by B. J. Beach
She reached out to place a solicitous hand on Karryl’s arm, her eyes almost pleading with the young magician. “Go in and talk to him. Let him know you’re here for him. It’s quite likely he’ll snap out of it in a day or so, but until then we must do everything we can to support him. This whole rotten business is preying on his mind. You’re an unflustered, cheery sort of fellow on the whole. See if you can make him laugh. That’s always good medicine.”
Karryl backed in through the door then held it open with his foot. “Well, I’ll do my best, although I don’t usually have much trouble getting a laugh out of him. Are you going to come back in with me, or shall we meet in the hall tomorrow as usual?”
Mordas hitched her embroidered bag higher on her shoulder and took a pace away from the door. “We’ll meet at the hall, about mid-morning. I have quite a lot to do before I get there, but I expect Kimi will keep you occupied until I arrive.”
They said their goodbyes, and Karryl went in search of his master and mentor. The infirmary was laid out in the shape of a large letter T, with the entrance being in the centre of the top. Symon had been settled in a little room of his own at the right hand end of the crosspiece. When Karryl walked in, the little magician was pacing up and down, his face set in a frown, heavily bandaged hands held out in front of him like an albino battling-bug.
He scuttled over to his apprentice, reaching up and pressing his wrists against Karryl’s upper arms. “Thank goodness you’re back safely! I presume you and my associate went off somewhere to dispose of the remains?”
Karryl sat down heavily on the end of the narrow bed. The curtains in the little room had not been drawn, and he could make out the dense silhouette of the nearby barracks cutting across the star filled sky. He looked around the room, then ran his fingers through his dark hair and began to bring Symon up to date with the afternoon’s events. Symon sat on a wooden chair by the window, listening carefully, and dropping in the occasional question when Karryl paused for breath. When there was nothing more to tell, Symon sat quite still gazing out of the window, apparently deep in thought.
Just as Karryl was beginning to think perhaps the little magician had dozed off, Symon turned to him. “We haven’t heard the last of this. I fear that this is only the beginning. I’m inclined to agree with your view that the spell was miscast. In a perverse kind of a way that was fortunate for us. Otherwise we may have been unaware of the presence of these creatures until they were ready to reveal themselves and create even worse havoc.”
Karryl stood and began to pace the room, as Symon had been doing. “Were they grelfons?”
Symon’s expression was grim. “I’m certain of it. The one question to which we must find the answer as quickly as possible is, who is responsible for their resurrection? The next question is, why? Until we can find the answers we are completely in the dark.”
Karryl moved across to stand beside him. “I think our best hope is to wait for Magnor’s findings. I got the impression that his people were going to look into it pretty thoroughly. Assuming that there were only two of the creatures I should think we’re safe until he gets back to us.”
Symon seemed to take little consolation from the thought. His expression was bleak as he stood up and crossed the room.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, he held the white balls of his bandaged hands in the air. “There’s not a lot I can do while I’m like this except think, and I certainly intend to do a lot of that. I also intend to use my mental powers a little more than usual, information gathering and that sort of thing. It will be interesting to see what I can come up with.”
He yawned and stretched, wincing as he inadvertently tried to flex his fingers.
With a heavy sigh, he turned his grey eyes up to Karryl. “I’m feeling really tired now, and I expect you are too. When you see Mordas, tell her to stop worrying about me. I’ve simply got a lot on my mind, which is only to be expected. Now, if you’ll pull those covers back and settle the pillows so that I can get into bed, I’m going to get some sleep.”
Having ensured that Symon was comfortable, Karryl wished him a good night, quietly closed the door behind him, and left the infirmary. As he ambled slowly up towards the palace he once more mulled over the day’s events in his mind. He realised that he too, had a lot to think about, and some questions to which, as yet, he didn’t have any answers. He had also completely forgotten about the letter he had written to Aenys. Slipping his fingers into the top of his pocket, he felt the reassuring edge of the folded vellum. Resolving then and there to take it directly to Jobling, he turned off to his right along a narrow gravelled path which led gently up the hill. From there it would take him round the back of a small group of buildings into the working heart of the palace; the kitchens and domestic quarters. If Jobling wasn’t there then somebody would almost certainly know where he could be found. Karryl smiled to himself as he thought of Aenys. Lengthening his stride he felt his mood lighten. The feeling was destined to be short-lived.
CHAPTER SEVEN
He was never able to say for certain which came first, the tell-tale prickling of his skin or the unspeakably distinctive odour. Apprehension and recognition joined forces and slammed into him like a battering ram. He stopped, not daring to move. Shifting his gaze around, he strained his hearing to the limit. The prickling of his skin subsided but remnants of the odour still drifted to him on the chill night air. In seconds he had formed a plan and made a decision. In order to avoid any kind of movement which might betray his presence, Karryl felt he had no option but to translocate, even though he was fully aware that such a procedure was not recommended more than twice in one day. He just hoped that Vintar was the guard commander, and that he hadn’t moved any of the furniture in the guardroom. Consoling himself with the fact that the barracks was only a few hundred yards away, he visualised the interior of the guard-room and gave himself a mental push.
To Karryl’s immense relief, Vintar was sitting behind a plain wooden desk writing what appeared to be a very lengthy report. He had been stationed at the Royal barracks long enough to be relatively unsurprised by anything he might see, although a couple of the fire piquets thought Karryl’s arrival worthy of comment.
Putting down his quill, the sergeant raised an enquiring eyebrow. “‘Evening Master Karryl. Does your unusual mode of transport signal trouble?”
Karryl hauled in a great gulp of air. “It rather looks that way. I think there may be another one at least, somewhere near the rear entrance to the palace kitchens. I haven’t actually seen anything but I certainly recognised the smell.”
An angry murmuring began to rumble from the squad of about a dozen guards who had been preparing to change duty but had now closed up around their sergeant. One of them, a bull-necked solidly built man, pushed to the front.
His eyes gleaming, his whole body bristling with the desire for vengeance, he grimaced into Vintar’s face “Let’s get this one Sarge. It’s probably kin to the ones that did for Matt.”
Vintar swiftly detailed two of the soldiers to don their half-armour, grab their weapons and hurry to the palace to reinforce the already heavy guard protecting King Vailin. By the time the pair were running through the door, Vintar and the remainder of the squad were out of fatigues and into their own armour, a resolute grip on their weapons and ready to be away.
Vintar moved to stand beside Karryl, a grimly determined expression on his rugged face. “I know you’re not a fighting man, not in our sense of the word, but is there anything you can do to help us?”
Karryl had been giving this some thought during the short time the soldiers had taken to get ready. “I don’t know of anything that will be effective against that black brew they spout from their throats. I think the best thing I can do for a start is cast a spell of silence over all of us. At least that will give us some element of surprise. Providing you all stay reasonably close for as long as possible you’ll be able to hear each other, but you won’t be heard by anyone, or anything, else. T
he tactics I’ll leave to you.”
The men of the squad exchanged uncertain glances. Vintar frowned. “What’s the range of this silence?”
Karryl made a brief study of the little sea of grim faces which turned towards him. “Each man will have about five paces all around him, so any one man can separate from the others and still be covered. Two men can stand eight to ten paces apart and still be within the shield of silence. It’s a pretty powerful spell.”
A growl of approval issued from the assembled squad. Vintar gave an affirmative nod, and Karryl began the spell. Realising that the men would be expecting him to actually do something, the young magician added the accepted gestures as he wove the spell, even though he didn’t really need them. Spell completed, he lowered his hands, crossed the room and opened the door.
As he strode towards it Vintar barked over his shoulder. “Right, lads, let’s kill the bastard!”
* * *
As they pounded in a steady jog-trot up the hill from the barracks towards the palace grounds, Karryl did a mental search of all the spells he knew or had read. He had to find something which could be used against the venomous black bile which seemed to be the grelfons’ chief weapon. The squad had almost reached the place where the main path was joined by the narrower one to the kitchen entrance. Giving the signal to halt, Karryl dropped into a crouch.
Vintar moved forward and dropped down beside him. “What is it?”
Karryl nodded towards the hilltop, its outline curving darkly against the marginally lighter sky. “I saw something move up there. It’s probably seen us coming, but hopefully it’s confused because it can’t hear us. Also, I’ve had an idea, so could I make a suggestion?”
The burly sergeant, who almost five years ago had led his squad on a night-time rescue of the young man now crouching beside him, gave a noncommittal grunt. “Yes, you can. But if it’s tactics, I’ll make a suggestion. Leave it to us. What have you got in mind?”
Still in a crouch, the young magician indicated that he and Vintar should turn round. The pair turned, and with as much haste as they could muster, duck-walked back to the rest of the squad, crouched in low profile about eight paces behind them. Karryl bit back a curse. The stark profile of the barracks stood darkly against the first pale light of a newly rising moon. With the whole scene soon to be bathed in moonlight this would not be easy.
Not bothering to lower his voice, he outlined the plan that was in his mind. “I’m going to try a spell which, I’ll be quite honest with you, I’ve never done before. So I hope you’ll understand if it goes a bit awry.”
A couple of the men shuffled uncomfortably, their half-armour clinking almost unnaturally loudly in the cocoon of silence. Another one, his voice edged with humour, called quietly to him. “Go on, we’ll trust you!”
Slightly embarrassed by the impromptu camaraderie, Karryl looked at the ground. “I think I can suspend the creature’s black spray if a couple of you would be willing to get close enough to tempt it to open its mouth and retaliate. Bear in mind that I’ll be as close as you are. If no-one’s willing, I’ll have to go it alone. The only other thing I can say is that, in theory, it can be done. How you actually orchestrate this little scenario is up to Sergeant Vintar.”
The sergeant leaned close to Karryl. “Right. Leave this to me now. I’ve got a good idea how we can do this, but I want you to stay at a safe distance until I give you the nod.” He gave a dry chuckle. “I’ve been on the wrong end of Master Symon’s wrath before. If something happens to you, he’s going to be unbearable.”
Karryl shuffled backwards and crouched, listening carefully as Vintar outlined his plan of attack, detailing each man to a position which would keep him within the bounds of the spell of silence. With a brief nod the sergeant confirmed readiness, and the two of them turned round. At that moment, anything they may have been planning went straight out the window. Wings raised, the grelfon stood just feet away from the squad, the reptilian head thrust menacingly forward, the dark planes and shadows of its deep ridged brow adding further menace to the unblinking glare of its slanted yellow eyes. The straight black-lipped mouth was closed.
A slightly tremulous voice carried from the rear of the squad. “Uh-oh! Too late.”
Vintar hissed a warning and gave his orders without turning. “Very slowly, all spread out. As we are we’re just one big target. If anyone can manage to get behind it, so much the better. Master Karryl, I don’t think the spell of silence is necessary any more. You might need the power for the other thing.”
Karryl shuffled up beside the sergeant. “Just what I was thinking, but we’ll leave it there for a while longer. It’ll give your men chance to get round behind it if they can. Have you decided who’s going to be the bait?”
Vintar shot him a flinty glance. “I am.”
Karryl’s heart sank. If this worked, it would be the second time he’d be thanking Vintar for saving his life. As it turned out, his own quick thinking was responsible for that. The grelfon had spotted two of the soldiers trying to creep stealthily past its left side. It swung its head towards them and Karryl seized the opportunity. Dropping flat onto his stomach, he cancelled the spell of silence, simultaneously sending a narrow shaft of dazzling light blasting seven feet upwards, directly into the monstrous creature’s right eye. Its ground-shaking roar of pain shattered the night’s stillness as the tapered head swung round, huge jaws opened wide to spout a boiling stream of deadly black and viscous foulness in Karryl’s direction. In that instant the prone magician released a unique combination of two powerful holding spells. Strong enough to keep the vile discharge suspended in mid air, they still left the creature free to move. Karryl was a split second ahead of it. Inverting the previous spells, he shook with exhaustion and revulsion as the super-hot stinking black fluid instantly twisted back in a fiercely undulating glutinous mass. With a loud and wet-sounding slap, it enveloped the malevolently glaring yellow eyes. Ear-splitting screams of frustration and rage rose high into the night air as the grelfon dropped to its scaly knees. Membranous wings thrashing against the ground, the wickedly hooked and barbed talons of its front limbs clawed frantically at its face in a vain effort to free itself of the vile agglomeration eating into its flesh. With no immunity to its own poison the creature was doomed.
Vintar leapt up from his crouch and drew his sword. Tension releasing in a blood-curdling scream of anger and hatred he charged forward, the weapon’s hilt grasped in both hands. He dodged to his left, a quick side-step taking him out of range of the huge flailing wings. With a powerful overhead down-stroke he sent the long two-edged blade thrusting deep into the thick flesh of the arching grey-mottled throat. Embedded in muscle and bone, the blade held fast. Unable to withdraw it, Vintar released his grip on the weapon and threw himself backwards. With a gurgling groan, the grelfon’s massive head flopped backwards onto the blue-black feathered shoulders. Scaled and heavily muscled legs crumpled under the deep sinuous body, and with a splattering, squelching thud the creature collapsed to the ground, black leathery wings trembling and twitching.
Unprepared for the abhorrent and overpowering stench coupled with the sheer revulsion provoked by the sight of the grelfon, the majority of Vintar’s squad succumbed to overwhelming nausea. Leaning on their halberds they swayed weak-kneed around the creature as its bodily fluids drained and oozed into the ground beneath it. Still spasming in the final throes of death the corpse sank lower and lower. To the unnerving accompaniment of hissing, creaking sounds its substance rapidly diminished to become a huge, misshapen and rumpled black bag. Alongside, limp and grotesquely twisted lay the pathetically impotent wings.
Vintar scrambled to his feet. A couple of paces away lay the unmoving form of the young magician who had performed the audacious manoeuvre. Kneeling beside him, Vintar placed two fingers against Karryl’s throat. The pulse was faint but steady.
Over his shoulder he signalled to his squad. One by one, they made their way unsteadily towards him. “Make
a litter, quickly!”
Totally dispirited by the whole episode, one of the soldiers made a gruff retort. “Litter! I think I need one meself.”
Vintar rose slowly to his full height, his expression thunderous. “That soldier! Confined to barracks for two weeks! Report to the Commanding Officer first duty in the morning! Return to the guardroom now. You’re fire piquet for the rest of the night. You others, make a litter!”
As the admonished soldier marched unhappily back towards the guardroom, the rest of the squad hurried forward. Laying their halberds across the ground in a much practiced manoeuvre, they formed a rectangular lattice. Vintar and his wiry lance-corporal lifted Karryl’s limp form onto the crossed staves, settling him as comfortably as they could on such a crude but necessary transport. Leaving the two most seasoned soldiers to guard the pungently repulsive corpse, Vintar and the litter party set off. Heavily booted feet trampled neatly manicured lawns in a direct line for the infirmary.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Half an hour later, the whole barracks was on full alert. No-one in the palace was thinking of going to bed. Rumours abounded and disjointed versions of events flew along brightly lit corridors and dim passageways as fast as circumstances and the feet of the tale-tellers would allow.
Leaving a weakened, groggy but conscious Karryl in the capable hands of one of her assistants, Mordas hurried to Symon’s room. As she had correctly guessed, he was out of bed and hopping impatiently from one foot to the other. With obvious reluctance a young orderly was taking the little magician’s clothes from a wooden chest against the wall.
Arms folded, Mordas looked at Symon as she would a naughty boy caught in the act of doing something he shouldn’t. “I hope you’re not thinking of actually going anywhere.”
Symon scowled at her as he waved a heavily bandaged hand towards his long under-shirt. “Of course I am. I can’t stay here with all this going on. As it is I’ve only heard half of a garbled story. All I can gather is that young Karryl was instrumental in the defeat of another grelfon and is currently sequestered within these walls. Now, if you’ll be so kind as to help me get into my shift and robe …”