing edge of the light ball’s radius flickered on the outer limit of his vision. Slowly he released a barely audible sigh of relief. The creatures continued their baleful glare.
After what seemed like an eternity, Karryl had finally edged the tiny luminescent orb into a position from which he considered it would have maximum effect. Drawing up every last vestige of power remaining within him, he simultaneously closed all the spells he had been maintaining. Eyes closed tight, he released almost everything he had into the tiny glowing ball. Instantly it expanded, exploding in a blinding flash of swirling phosphorescence centred in the unsuspecting creatures’ eyes. Throwing back their tapering reptilian heads the nightmare creatures let forth a high-pitched alien scream, cruelly curved black claws gouging deep grooves in the flagstones as they writhed and thrashed in agony. Karryl immediately thrust himself to his feet, hauled himself round the half open door and leapt up the stairs two at a time. At the top he paused just long enough to expend the last of his power on slamming the door and setting a sealing spell on it. Leaving the light to burn out its own residual power… he ran.
CHAPTER FOUR
Certain that there was a safe distance between himself and the creatures, Karryl stopped for breath in a long gallery hung with tapestries and portraits. Leaning his back against a wall, he slid slowly down, settling in a limp, ragged heap on the floor. Eyes closed, he let his head droop forward while he marshalled his thoughts and tried to decide what to do next. He fervently wished Symon had told him where he was going. It would be an hour or two at least before he had restored sufficient power to use the Summoning spell, and he was pretty certain he didn’t have that much time. He also realised he was very hungry, and the only way to deal with that problem was to return to the apartments at the far end of the palace buildings. Materialised food was a last resort. He’d tried it on a couple of occasions and it always seemed to him to have the taste and texture of wet paper. He scrambled to his feet and brushed at his tunic, wrinkling his nose at the foul stench which had permeated his clothes and now wafted up into his nostrils. About to cross the gallery to a side door which led into the grounds, he paused as the even tempo of busy footsteps reached his ears. He waited to see who was approaching. Greatly relieved, he watched Jobling enter the gallery, both arms wrapped firmly round a large framed painting.
“Jobling! Am I glad to see you!”
The major-domo looked mildly surprised. “Are you, sir? From that, am I to understand that you are in need of assistance?”
Karryl gave him a wry smile. “You could say that. Do you happen to know where Master Symon is?”
Jobling didn’t hesitate. “Indeed, sir. He is in discussion with His Majesty. If there is a matter of some urgency, I can request that he see you.”
Karryl almost danced. “Lead on Jobling, quickly if you don’t mind. Somehow I don’t think ‘urgent’ covers it.
Jobling lowered the picture to the floor then leaned it carefully against the wall. “If you would follow me sir, I happen to know a short cut.”
Karryl looked dubious. “As long as it doesn’t go down any stairs.”
Seemingly unperturbed by this somewhat cryptic remark, Jobling headed off towards the opposite end of the gallery. “Not at all sir. We shall go up one floor, but not down.” As they stepped into the adjoining corridor, Jobling slowed his pace and sniffed the air. “Do you happen to smell something rather unpleasant sir?”
Karryl felt his face colouring. “Erm… I’m afraid it’s me, Jobling. I’ve had a bit of a set to with something, and the pong sort of clung to me.”
As if it were a normal everyday occurrence, Jobling gave a brief nod. “Ah. I see.”
Karryl dropped back a couple of paces as he followed the imperturbable major-domo through the sprawling palace. Leaving him to wait in a small ante-room, Jobling disappeared. A few minutes later he returned and ushered him into a large airy sitting room. Impatient for Symon to put in an appearance, Karryl paced up and down. Foremost in his mind loomed the possible scenario of those vile creatures breaking out of their temporary prison and wreaking terror and havoc throughout the palace.
From behind him, the stern voice of Symon broke through his thoughts. “This had better be something that absolutely could NOT wait.”
The young magician turned, his mouth set in a grim tight line. Without any preamble, he apprised Symon of the situation. “I’ve trapped two very nasty creatures in one of the lower level rooms, but I don’t think the spell will hold much longer. My power is all but exhausted.”
Swiftly Symon moved to stand beside him. Reaching up and placing a hand on each side of Karryl’s head, the little magician frowned slightly then uttered a short sharp phrase. The two magicians stood unmoving for a long moment. Symon removed his hands. “What kind of creatures?”
Karryl took a deep breath. “You may find this hard to believe, but I’m almost certain they’re grelfons. Young ones, going by what you’ve told me about them”
Symon darted across the room and yanked on a bell-pull. Almost immediately, a side door flew open. Two guards, half-armoured and wielding swords and halberds, dashed in.
Symon’s low voice did not detract from the urgency it conveyed. “Place a close guard on the King’s person immediately, then detail four more men and come with us.”
The moment for which the soldiers had spent long arduous hours training had arrived. Without question or argument they hurried from the room. Close by, an alarm bell began its strident clamour. The clattering sound of running feet echoed through the corridors. Scant minutes later the physically impressive but grim-faced sergeant Vintar burst into the room, closely followed by three equally impressive and grim-faced soldiers.
Symon spun round. “Right, Karryl, lead on!”
The transfer of power which Symon had performed had given Karryl new impetus. He hurtled back along the route he had so recently taken with Jobling, praying that when he reached the long gallery he would recognise where he was. Acutely aware of Vintar and the other soldiers thundering close on his heels, he pounded through the gallery and out the other side. He allowed himself a little smile. The path of his near blind retreat had imprinted itself on his mind. Faultlessly he sped along passages and corridors until he recognised the place where he had first seen the creatures. He pulled up and, without turning, made the hand-signal for silence. All went quiet. Karryl stood unmoving, listening for the slightest sound. Hearing nothing, he slowly began to move forward into the now unlit corridor, the one down which
he had earlier pursued their present quarry. A faint creak of leather and a brief metallic clink told him the soldiers were still close. He stole a quick glance over his shoulder to look for Symon.
Close behind the four soldiers, the magician was hunkered down in imitation of their half crouch, his lips moving silently in the process of a spell. Confident that Symon would do the right thing, Karryl continued to ease his way down the narrow corridor into the deepening darkness. Detecting the stomach-churning stench of the creatures, he realised something was very wrong. If they were still where he had left them, he shouldn’t be able to smell them yet. Simultaneously, two things happened. Symon cast up the Light of Perimus, and the creatures attacked. Shouting a loud “Ho!” of warning, Karryl threw himself to the floor. Rolled tight against the wall, he gagged as their stinking, mucus-slathered bellies passed over him, scale- encrusted talons screeching on flagstones. A leathery wing-tip fetched him a glancing blow on the side of his head. He spun round and caught a glimpse of black-feathered backs and thrashing, wickedly spiked segmented tails. Under Symon’s tight control, the shadow-less Light of Perimus flared into dazzling brilliance overhead. Throwing back their reptilian heads, the speeding creatures commenced their ear-piercing anguished wail.