Mage Prime (Book 2)

by B. J. Beach

  A lascivious smirk twisted his lips. “I was merely showing my appreciation of her services, my jewel.”

  The focus of his attention gave a soft chuckle and sat down beside him. “Judging by the expression on her face I think she would have preferred that you kept your ‘appreciation’ to yourself.”

  Ghian ran the back of his forefinger down her smooth cheek. Resting his fingertip against her full, crimson-tinted lower lip, he leaned forward, his voice low and mocking. “Could it be that you begrudge the small attentions I pay to any woman other than yourself? Do I not give you enough appreciation and attention? Tell me my princess, and I will do all in my power to rectify the situation.”

  Catching hold of his wrist, she ran the tip of her tongue in lazy circles around the curiously shaped scar in the palm of his hand. She looked up into his eyes. “I think my love that perhaps you are getting a little bored.”

  Sitting up straight she brought her dark-skinned face close to his sun-tanned one. “Is life at my modest palace not adventurous enough for you? Or do you now desire some other beauty beneath you as you strain and grunt?”

  A flash of consternation on his face and a fleeting movement of his eyes told her more than any words the answer to her question. Ghian wouldn’t admit it to her face but she was right. He was bored. He secretly longed to be back in what he felt was his true home. He was tired of the idle opulence of this palace, tired of the days spent acting out a role which no longer brought him any pleasure or satisfaction. The gloss had long ago worn off the constant round of lavish entertainment and society gatherings. Even the fine clothes he wore with their rich colours and sumptuous fabrics, tailored by the finest craftsmen in the land, could not replace the soft enveloping comfort of the black robe which he yearned to feel once more against his sun-darkened skin.

  Day after day he dreamed of the time when he would return to the incredible environs of the city hidden far out in the desert. Vedra, the City of the Grelfi. Following three years of arduous training and instruction in the depraved and outlawed Vedric discipline, he had demanded a respite. When he returned he would undertake the most challenging element of his preparation to take his pre-destined place as overlord of the Grelfi, the soul-less occupants of the dark city. Until then he waited, impatient for the extra-sensory summoning which would allow him to return unaided and unseen to the city’s harsh embrace.

  Princess Mekhnet, the latest and to date the most lasting of a string of well-connected lovers, reached out and ran her long fingers through his thick, dark hair. The sudden movement of her lithe body drew him out of his reverie.

  She murmured in his ear, her tone just short of mocking. “Shall I summon the little servant girl for you my love?”

  Grasping her wrists, Ghian pulled her down close to him, her musky perfume almost overpowering. His lips tightened across his teeth in a contemptuous snarl. “Why; so that she can lie under me, submissive, obedient, afraid to displease her lord and master?” His sudden grin was devoid of humour. “At least with you I get a good fight.”

  Mekhnet threw back her head and gave a scornful laugh, her mane of lustrous blue-black hair flying. Wrenching her wrists free, she locked her emerald green eyes on his black ones. “A fight? Yes. That is truly your greatest pleasure, any kind of confrontation. To you, everyone is a potential adversary, someone to be conquered, to be made to submit and brought to their knees.”

  Abruptly she stood up and moved to a table inlaid with nacre and gold, where she poured herself a goblet of wine. This small palace was part of the emperor’s domain. Such things as prohibitions had no meaning here.

  She stood, cradling the goblet and gazing down at him, her eyes narrowed, cold and calculating. “Tell me, are you prepared to meet your greatest adversary? Or will that be a battle that you fear you cannot win?”

  Ghian smiled, his teeth white against his dark bearded face. The smile held no warmth, the very air seeming to chill as he rose to his feet and slowly moved towards her. Almost tenderly he placed a hand on her shoulder.

  The tone of his voice would have made ice shiver. “To what adversary do you refer, my love? I am aware of no adversary, unless of course you refer in some hopeful way to death, and you know I have no fear of that. So, are you keeping secrets?”

  Mekhnet looked meaningfully at his hand resting on her shoulder. He did not move it.

  Her mouth twisted in a contemptuous sneer. “Are you telling me that your other lover, your whore, your Grelfine bitch has not told you of your destiny?”

  His top lip curled. Gripping her shoulder harder, he increased the pressure of his fingers. She cried out, attempting to twist her body away from the pain. The goblet of wine fell to the floor, the dark liquid pooling on the pale marble like spilt blood.

  Thrusting his face close in to hers, Ghian snarled through clenched teeth. “It is fortunate for you that we are not wed, for then I would have you killed for such words. So, I will have the person who gave you such information killed instead.”

  He pressed his thumb hard against the end of her collar-bone. She cried out once more and crumpled to her knees.

  Ghian went down with her, his eyes never leaving her face. “Tell me who your informant is. I don’t care if it takes all night to get it out of you. No one will disturb us.”

  Crouched in front of her he stared into her face, unmoved as she trembled with pain. She turned her face away from him, her lips quivering. Roughly, he grasped her chin with his free hand, pulling her head round to face him.

  He spoke softly, as if to a small child. “Simply tell me the name of my betrayer and the pain will stop.”

  Inwardly cursing herself for her weakness she managed to nod her head. Slowly he released his grip and stood up to tower over her.

  Brushing tears from her face she looked past his knees, out towards the merciless desert as if seeing far across its vastness. “It was Andra herself. She told me.”

  Ghian dropped to a crouch in front of her. She flinched as he raised his hand. “Do you know what you’re saying? Andra told you? Do you expect me to believe that?” He reached out to grasp her shoulder again.

  Clamping her fingers round his wrist, Mekhnet lifted her chin and glared at him in defiance. “Believe me or not. The choice is yours. Only ask yourself how I know of Andra.”

  Speaking through clenched teeth Ghian glared at her. “No. I will ask you. How do you know of Andra?”

  Mekhnet’s shoulders slumped a little. “She was my lifelong friend. Now she has betrayed both of us. Two weeks ago she came here while you were out hunting. She admired my clothes and my jewels, drank my wine and boasted about you, about how your life and hers were linked by an unbreakable bond. She brought my world crashing down around my ears then gloated over my anguish.”

  Ghian’s eyes were black flint, his face a study in fury. He stood up, turning his back on Mekhnet as she scrambled to her feet.

  As if she had found a new resolve she poured out her venom on his broad shoulders. “Go and seek out your treacherous lover before I do. If I find her first she will die a slow and excruciatingly painful death. I may even make you watch.”

  He glared at her over his shoulder but said nothing. His anger was controlled, even though it filled him to his fingertips. It was not her threat against his high priestess which had incensed him. The thing which had pierced him to the core was Andra’s apparently blatant assertion that she held some unassailable place in his life. He strode out onto the terrace and leaned on the ornately carved balustrade. It was past midnight but sleep was the furthest thing from his mind. He felt no remorse over the way he had treated Mekhnet. In fact, he felt nothing for her at all. He never had. She was merely a plaything, a minor princess drawn in by his charismatic and winning ways, something to keep him amused while he waited almost impatiently for the call to return to the desert city of Vedra, City of the Grelfi.

  He looked out over the gardens and roof-tops to where the unforgiving and timeless desert lay, calling to hi
m to cross its arid, burning vastness. He turned his thoughts to the first time he had met the beautiful priestess Andra, after the Jadhra warrior Miqhal had taken him into the ancient and forbidden depths of the hidden city.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Ghian had visualised a city of sparkling splendour. He had imagined beautiful buildings, wooded parks, gleaming spires and broad thoroughfares. What he found chilled him to the marrow. Like a great black venomous spider, the city of Vedra squatted on the desert, dark and menacing, devoid of any welcoming warmth despite the blazing Naborian sun. For nearly an hour Miqhal had led him through narrow empty streets. Heavy looming buildings of dark stone glowered down at him, flaunting a sinister baroque architecture which boasted in the oppressive silence of a world disturbingly alien to the one he knew. The outer limits of the city were still nowhere in sight when Miqhal turned aside and reined in. They dismounted in front of a wide and windowless building set back some twenty paces from the street.

  Ghian shuddered as he recognised the intricately detailed reliefs which covered every inch of the dark sloping walls. “Are we going in there?”

  Miqhal’s basalt eyes glinted as he gazed intently at the building, but he made no reply. From somewhere within the depths of the edifice a single deep, echoing metallic note rang out and reverberated around them. As the last tones faded away the massive iron-bound door set into the facing wall swung silently open. Waving Ghian forward, Miqhal turned back to his horse.

  Ghian called after him, his voice thick with dread. “Aren’t you coming with me?”

  The Jadhra warrior sprang lightly to horseback. “My duty is done. I return to the desert. Be strong. There is nothing to fear.”

  Swiftly he turned his mount back the way they had come, shimmered and vanished. It would be a long time before Ghian was to knowingly see him again.

  With leaden feet and violently pounding heart, Ghian crossed the wide empty space to the yawning black maw of the doorway. For a full minute he stood, unable to move, sweat running in chill rivulets down his neck and shoulders. Gathering all the nerve he could muster, he finally stepped over the threshold into the intimidating darkness. The door closed behind him with a sonorous finality. Frozen to the spot, he stood, seeing and hearing nothing. The few moments it took to control the terror which threatened to overwhelm him, allowed his eyes to accustom themselves to the darkness. Taking one long deep breath to steady his nerves he began to look about him. What he could see was very little. The dim light which reached him seemed to have its source at some point far ahead. Having no doubt that the doors behind him would be locked, he began to walk slowly forward. The floor felt smooth and level beneath his feet, and despite the near total darkness he was aware of a vast space around him.

  The light gradually strengthened the further he moved into the interior of the building. Soon he was able to determine what kind of a place he was in. He stood still in the total silence, then began turning slowly round. Drawn first to the long inwardly sloping walls, his eyes travelled upwards to the lofty vastness of the ceiling. His heart pounding furiously, he was unable to suppress a groan as his gaze fell on the ornate and highly detailed forms depicted above him. Deep down he knew, the ones in the chamber where he had sheltered with Miqhal, those on the outer wall of this building and the ones he was now looking at, had all been worked by the same hand. Suddenly he felt no bigger than an ant. He spun round, his basic instincts cutting in and telling him to run. Instead, he gasped and took two stumbling paces backwards.

  Features concealed within the dark depths of a wide hooded cowl, a tall, slender brown-robed figure had approached from behind him and now stood watching.

  Beckoning with one hand, the figure spoke, his voice soft yet penetrating. “Follow me. I will take you to the interior. There your immediate needs will be attended to.”

  Ghian released the breath he had been holding. At the same time he realised he needed to relieve himself. Making a show of confidence he didn’t really feel, Ghian smiled at the figure.

  He took a step forward, his voice trembling slightly with false bravado. “Thanks. That’s just what I need. Lead on!”

  The robed figure made a slight bow. Moving past Ghian he headed quickly and noiselessly towards the far extremity of the sloping wall. As they drew closer, Ghian could see high truncated triangular openings punctuating its entire length at regularly spaced intervals. It was through one of these openings that his escort led him. A few strides brought them to a blank stone wall.

  The figure turned to him. “Put aside your fear. You have done this before.”

  The wall shimmered and the brown-robed figure passed unhesitatingly through. Remembering Miqhal, the sheer stone face of the box canyon, and the shining portal which took them through the looming city wall, Ghian swallowed hard. Closing his eyes, he clenched his teeth and walked forward counting his steps. On four he stopped and cautiously opened his eyes.

  His face in shadow, the robed figure stood waiting a few paces in front of him. “Everything you need is in this chamber. Make yourself clean and comfortable. A servant will come shortly with food.”

  He stepped forward and disappeared back through the wall, leaving Ghian to take stock of his surroundings. As he looked about, it suddenly occurred to him with gut clenching horror that he was a prisoner. Before panic could take a proper hold he reined it in hard then chuckled, a cold humourless sound. He began to explore and soon found the privy screened off in a corner of the room, an unprepossessing hole in the floor covered by a removable grille.

  With a sigh of relief he emptied his bladder, then thought out loud. “Not a bad place to be a prisoner I suppose.”

  He was testing the narrow bed which stood against the back wall when the woman entered the room, quite conventionally through a small side door which he hadn’t previously noticed.

  He leapt to his feet. “Doesn’t anybody knock? I could have been stark naked for all you know!”

  The tall woman filled the room with her presence. She regarded him steadily with eyes like polished sapphires, a hint of a smile on her full lips. “Would it have bothered you if I had seen you naked?”

  Ghian thought for a moment then folding his arms he matched her gaze. “D’you know, I don’t think it would. And I doubt if it would have bothered you, if the truth be known. Who are you anyway?”

  She lowered the hood which partially covered her head, revealing thick shining waves of deep auburn hair which tumbled down her back. “My name is Andra. I am High Priestess of the temple of Zo’ad. As such I am responsible for your training and well-being.”

  Ghian had no chance to respond as Andra sharply clapped her hands. The door opened. A grey-robed young man carrying a tray of food entered the room. Keeping his eyes lowered he shuffled across to a small table, placed the tray of food on it and shuffled out again.

  Surveying the food, Ghian flicked a sideways glance at the tall red-robed priestess. “Would you care to join me?”

  Her face tightened and the tone of her voice left Ghian in no doubt. “It is not permitted. You will be given time to eat, then a servant will come to take you to the baths. We shall meet again later.”

  Pulling the soft shining fabric of her robe closely around her slender body, Andra turned and quickly left the room. The door closed quietly behind her. Ghian rubbed at his three-day-old stubble and smiled to himself. He had the distinct impression that the lovely priestess had nothing on under that robe. He hardly tasted the food.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  They moved in stately procession across the gleaming temple floor. Ghian’s mind was buzzing. Now bathed and clad in a simple brown robe he tried to clear his thoughts and comprehend everything that was happening. It was a few moments before he realised that the stunning priestess Andra had taken his hand. The amber glow bathing the intricately carved walls began gradually to dim. Almost total darkness now enveloped the vast concourse across which they made their solemn progress. Suddenly the light flared outward and upw
ard to coalesce in a glorious nimbus above and around a massively ornate altar. They approached it alone. The priestess released Ghian’s hand then stepped quickly back and sank to her knees, lowering her head until her forehead touched the black marbled floor. Held fast by some incomprehensible force, Ghian found himself unable to take another step. He tried to cry out but no sound came. Totally enveloped by the glow emanating from the altar, he closed his eyes tightly. With his arms raised to shield his face he held perfectly still, his whole body tense as he waited for what he felt would be certain death in whatever form it might take.

  As he stood he became aware of a tantalisingly familiar voice entering his mind. “Have no fear. For century upon century many have tried, and many have been tried. All have failed. But the time is now come. You are the one foretold. With you lies our destiny. It is to you that power shall be given, to you the secrets shown. You will come to no harm. Our destinies are irrevocably linked and the prophecies must be fulfilled.”

  The voice became silent and Ghian let his arms fall to his sides. The mellow persuasive tones echoed inside his brain. He tried to place the voice but recognition eluded him like smoke in the wind. Attempting to open his eyes, he found them held shut by a force beyond his comprehension. His resolve began to waver. The familiar tones of the voice repeated their message and Ghian felt a new strength welling up within him. Almost overcome by a fervent desire to give himself over completely to whatever force it was that held him, he fought against it. His mind became a swirling maelstrom of vivid images of the life he once had, and the one he was inexorably approaching. He stood swaying on his feet, time passing un-noticed. The battle raging within him rose to ever greater heights until he could no longer withstand the pressure. Arms raised high he thrust his body forward as an almost inhuman scream escaped from his throat.

  The forces which had invaded him released their hold. With a sighing moan he crumpled and sank to the floor, shaken and trembling. His mind confused, his body drained, he felt battered and storm-ravaged. Incapable of coherent thought, he fought against the ague-like tremors which gripped his weakened limbs. His rapidly pounding heart forced blood through his brain with a deafening roar, while uncontrollable waves of pain and anguish racked his body. Fists clenched, eyes tightly closed, he remained on the black floor, foetally curled and oblivious to the passage of time. During the hours which passed, the roaring storm in his brain subsided to little more than a murmur. As sheer mental and physical exhaustion overcame him, the trembling in his limbs subsided. He slept.